Today everybody love Rodrigo Duterte when only yesterday they lined up to have the honor of cutting off his tongue and throwing it down the sewers where, they said, it belongs.
And so the rush to Davao these past weeks. Dust biters in the last elections turning in their yellow coats for plaid shirts. Cash cows collecting paybacks. School chums, boyhood pals, blood kin, Uzi pards carrying armfuls of bios and resumes for possible slots in the new dispensation. Campaign tinkerers, stringers, gofers, rah-rah boys cadging for a slice of the victory pie.
Not to forget God’s Anointed One, unabashly self-proclaimed, who raised a hell of a tantrum when not allowed to pay homage to the Elected One. Peace Pipe has been smoked though.
For sure the gang were all there at that breezy mountain resort whooping it up after ma’am Henrieta’s PPCRV had finished counting showing Rodrigo Duterte with a runaway win. No happier place anywhere else on the planet.
No gloomier place, however, than at Egay’s barbershop that day Time’s cover boy ‘The Punisher’ whupped the rich mom’s son, the amgirl and the little dark man.
On June 30, 2016, Rodrigo Duterte will be sworn in as the country’s new President (and if you haven’t notice, he is already running the show.) He will be wearing his signature plaid shirt, denim pants and soft shoes, without socks, unless he changes his mind, again.
Maruya will be served at the Inaugural reception and this early the supplier could be thinking of branding the popular street snack Maruya ni Rody, getting a patent, building a consortium of investors and setting up franchises all over. Don’t giggle but an IPO and a listing at the PSE could also be in the dreamworks.
The Duteristas, as ma’am Chit adoringly calls them, will have an Inaugural bash, no matter how the pr guys are billing it as ‘simple lang,’ while the hangers-on at Egay’s barbershop continue to bash their heads figuring out why things turned out the way they shouldn’t.
George, the ‘Professor’ is shocked at the way Rodrigo Duterte peppered his election campaign with spiels scrounged from the Payatas dumpsite. For his brashness, Rodrigo Duterte was commended as being ‘authentic.’ Hailed a ‘genius’ even for blustering the ‘ublusterables.’ Thank heavens there is Sir Leandro Coronel who says it’s simply ‘bad manners.’
Taxicab barker Buting is also shocked at Rodrigo Duterte for joining the cussing competition at the palengke, even out’putang-ina’ hands down the fish and vegetables vendors who thought they were the best in the game. Buting recalls being slapped, hard on both cheeks, by his mother every time, and there have been lotsa times, he had cussed. He also recalls being poked at the nose ( only his mother could love) and told that calling his pal’s mother a whore is calling his own mother also a whore.
Buting now groans seeing women scramble to hug and kiss Roldrigo Duterte as he embellishes his pronouncements with the no-no cuss then but now the Pambansang Mura.
Barber Egay is perplexed but nonetheless shocked at Rodrigo Duterte’s verbal turnarounds, like when he flip-flopped on whether he will or will not run for President, when he cursed The Pope and later said he was not cussing Francis but the traffic mismanagement, when he said he will deal with the China problem this way one day, then another way another day, then daring the Chinese to shoot him as he jet skis toward the disputed islands, when he wormed around the backlash from is infamous rape joke, among other acrobatic mouthings.
People could have just dismiss him as just a stand up comic but 16 millions souls say he is their knight in shining armor
Ancient Amang, ever the wise man, chuckles that Rodrigo Duterte, in his own words, is just ‘taking (us) for a ride.’
A bloody ride it is turning to be and Amang is shocked at the increasing number of persons being killed daily. Amang says it’s not his itch whether the killings are right or wrong. He can only asks if those who do the killings are comfortable with the blood of those they have killed on their hands.
The way to do it to save the poor policemen from ending up with after-killing nightmares, says the fat lady who rumples the newly-trimmed hair of her son, is to line up the 50, 100 or the thousand wayward pharmacists at the Luneta every month and have the sanctimonious one who tags them for killing do the killing himself.
That wouldn’t be shocking anymore, says the fat lady as she leads her son through the door, but it would dandy be awesome!