2028 ELECTION IS DO OR DIE FOR FILIPINOS

November 13, 2025

Like what the great action king Fernando Poe Jr. once said,
“Kapag puno na ang salop, dapat nang kalusin.”
And brother, this salop? It’s overflowing.

Not with rice, but with rage, rot, and receipts.
The kind of receipts that smell like floodwater and backroom deals.
The kind that scream “we’ve had enough.”
Look around. The floods ain’t just water. They’re warnings.

Divine memos from the Most High, soaking our sins,
drowning our silence.

Every submerged barangay, every rooftop rescue,
every mother clutching her child in waist-deep water
that’s not just climate change. That’s karma.

That’s what happens when trillions meant for flood control
vanish into the pockets of politicians
who build ghost projects and concrete dreams
that collapse at the first drop of rain.

And the people? They’re mad.
Not the kind of mad that trends on Twitter for a day.
I’m talking about the kind of mad that simmers in the gut.
The kind that remembers.
The kind that don’t forget who smiled for the cameras
while the streets turned into rivers and the poor turned into statistics.

But here’s the bitter pill: we can’t magic-wand our way out of this.
No fairy godmother’s coming. No Avengers.
No messiah in a barong. What we got is three years.

Three long, painful, flood-soaked, corruption-stained years.
And then 2028.

That’s the year. The fork in the road. The do or die.
The last call before the lights go out.
Because if we mess this up again,
if we vote with our stomachs instead of our souls,
if we fall for the same jingles, the same dynasties,
the same recycled promises then we ain’t just doomed.
We’re complicit.

So what do we do? We remember.
We remember the names on those SALNs that didn’t add up.
We remember the bridges that led nowhere, the dikes that broke,
the billions that disappeared.

We remember the kids who didn’t make it out of the floods.
We remember that “vote wisely” ain’t just a slogan it’s a survival tactic.

We do our homework. We analyze. We think.

We stop treating elections like a popularity contest
and start treating them like what they are

a battlefield for the soul of this country.

We vote not for who makes us feel good,
but for who makes sense.

We vote with our eyes open, our hearts clear,
and our fists clenched around the truth.

Because 2028 ain’t just another election.
It’s a resurrection. Or a requiem.
And the choice? It’s ours.

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Posted by rockwitralph

DUTERTE AND MARCOS MIGHT BE BOTH CORRUPTS

November 12, 2025

Let’s not kid ourselves. This ain’t a Marvel movie.
There’s no hero in a cape, no villain twirling a mustache.
Just two dynasties playing chess with the bones of the Filipino people.
Duterte. Marcos. Pick your poison.

One’s got a war on drugs soaked in blood,
the other’s got a flood control scandal that washed away billions
like it was loose change in a laundrymat.

And here we are, stuck in the middle, trying to figure out
which devil wears the smaller horns.

The fight ain’t about good versus evil.
That’s a bedtime story for the naïve.
The real question is: who’s the lesser evil?

And why the hell are we still choosing between two shades of rot?
Maybe I should thank social media. Maybe not.
It gave us memes, fake news, and TikTok historians rewriting Martial Law
like it was a beach vacation.

They said the internet would make us smarter. Wiser.
But here we are, still clapping like trained seals
for the same names that robbed us blind.

Still choosing sides like it’s a basketball game,
not a nation’s future.
You ever wonder why critical thinking’s on life support?
Why folks defend politicians like they owe them child support?
It’s because truth don’t trend. Outrage does. Loyalty does.
Lies dressed up in nostalgia and nationalism do.

And the truth? It’s buried under a mountain of sponsored posts
and algorithmic gaslighting.

But here’s the kicker: no matter who wins this political war
whether it’s the iron fist or the velvet glove
they both got graveyards in their closets.
Not skeletons. Graveyards.

Whole cemeteries of secrets, scandals, and sins.
And when the smoke clears, when the last man’s left standing, what then?

Another dynasty? Another decade of déjà vu?
We keep asking the wrong questions.
It ain’t about who’s cleaner.
It’s about why we keep drinking from the same poisoned well
and expecting to get healed.

The only side we should be on is the truth.
But truth don’t have a campaign jingle.
It don’t hand out rice during elections.
It just sits there, quiet, waiting for someone brave enough to listen.

So what’s next?
Maybe we stop worshipping names and start demanding answers.
Maybe we stop choosing sides and start choosing sense.
Or maybe we just keep dancing in this circus,
clapping for clowns while the tent burns down.
Your move, Pilipinas.

