Wifey and I decided to take a break from the rigors of law school life by choosing a movie to watch last weekend. Our choices had been narrowed down to The Hulk and the second installment of Charlie’s Angels, mostly because we wanted something mindless to break the monotony.Any time there’s a guy-oriented flick (like Mission: Impossible 2) competing against a girl-power thingamajigy (like A Walk to Remember) at the tills, you’re going to get some people (like me and my wife) engaged in a pretty heated debate over what movie we’re going to watch.

Watching two movies at the same time is physically impossible, and we’ve only got time (and money) for one movie a week. I’m not about to spend time away from my wife just because I can’t stand what on the surface appears to be a pathetic remake of every single love story ever told, including the one by Erich Segal.

I wonder if the people who schedule movie screenings ever consider how many relationships they’ve strained by this most unfortunate scheme of things. We used to solve this dilemma by arriving at the movie house at a certain time in the afternoon and watching whatever fit our schedule best. It works most of the time, but when the two movies are screened at the same time, what then?

My wife must have been thinking the same thing, because The Hulk andCharlie’s Angels were being screened at the same time. I wanted to see The Hulk not just because it was the Hulkster, but because it was an Ang Lee movie. I wanted to see how Eat Drink Man Woman translated into that old 60’s cartoon. She wanted to see Charlie’s Angels.

“You want to watch Charlie’s Angels or The Hulk,” she asked after going straight to the ticket counter to check the lines.
“I don’t know,” and I really didn’t.
“You want to watch Charlie’s Angels? I heard Demi Moore’s really hot again.” 
“I don’t really know…” I was stalling, and she knew it.
“You decide: Demi Moore or Eric Bana.”
“Demi Moore it is,” and we headed off to the nearest ticket booth.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one finagled in this manner. Charlie’s Angels was so full, I saw the entire movie from the aisle. That hasn’t happened to me since Pido Dida.

Men are such easy creatures.


A few days later we found ourselves hitching a ride home with a friend from law school. As we passed by Guadalupe, we noticed the billboard in the middle promoting the Charlie’s Angels movie.

As I was riding shotgun, I took the liberty of noticing the Angels’s computer-enhanced silhouettes. Sure beats the old days of hand-painted posters whose faces were nothing like the ones in the movies.

“What’s up, Kiko,” asked my friend, the ever-astute observer. “Just noticing the Angels billboard. Those girls are hot. Have you seen the movie?”
“No, but I intend to as soon as I get these reading requirements done. Why?”
“It’s nothing. Just that Demi Moore looks hotter than all the three Angels combined.”

It’s true. I dare you to deny it.


I’d like to think that Demi Moore’s recent rewriting of the definition of the idiom “hot tamale” has something to do with the Filipino capacity for forgetting the most important things in life. Am I the only one who remembers this but didn’t most girls cut their hair short after Demi did in Ghost?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I still remember when Ghost came out, and that was before the turn of the century, something like the late 80’s to early 90’s. Point is, when that came out, I was a kid, and I didn’t even know the meaning of the word sex.

So in the middle of the movie Demi Moore comes out looking like she never had any of Bruce Willis’s four kids (like Pops Fernandez, who at the moment is making Martin Nievera look like an idiot for leaving her), in a white bikini (how I wished it was wet!), and you could hear the collective jaws of the men in the audience hit the floor. How the hell do you look that good pushing 40?

So she’s standing there with a surfboard next to Cameron Diaz, who despite wearing something even less than Demi, doesn’t really stand a chance, and I’ll wager no guy in the audience was looking at Cameron.

MILF. MILF. MILF. Not the organization, so it’s safe to repeat after me. MILF.


Speaking of MILF, I think that I can say with all authority that Ashton Kutcher, is a motherf*cker.

To those of you who may not know Ashton Kutcher, he’s Kelso from That 70’s Show.

Kelso, who starred with Seann William Scott (the guy who popularized the word) in Dude, Where’s My Car, is currently going out with the former Demi Willis. Some celebrity watchers have seen them suck tongue on many an occasion. I’ll bet he’s munched her rug too, but that’s what I’d do if I was Kelso and I was dating Demi.

Here’s the deal, and why I find this so disturbing I’m dedicating part of my space to Kelso: I’m older than Kelso.

Kelso is barely 25, and Demi is 41. I’m well past 25. By some weird stretch of the imagination, I’m supposed to have a shot at Demi, only if I looked like Kelso, and had a much more significant vocabulary than Kelso will ever have.

Let’s not get into the nitty gritty here. You’re talking about a woman who, in her lifetime, found Patrick Swayze and Kelso hot. I don’t know about you, but for me, there’s something really, really wrong in that statement right there. It’s like Pops Fernandez getting it on with Borgy Manotoc.

Of course, this could be one big Hollywood gimmick to hype up Charlie’s Angels, and Kelso might really have a problem sleeping with someone whose uterus has been home to at least four individuals over her lifetime. I know it’s gross, but hey, tell me I’m lying.

Is it just me, or does this whole Kelso-Demi Moore schtick sounds like something straight out of Mother Lily’s playbook?


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