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[VIDEO] MDJ & Zee Find Fame & Shame on Jessica Soho’s Twitter Feature

By MDJ Superstar
March 13, 2011 //
1

So my Zee and I got invited to be part of a tiny little segment on “Kapuso Mo, Jessica Soho,” which we immediately said yes to.

Not being much of TV nuts, we assumed not a lot of people watched it.

Turns out it’s consistently in the Top 10 of TV programs nationwide. Eep. But we did it, with the slant of “People who found love on Twitter.”

So here’s a bootleg video of mine & Zee’s 1-min of fame on Jessica Soho. Some production notes:

(1) It is not true the camera adds 10-lbs. It adds 40. FYI, I have abs in real life. 9 of them.
(2) They cut a lot of our cute chroma shots, i.e. kilitian, subuan ng ice cream, habulan sa bukid, etc.
(3) The pillow in front of my tummy was strategic – I want to be seen as a sex symbol on TV.
(4) Zee’s cheekbones are KILLER on TV.

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Categories Personal, Relationships

A Friendster Testimonial For My Zee

By MDJ Superstar
January 22, 2011 //
2

Once I upon a time, I like to think I was a cool, suave, sophisticatedly macho piece of man-meat, all swagger and fireworks and baby oil.

That was until I met my Zee. She transformed me. I’d like to think it’s for the better, but I will say this: All of my machismo points have gone flying out the window like a plate of rancid sodium-free margarine. Instead, I’ve transformed into a mushy puddle of googly-wah.

But you know what? I don’t mind. She melts me, and I adore her. More than I’ve ever adored anyone in my life.

She makes me so happy. I have a tendency to take myself (and life) too seriously, and being with her helps me see the joy in simple things. We’re like two silly little kids when we’re together; even after five months things are still so fresh and new and magical.

Our weekend adventures are legendary, like this one time we tried to cook crabs we’d bought at Salcedo Market…

It’s hard to enumerate the things I like best about her. There are too many.

And so I got to thinking – I wish we’d known each other back in the Friendster days. I wish we could have left each other testimonials. I don’t know what she would have said about me back then (“ZOMGZ I loooove your undercut!! Looks AMAZING with your Hawaiian shirt!”), but here’s what I would say to her after five magical, wonderful months with her.

*****

My Zee is the bestest girlfriend in the world. She’s gorgeous, funny, sweet, thoughtful, and her tummy makes the nicest fluffiest pillow and she gives the bestest hugs. But more than that, she inspires me to be a better man. Her strength, courage, and resilience were the first things I knew about her, and remind me that I need to be all these things for her too.

She takes the best care of the people that she treasures, with no pain, with no limits. She cooks the best lechon paksiw, cheese omelettes, bacon, and garlic rice (even though her crepes need a bit more work), and gives the nicest backrubs I’ve ever known. Seeing her smile is enough to turn around all the heartache of a crappy day, and hearing her laugh reminds me that there is still so much beauty in the world to live for. I could gaze into her eyes forever.

And she never asks for anything in return – for someone who gives so much of herself, she is so unselfish in what she wants back. This teaches me to be unselfish too, to give all that I have to give, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

She makes me believe in myself. She makes me hope. She makes me believe in forever.

She only knows one way to love – completely, sincerely, and unconditionally. And I hope she knows that I love her the same way too.

*****

I love you, my peanut. Happy 5th monthsary.

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Categories Personal, Relationships, Uncategorized

The Beauty Queen & The Action Star

By Hungry Man
November 15, 2010 //
0

A couple pic taken at a pole-dancing event the other week.

Zee looks pretty. I look like a B-movie action star, only a few rungs down from the likes of Jestoni Alarcon.

Zee is the best girlfriend ever. She takes me to scope out hot poledancers spreading their legs and cavorting around steel poles while dressed in tight leather outfits. The only trade-off is that I need to take her to the Cosmo Bachelor Bash next year.

I love her. If I need to take her to scope out hot veiny men in ripped denim, then I will.