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Posted by rockwitralph

SALN Is the Snippet of a Politician’s Soul

November 12, 2025

You wanna know a politician’s truth?
Don’t listen to the speeches.
Don’t get hypnotized by the ribbon-cutting,
the handshakes, the crocodile tears during calamities.

Look at the SALN.

That little sheet of paper?

That’s the soul laid bare.
Or at least, the version they hope
you’re dumb enough to believe.

They can lie. They always do.

But the streets ain’t sleeping anymore.

The internet cracked the code.

Social media turned every jeepney driver,
sari-sari store owner, and tambay into forensic analysts.

You got folks with no Harvard diploma
but eyes sharper than switchblades.

And where’d they learn that? Not from textbooks.
Not from overpriced seminars.

They graduated from the University of Life
where the tests come first and the lessons slap you after.

So here’s a little memo to the politicians,
their advisers, their spin doctors,
and their damage control squads
 be very wary.

The people ain’t fools.
Maybe you’re just fooling yourself.
You think you can pad your assets,
hide your mansions behind shell corporations,
and no one’s gonna notice?

Think again.

The streets are watching.
The timelines are talking.

And the truth? It’s got receipts.

SALN ain’t just a form. It’s a confession.

A mirror. A map to the skeletons
you tried to bury under layers of legalese and PR glitter.

And the people? We’re digging.

They’re decoding.
They’re connecting dots like it’s a crime thriller and you’re the plot twist.

So next time you file that SALN, remember

it’s not just the Ombudsman reading it.

It’s the whole damn country.
And some of them got nothing to lose,
which makes them dangerous.

Which makes them honest.
Which makes them the kind of critics
you can’t silence with a press release.

Truth don’t need a title.
It just needs eyes.
And these days, the eyes are everywhere.

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Posted by rockwitralph

You Think Ghost Projects Are the Worst? Try Getting Sick in the Philippines

November 1, 2025

Everybody’s mad.
Flood control ghost projects?
Yeah, I’m mad too.
Mad like a jeepney stuck in EDSA at 5 PM
with no aircon and a driver who thinks he’s in Fast & Furious.
Billions gone.
Concrete poured into thin air.
Drainage systems that drain nothing but public trust.
We all got played.
Again.

But hold up.
Before we burn the whole DPWH to the ground (which almost does),
Can we talk about the real horror show?
The one that doesn’t need rain to drown you?
The one where ghosts don’t haunt you
 they invoice you?
Welcome to the Philippine health care system.
Where getting sick is a luxury.
Where hospitals look less like sanctuaries and more like casinos
Except here, the house always wins,
And you don’t even get free drinks.

The Real Ghost: Your Wallet
You walk into a hospital with a fever.
You walk out with trauma and a bill that looks like it was printed by the IMF.
Private hospitals?
They’ll treat you alright
 like a walking ATM.
Public hospitals?
Good luck finding a bed that isn’t shared with three other souls and a stray cat.
People ain’t scared of ghosts.
They’re scared of being robbed while dying.
Scared of being scammed while sedated.
Scared of being told, “Wala pong PhilHealth coverage yan,”

PhilHealth: The National Magic Trick
PhilHealth is like that ex who promises to change.
Every year, it swears it’s better.
Every year, it cheats again.
Premiums go up.
Coverage goes down.
And when you need it most?
Poof
 it disappears like a ghost project in a flood.

Hospitals or Hustlers?
Let’s be real.
The health care system is a cartel with stethoscopes.
You pay for the consultation,
Then pay again for the lab tests,
Then pay for the medicine,
Then pay for the room,
Then pay for the air you breathe —
And if you die?
Guess what?
Your family pays for that too.

The Irony of It All
We scream bloody murder over ghost projects.
We demand accountability.
We want names, receipts, resignations.
But when it comes to health care?
We whisper.
We endure.
We say, “Ganun talaga.”
As if suffering is a national sport.

So What Now?
I ain’t saying forget the ghost projects.
Hell no.
Let’s chase those ghosts with pitchforks and FOI requests.
But let’s not be so hypnotized by concrete scandals
That we ignore the flesh-and-blood robbery happening in our hospitals.
Because while ghost projects flood our streets,
The health care system is flooding our souls

With fear, debt, and quiet rage.

Final Word?
Ghost projects steal billions.
Hospitals steal dignity.
And between the two?
Only one makes you feel like dying is cheaper than surviving.

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Posted by rockwitralph

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