Another Thomas Hunt Update

Now that Thomas Hunt is dead and buried, the media spotlight has turned to Hunt's adulterous wife, Janelaze, and her lover Albert Dermott who are living in Virginia.

The Gold Star Daily has become All Janelaze All The Time now, as the story has moved on from the disrespected dead to the liable (and loutish) living, fueled by some huggy-kissy photos of Janelaze and Albert — and the happy halfwits astounding dyscalculia regarding the odds against them and a startling ignorance of knowing when to STFU.

A good old fashioned media chivaree has begun for the cohabitating couple: Evidence of Janelaze's green card fraud are on the front page (discovered online that she lied about having any children on her application), while behind the scenes expatriates are spending their days picking apart Albert's professional life with unmitigated glee.

One would think that this story wouldn't "have legs" at this point, but the crud that the expatriates are able to find in the darkest corners of the archives of the internet about Janelaze is gossip page gold, and it plays fantastically to both Filipino and expatriate sense of fair play and outrage at Janelaze's poor sportsmanship and lack of morals. Quite simply, Janelaze and Albert are an execrable couple, easy to despise. (The Songcuya family's laughable assertions that Albert is "the husband of a friend of Janelaze", and that Janelaze was a good wife and working hard to support the erstwhile victim of her affections, Thomas, adds a poo-flavored coating to the whole sordid story.)

In reality, that information wouldn't be enough though: The world is filled with human turds such as Janelaze and Albert. Everybody knows this, and normally people just mutter "assholes" in regard to their type, and get back to their own lives. However, behind the scenes (out of the news stories), Janelaze and Albert are meeting the accusations against them with an endless stream of vituperative e-mails chock full of threats of violence, name calling, and I-dare-you goading of all comers. These two twits seem to have an endless supply of matches to rival the Gold Star's supply of expatriate-supplied gasoline, ensuring that a the fire continues to burn and the public is served yet another piping-hot chapter of Janelaze The Bitch every day.

The goal obviously is to get Janelaze kicked out of the United States after she used a poor old man — and bankrupted him, and then discarded him, even as he lay dying — to get a green card to live in America. I'm fairly confident that that effort will eventually succeed, given the tenacious traits that her antagonists have shown up to this point.

While the campaign to ruin her lover Albert is born out of spite, his loudmouthed threatening and grandstanding e-mails... promising a shadowy doom on all who dare cross him... puts the blame for his coming woes squarely on his own shoulders: The more he arrogantly postures and adumbrates his revenge on the people who are devising ways to make him miserable, the more happily and zestfully those people fuck with him.

All in all, this is the kind of story that can just keep going to its bittersweet conclusion: The deceitful, conniving, and villainous woman and her dumb, detestable, attack-dog sidekick lover wind up in a perpetual misery, wails of frustration falling on deaf ears while the credits roll, and the ghost of a hapless-yet-vindicated old man gazes down on it all with a look of forlorn satisfaction.

(p.s. I'm thinking about coining a new word in honor of Albert Dermott: It will be the verb "to dermott". It will be defined as "engaging in an uncontrollable urge to shoot one's mouth off or talk trash even with the knowledge that it will only lead to more problems for oneself." To use it in a sentence: "Why do you have to go in there and dermott with your boss when he is already mad at you?")

Funny Little Boy Albert Dermott

Albert Dermott (the mouth-breathing doofus of Thomas Hunt / Grace Songcuya / Janelaze Songcuya fame) has been visiting my blog and leaving anonymous comments, pretending he is... I don't know... some Filipino nationalist who hates expatriates and is out to get me or something like that. I've been deleting the comments, as there is no point in upsetting my mother. (They're dumb anyway. If Albert should suddenly become halfway amusing or intelligent... I know: Unlikely... I'll post them.)

Albert: You're up rather late... 3:18 a.m. Did you finally lose your job or what?

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UPDATE:

I changed the name of this post from "Funny Little Boy" so that this post will rank higher up on Google when people (i.e., Albert's prospective employers) do a search for "Albert Dermott". I wonder how devastating it is to a guy's job prospects and professional life when almost every hit that Google dishes up on that person talks about what a louse he is?

See? This is a perfect example of somebody dermotting themselves. I would probably have never mentioned Albert Dermott's name again in my life after I last wrote about him 2 weeks ago... but now a whole new round of fun is starting up. My e-mail inbox had 3 letters in it this morning from regular readers who plan to start fucking with Albert again after reading this post. Looks like Jakal in the comments section (a seriously spooky guy) wants to get in on the fun too.

Daily Report: Providence, Florida

Mom and Paul took me shopping today at the Ellenton outlet mall up past Sarasota. They wanted to buy Epril and me some plates for our apartment (for when Epril arrives, when we get our own place; Mom already has a storage locker filled with utensils, appliances, and more).

We were walking through the Corning outlet store when this fellow comes up to me, and says, "Don't you write a blog about The Philippines?"

Now this happened to me a couple of times when I was living in Pattaya, writing about Pattaya. It didn't ever happen in CDO that I can recall. But to have it happen in a random store in a random outlet mall in a random city in Florida is borne of fantastic odds: I figure I have perhaps a couple thousand regular readers worldwide. To run into somebody who knows me — especially outside of the locales about which I normally write — is simply amazing.

Anyway, Albert (this fellow) and his wife Debbie introduced themselves to me and my mother (Paul was off shopping for new shoes) and we chatted for about 15 minutes. Debbie's brothers live in Cagayan De Oro. Albert told me all about the large Filipino Cultural Center up in Tampa, and how to stay in touch. Nice folks who are actually not from Florida and normally live up in New York State.

On the way home, Mom, Paul, and I stopped and did some window shopping at The Salvation Army. Frankly, I was amazed at the furniture they had. Up North, The Salvation Army store selection has always been exactly what you expect: Furniture that has gone almost past its functional and useful and aesthetic lifespan, seen 15 or 20 years of spilled drinks, rambunctious kids... to be succinct: visibly used.

Here in Florida, with a large portion of the community over the age of retirement, it's a different matter entirely. Here in Florida, many — if not most — people don't donate their furniture to the Salvation Army because it is being replaced with something new; instead, they are parting with often-almost-new furniture as they move off to a nursing home or, sadly, a cemetery. In addition, the number of donations here, by dint of these same demographic realities, are substantially higher than in any other place, so the selection here is much more substantial.

The Salvation Army isn't the only place to shop for furnishings either: There's a huge consignment place called King Solomon's Treasure right next door to The Salvation Army that is the size of a department store, and two more used furniture places down the road a little way. Don't forget estate sales and the classifieds either. Based on what I saw, you could easily kit out an entire 2-bedroom apartment in tasteful, almost-new furnishings worth many thousands of dollars for less than $1,500... and that includes the pots and pans and mattresses and curtains and bedsheets and artwork on the walls.