Zab

I'm writing about Zab because he told me to and you know how he's KSP like that. Ehem, ehem.

Zab.

Zab is my friend because, unfortunately, since Justin had to deal with him for ten years, it also means I have to do the same thing for about the next remaining years of my life. The only 2 things we have in common is we both have strange names and we're both wise asses.

I thought about him the other day when I saw this sleek black Ford Explorer bearing the plate number ZAB 234 right cruising along Edsa beside an uglier and older vehicle with PWE 946 written behind it. Yes, my friends, this sums up what I know of Zab, he's really masungit. Like he's having Toxic Shock syndrome from some huge tampon that's stuck up his ass. (ganda ng onomatopeia ko no?)

But really, it's only because he couldn't care less about other people if you didn't care to know him back. It's like a reverse psychology KSP thing he invented mixed with your typical A-boy superiority complex. So, thank God I made the first move (Um, Zab, masungit ka ba talaga?). And it was the start of a beautiful friendship filled with insults and comebacks, and 3 hours worth of frozen lime-flavored margaritas.

P.S. Zab don't kill me.