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Categories Personal, Relationships

Part Two: The Invasion of the Underage Frilly Fashion Diva Princesses

By MDJ Superstar
November 9, 2010 //
1

Click here for Part One of MDJ Superstar’s thrilling, purely fictional Manly Man Manifesto adventures as he stood face to face with the unholy army of the Bieber-Gaga cult of teenybopper pop culture!

*****

MDJ Superstar was trapped. He knew there was no escape. He could either help art-direct the fashion pictorial of the freshly-dolled up Fashion Diva Princesses on the gardens facing Bonifacio High Street’s local hell-hole of pink glitter, Club Princess, or he could burn in eternal damnation on the fiery altar of the Cult of Gaga.

“You leave me no choice, foul princesses,” he muttered, as a single perfect tear welled up in his glistening ochre eyes. “With the help of my assistant models, Trixie and Ara, I will elevate you to fashion immortality.”

Off scampered the Fashion Diva Princesses, with MDJ Superstar trudging sadly in their wake. They lined up in the ever-extending ebony shadow of Club Princess, squealing and giggling with nervous eagerness.

The foul pink soldiers of Gaga forming their demonic ranks, with the assistance of professional models Trixie & Ara.

“Alright girls!” exclaimed MDJ Superstar, his fear now swallowed and digested into a more manageable lump of fortitude, “At the count of three, everyone smile, pose, and shout, DIVA!!!”

The girls tossed their be-glittered hair in the wind, with feathered boas whipping ferociously around them like dragon-snakes searching ravenously for their next victim. A pall of anticipation befell them.

MDJ Superstar gathered his breath. In the distance, the shrill call of a lone wolf echoed through a morose sky.

“ONE… TWO… THREE… DIVA!!!”

The assembled ranks of the Underage Frilly Fashion Diva Princesses.

“Will you spare me?” MDJ Superstar intoned, his voice rasping slightly. “Will you allow me to go off to do Appropriately Manly Things such as having my car detailed or downloading scintillating pornography at Flesh Asia Daily 3.0?”

“We shall do no such thing,” squealed the horde of Fashion Diva Princesses. “We shall invite you to partake in some chocolate cake, and possibly even chicken fingers with us at TGIFriday’s, and watch us as we do our fashion walk-off on the High Holy Catwalk of Gaga!”

And so off they dashed to the nearby restaurant, filling the bar area with a throng of pink glitter and giggles.

Zarah is shocked at the ferocious torrent of Fashion Diva Princesses who filled the room with their demonic glitter-gear..

Within, a tall, sombre figure of imposing height towered above the crowd of 7-year old’s, her impassive stare reading into the very nooks and crannies of each of their souls. She was Carisse Escueta, and she knew what it meant to be a Fashion Diva Princess too.

Taking charge: Carisse, the High Holy Priestess of Gaga holds court over the Fashion Diva Princesses.

“Alright Fashion Diva Princesses,” she exclaimed, “Everybody line up on stage and get ready to vamp down the red carpet!”

Getting ready to own the catwalk.

A wild cheer emanated from the assembled ranks of the Diva Fashion Princesses. Catwalks and red carpets were completely familiar territory to them. They had, after all, absorbed every single episode of the last 18 seasons of America’s Next Top Model.

And off they vamped. They ramped, and they stamped. The red carpet was their dominion, and each other’s cheers and giggles were their fire.

“All right Divas,” thundered Carisse once the 19-strong contingent had completed its parade. “Let’s get the birthday girl Bea on stage, and we can have her blow out her candles!”

Getting ready to put out the Fashion Flames burning steadily on the Barbie birthday cake.

An uneven chorus of “Happy Birthday To You” broke out, serenading little Bea with love and appreciation. “Happy birthday, dear Bea… Happy birthday to you!”

And like a gracious duchess bidding thanks to a delegation of nobles, Bea mounted the stage with her beautiful, extremely curvaceous mother, and expressed her heart-felt emotions to her fellow Fashion Diva Princesses.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she purred. “I had so much fun, and hope you all did too!”

And swift as a lightning bolt, it was all over, a shower of warm applause washing over the birthday girl as laser-lights traced constellations around her.

“It was all worth it,” thought MDJ Superstar to himself, nodding with a fresh wave of understanding. “These girls live to diva. Viva la diva!”

Far above him, a single, flawless white dove took flight into the air.

