Picaresque Hero? Nah, you're just an asshole.

For a couple days now my dad has been bitching about an article he read in the Filipino news publication Likha. The article in question was written by Kevin Richardson (billed as “Canada Kev”)and titled “Trip to the Philippines: Part II” It is supposed to come off as a picaresque story of a Canadian on vacation in the Philippines. For those of you that don’t know what “Picaresque” means, it’s a type of story wherein the protagonist is a rouge or rascal. The story revolves around the adventures of that protagonist and these adventures are often meant to be humorous, and through the story the corrupted nature of a society the character exists in is exposed by our roguish hero of low social degree. More or less that’s what a picaresque story is, put that in your bag of ten dollar words and let’s move on.

…..Canada Kev’s adventure in the Philippine Islands is hardly the tale of a “hero” or “rascal” living by his wits. It’s the story of an elitist, polygamist-wishing, condescending cock-sucker who finds the Filipino way of life, the Filipino people, and their stereo-typed tendencies to be economical amusing and quaint. Amusing and quaint the way the village idiot is.

…..In the first paragraph of this article Richardson relates to the reader the story of his arrival. While a Philippine Customs Agent asks Richardson's wife for a tip in Tagalog, of which he is oblivious to because he never took the time to learn the language of the woman he married, Richardson follows his wife like an imbecile. Later, when a safe distance from the Customs agent, he asks his wife what the Customs agent had asked her. Here, showing his complete lack of testicular fortitude, Richardson writes from the safety of thousands of miles away:

“It’s a good thing that that Custom’s Agent did not ask me for a tip as I would have responded like any good Canadian should and would have said: Sure, I will give you a tip, don’t eat any yellow snow.”

Not only does Richardson show he’s a pussy by exhibiting his passive aggressive nature, he goes on to show that he’s an elitist as well:

“Since the fellow probably has never seen any snow in his lifetime the joke would no doubt been lost on him.”

Asshole.

…..In the second paragraph Richardson wastes no time in showing his superiority to his “boss”, I assume he means his wife, in a short but adequately obnoxious parenthetical mini-lecture on the semantics of the word “downtown”:

“I was impressed with the downtown (well I am now being told by the boss that the financial area is not downtown but of course all financial areas are downtown but what do I know?)”

.....Firmly establishing his position as an anal asshole, Richardson moves on to utilizing the cultural practices of some who follow Islam as a means of fulfillment for his sexual fantasy to partake in a ménage à cinq. Richardson writes:

“After a couple of hours there however, I had a very sore neck from looking left to right while watching all the pretty girls who invariably had beautiful long raven hair. I started thinking that perhaps a conversion to the Muslim faith might be an excellent idea due to the fact that Muslims are allowed four wives.”

Checking “Sexual Deviant” and “Islamic Fence-Sitter” off his list, Richardson moves on to the issue of women in the sentence that immediately follows. Richardson writes:

“However, I then started to think about all the increased nagging and added chores that wives inflict upon their poor husband’s and I dropped the idea, at least until I can solve the nagging question.”

…..By now you may be thinking, he’s attempting to be facetious, why are you being such an asshole? Maybe, and quite possibly he is. But a lot of truth is said in jest. And part of the truth here is that Richardson wrote what he thought and believed it enough to submit it for consideration of publication. I’m not about to begin a diatribe defending what I’m writing because, frankly, I don’t believe in pre-emptive jousting. It’s like masturbating. You want some o’ this? Write me. Moving on.

…..In true Sherlock Holmesesque fashion, and unbelievably still in the second paragraph, Richardson comes to the revelation that *gasp* the Philippines is full of Filipinos! He writes:

“But what really jumped out at me was that everyone was Filipino and there was very little with very little racial and cultural variety, unlike what one would see in Toronto whereby there are dozens of different races and cultures.”

I won’t even comment on that. That’s just stupid.

…..Paragraph three. Following Richardson, we are now in a Chinese food restaurant with his wife, and two sister-in-laws. This is where Richardson really starts rolling. First he slams San Miguel beer, “It is here that I had my first San Miguel beer although I wish that it had also been my last. No such luck.” Then, even worse, he starts to bag on his sisters-in-law about how they worry over what, in his opinion, is a small sum of money. He writes:

“…I learned that the Dy sisters (my sister in-laws) are not to be trifled with when it comes to money as they meticulously checked the bill, and after finding a few mistakes which were immediately corrected by the restaurant, we departed. Woe to the waiter or waitress that seeks to overcharge the Dy sisters…”

.....Of course he doesn't say they're cheap in so many words, but when you arrive at the end of the article he says something that drives that point home. (by the end of this you'll know what i mean.) At the end of the paragraph, Richardson must’ve realized he was being a prick, but instead of erasing the paragraph and starting over he attaches this short addendum, “And it had nothing to do with money as they kept refusing mine but rather it was a point of principle and respect.” So first he says, “…not to be trifled with when it comes to money…” then he says, “it had nothing to do with money.”

…..Paragraph four is where Canada Kev’s elitism comes into the equation. In this paragraph Richardson relates his delight by the fact that while his wife’s shopping bags are thoroughly searched upon entering various stores, his Murakami remains shouldered. You’re laughing, good. You know I’m joking. But I jest with a purpose, that being to show that Richardson’s elitism is so severe that is causes him to be blind. Of course they wouldn’t check him; he didn’t have a handbag, purse, fanny-pack, back-pack or a shoulder bag to check. If he truly thinks it was because he was North American, because he was White, he’s not only elitist but diluted as well.

…..Skipping paragraph five and six, as they are merely a retelling of the flight from Manila to the resort Island of Boracay and provide a dull recollection of Richardson lounging half-drunkenly returning the hellos of the resort staff, we reach paragraph seven. As I ate my breakfast of sausages and eggs while reading this article, Richardson proceeded to unzip his fly, expose his stubby cock and piss all over my plate. Here, in the last few paragraphs, we get what serves as the final picture Canada Kev wishes to paint of the Philippines for us.

…..A short synopsis is required. Essentially, Richardson rents a 250cc Honda motorcycle and takes it through the seven kilometers of Boracay. In his travels he meets, “Stray dogs, goats, and chickens [that] wander around aimlessly and [of which] he almost hit one or two of them.” No longer in the resort area of Boracay Island, Richardson is now in the part which he deems “the back of town”, the people “were not as engaging as those in the hotel or tourist area.” Well what the fuck do you expect? You expect them to be like those fuckers in Makati? You want them to lay down palms as you roar up and down their quiet streets with your loud bike and most likely equally loud Hawaiian shirt? Fuck you!

…..In the eighth and final paragraph Richardson takes a pot-shot the youth of the island. He writes:

“…having seen the same wet market and mangy dogs over and over again, a group of young kids around sixteen years of age tried to stop me… I was not about to take any chances. So I used a trick I learned many years ago and I proceeded to pretend that I was going to stop and I even nodded at them. They relaxed, sensing I was going to stop until I stomped on the gear changer and roared away leaving them dumbfounded and shouting: Hey! Stop! ”

They probably weren’t going to rob you, fuck0. They were probably going to kick your ass for going up and down the fucking street “at least a half of a dozen times” like a fucking asshole-tourist who thinks the street is his own personal fucking drag strip.

.....Not wanting to let the reader forget he’s an elitist asshole, Richardson ends his second instalment of his adventures in the Philippines with this:

“…I returned the motorcycle although the vendor would not give me a credit for the time not used. Sally (his wife) kept teasing about that but I would just laugh and say, big deal so I lost five Canadian dollars. Whoopee do!”

Picaresque hero? Nah, you’re just an asshole.