I Am Morris Arka-tsi

Taong 2050. Boy Abunda is on his nth year as President of the Republic. He/She is already an It, having been dead for so many years past. The Boy Abunda in the Palace is a trans-gender robotic construct as metallic and cold as Kris Aquino Version XXX to the X power which still hogs the headlines as the screaming machinated configuration of all things kitsch and over-acting. The robotic Boy Abunda possesses some of the characteristics of its human past foremost of which is its thirst for intrigues and some liquid bodily materials. It is, however, well-known for its humanistic regard for all robots with soft spots at the carburetors and those with rainbow auras when submerged to highly-toxic acids. It is this affinity with the erstwhile gay population which catapulted Boy to the Presidency. Not that robots are gay but robots are bad, so bad that a gay robot is deemed a whiff of sulfuric air in a world suffused with carbon monoxide and mercuric refuse. Boy’s election to the highest post in the Republic immediately brought promising results: all the Uncle Boys in every family were exterminated (there could only be one Boy) and society page correspondent Morris Arka-tsi Version 969 was appointed Spokesman for the Robotic 100 Years Hence, the highest possible position a society parties habitué could ever aspire for.

Taong 2010. I caught a robotic rat in the dingy alley in Tinio Street (Kanto in Filipino, go figure). To my surprise and without speaking a la Mickey Mouse (it communicated completely by tele-kinetic projection, whatever that means), it explained to me in all great details what 40 years after will look like. That after Terminator-Salvation II (the sequel to 2009 Terminator-Salvation supposedly the last installment of the Terminator series until blockoffice had spoken that the series is better without Governor drawl in it) was shown, the robots of the future became angry that Arnold was again excluded. That five years after, zombies over-populated the Earth (religions banned family control in zombie communities) and then the robots came to wipe out the zombies and the humans inside their festering entrails. That the robots in keeping Earth alive assumed the identities of popular humans to put a semblance of normalcy and to keep the Martians from suspecting that the robots are now Earth’s inhabitants. That Robot Priest Panlilio became the Republic’s President, then, Robot Comedian-Philantropist and Dracula of the Poor Willie Revilla, then, Robot Lesbian Aiza Guerra, and, then, finally and for the last, Robot Boy Abunda ascended to the throne. That the bad robots and the Uncle Boys were recast into pornographic characters in junk steel. That Morris Arka-tsi Version 969 won the Robotic Nobel Prize for Literature of 2055 for his compilation of society page dispatches entitled “Transmissions From Society In A-Major.” I was scandalized by Roborat’s implausible narrations, well, that is, only on the Morris Arka-tsi Version 969 side-story(the rest of the stories are very much believable, right?). So Roborat brandished a page ripped directly from the award-winning compilation. My jaw dropped to my feet. It is so f*(=#@*n true! And I said ucki! :

VOL. 535 TRANSMISSIONS FROM SOCIETY IN A-MAJOR PAGE
90,312:

Power Lunches Galore! Moi was the Panauhing Pandangal,
meaning the most fab and the most glam, in the ribbon-cutting gala affair of the
super-fab Bhong-Bhong Kambingan in tres chic IBP Road Payatas Junction. Got the
faaab time in my life as I got to rub elbows times two with the illustrious
Bhong-Bhong Raval who himself invited moi to the splendid bash. It was “how are
you doing” times two with Bhong-Bhong’s lovely and stylish wife Bheng-Bheng who
was sooo fab and glam in her Famela Clothes Ukay Ukay duster ensemble.

Ohhh, la dolce vita, hijos y hijas! The papaitan kambing and
kilawing aso were perfect to our chi-chi palate. Yummy and sophisticated! The
pickled liver and pancreas of Whitey and Meee-meee were sooo divine as per the
fashionista-hija Nheneng, A-1 stylist of Beb’s Sar-Sari Store and Beauty Parlor.
The main course of isaw-baboy and barbecued double-dead pork were perfect,
really perfect to the bahaw, NFA rice and spaghetti with sugar. Lholong Taga,
now chief chef of Jhudy Ann Eatery and Ihaw-Ihaw, can only sigh in
approval.

Mi amiga, dahling Bheng-Bheng, knows how to really throw
a party for the stylish and the mobile. The Magic Sing was already in full blast
when my padyak came. The pedicabs and the padyak driver-entrepreneurs were
already belting classics, from Journey to Bon Jovi to Air Supply over gin-bulag
and emperador con tubig cocktails. To luxe it all, Moi had a grand time with
Jhomar and Jhun-Jhun, CEOs of J&J Funeral Parlor W/ Pasa-Load, whom I
rubbed elbows in the fresh and green restrooms at the back of Bhong-Bhong
Kambingan—the oooh so nature talahiban and compost pit. We chatted tooo looong
and we talked on annnyyything fab and glam. We closed and consummated a deal
right at the back of the sagingan, P100 each for a full-blown
job!

Power Lunch it was. Gracias, Bhong-Bhong Kambingan!

The future is as ghastly as we conjured it to be.