Slowly, it sailed higher and higher into the sky, finally vanishing into a sparkling lake of molten gold as the sun beamed serenely down upon 19 newly-minted Fashion Diva Princesses.

World peace, muttered MDJ Superstar to nobody in particular. It was all about world peace.

The Birthday Girl.


*****

This epic two-part extravaganza is dedicated to two of the most perfect, wonderful, beautiful women in my life – the lovely, talented, and extremely voluptuous Zarah Hernaez, and her wonderfully charming little girl, Bea.

Madonna & Child.

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Categories Manly Man Manifesto, Personal, Relationships, Style

Part One: The Invasion of the Underage Frilly Fashion Diva Princesses

By MDJ Superstar
November 8, 2010 //
1

The following is a purely fictional Manly Man Manifesto retelling of the spectacular Fashion Diva party organized by Zarah for the 7th birthday party of her little girl, Bea, at Club Princess on Bonifacio High Street.

*****

“What terrors lie within this festering hellhole lined with glitters and faux fur, and stinking of Melondew and Vanilla?” MDJ Superstar asked himself, as he tentatively nudged open the lime green gates guarding the entrance to the no-man’s-land known as Club Princess.

A lamb about to enter the lion's den.

The intro riff of Justin Bieber‘s “Eenie Meenie“ shattered the air, their Satanic verses casting even more trauma upon MDJ’s already-straining manhood.

“AUGH!!! MY EYES!!!” MDJ screamed, falling to his knees as before him, a parade of fur-trimmed jelly loot bags forming their ranks. They sat menacingly upon the shelves, their gaping jaws lined with the blood of dead glitterkins.

Fur-trimmed lootbags lay in wait, their gaping jaws dripping with the blood of dead glitterkins.

Around him, jewel-colored wigs lined the walls, strange tokens perhaps from the legendary Eastern European War of the Supermodels, in all likelihood ripped from the scalps of Scandinavian fashion models as they lay bleeding to death on leopard-print throw rugs.

Trophies of the hunt.

“Ssssave us…” a trembling spectral whisper beseeched MDJ, as before him, slavering 7-year old Assumptionista girls submitted themselves to strange, unearthly manipulations and hairstyling rituals.

Club Princess torture scars.

MDJ let out an anguished wail, then whirled around in a panicked attempt to escape from the freakish practices surrounding him.

“You cannot leave, Superstar” growled the gaunt, haunted waif of a girl who manifested before him, the electric pink fur of a slaughtered snugglepuff trailing from her claws. “Not until you submit yourself to… the Royal Diva Treatment.”

The Spectral Guardian to Club Princess.

“But I cannot do it,” MDJ Superstar screeched. “My abundant pools of testosterone will not allow myself to be prostituted upon the Shrine of Lady Gaga! Just look at the horrors that are being inflicted upon these helpless little girls! The horror, oh, the horror!”

Another victim of the Cult of Gaga.

“Do not mock the Gaga,” intoned the sombre fleet of little girls who had somehow succeeded in barricading our brave, bemuscled Superstar from escaping the softly-perfumed interiors of Club Princess. “We are preparing for… a fashion pictorial.”

The horde of little girls freshly-subjected to the horrors of the Royal Diva Treatment.

“You win,” MDJ weakly murmured, his knees melting into a useless mess of potpourri. “I am helpless to resist the combined powers of Arch-Demon Bieber and the Hell Queen Gaga. Where do I begin?”

“Well,” the horde of little diva princesses piped up, “you can help us by organizing our poses for our fashion pictorial!”

“Very well,” sighed MDJ Superstar, his once-proud tenor having devolved into a weak slush of resignation. “You can start by taking your sparkly shades and jeweled boas, then lining up by height outside along Bonifacio High Street.”

The diva princesses preparing for their fashion pictorial posedown.

*****

Did MDJ Superstar survive the hellish ordeal about to be set upon him by the joined forces of the Satanic Bieber-Gaga union? Click here for Part Two, the spine-tingling conclusion of our horrific tale of fashion and frou-frou, only here on MDJSuperstar.com!

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Categories Manly Man Manifesto, Personal, Style
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