Remember Roy King Cobra? No you don’t, because you only read about overpriced lampposts, and overpriced computers, and minimum wage increases, and the Ban-Tal traffic and those other stories that “really matter.” You don’t have time for topics that have to do with the ubiquitous snake, unless one happens to be holding a public office.

I always have time for things that speak of my deepest fears. And snakes top the list. If I get caught between a relative’s ghost and a dead python, I’d run to the ghost anytime for help. If hell exists, it must be a room full of these scaly, limbless, elongate reptiles slithering through every orifice in a condemned man’s body. Snakes are enough reason to do good on earth.

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The PNP organization has issued a memorandum to all its units nationwide that police officers must don the Santa Claus outfit when on duty, especially when doing raids and patrols. The PNP believes criminals behave like children at the sight of jolly old Santa: instead of running away from the authorities, they run towards them expecting toys rather than warrants of arrest.

Made as basis for the order was a study done by the PNP’s Department of Yuletide Criminal Behavior, an agency so top secret that it doesn’t exist. It says that in the weeks covering the Christmas season, criminals acting like children also act like bulls in their attraction to the color red. The only difference is that unlike that of a bull’s, a criminal’s attraction to red is friendly.

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WHILE you were busy guessing the name of the next typhoon, or whether Jack Jakosalem deserved to be the next Ernie Baron, the rest of the world was holding conferences everywhere on an issue that is of greater universal significance: the toilet.

Last Thursday in Seoul, the World Toilet Association held its first major gathering to voice out its disappointment that governments are not giving “the matter of defecation as much attention” as hair care and halitosis.

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I will have to be honest with you here, dear readers, and I trust you to keep my secrets safe in your hearts. So don’t pass this around.

I have a severe case of identity crisis such that I avoid carrying with me things that will cast doubt about my gender. I’m talking about umbrellas. I can’t think of a more feminine item, except navel rings, and of course skinny jeans — that pair of pants made from “ultra comfortable girdle fabric” that slims a woman’s thighs, lengthens her legs, lifts her buttocks and promises to make her look 15 pounds thinner.

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WHEN we were kids, little toughies in the neighborhood, flowers symbolized everything boys were not. Flowers were a girl thing. We didn’t want to be seen near anything that resembled a petal or smelled sweet.

Once, my friends followed me to the backyard, worried if I was out to gather gumamelas, only to find out, to their relief, that I was sniffing lomboy leaves to check if they were dried enough for smoking. Flowers separated us from the girls and we were careful not disturb this delicate balance of nature.

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