First of all, I'll have to thank my cousin (who shall only be called Shawie) for getting me into all sorts of events, most enjoyable of which are the ones that involve celebrities of the hot and female kind. I'll also have to thank my bigger sponsors (being Pony footwear). Please keep buying Pony, good people of the planet, so you can keep sending me to events and slowly buy me a place in hell. Remember that you can help this aspiring DOM further develop his dirtiness, oldness and manliness, and at the same time wear stylish and comfortable shoes (I can get discounts for those interested).

Anyway, thanks to Shawie and Pony, I just crashed Pump magazine's launch party. For those who don't know yet, Pump is the new men's magazine from former FHM Philippines editor-in-chief Eric Ramos. Lad rags have been proliferating in the country of late, and FHM is largely regarded as the one that started it all here. Mr. Ramos held the helm for FHM from its inception (early 2000) to late last year, and if anything, we can expect him to turn out content of more or less the same quality with the self-published Pump magazine. Surely, this guy should know what he should be doing by now. With a somewhat unchallenged status, FHM is still considered to be the market leader, largely because the other magazines cannot seem to come up with the same marketable balance of eye-catching photos and readable content (they somehow confuse pretense for good taste and bad taste for mass appeal). Having read the first issue, I sincerely hope Eric Ramos succeeds with his vision with Pump, as it is a very welcome addition to my monthly magazine catalog.

I got to the NBC tent rather early, alone because nobody wanted to use my extra pass. It wasn't early enough, apparently, because all the free food had already disappeared. I had to content myself with weaving through the sparse crowd until I settled by the Pony booth where my uncle was monitoring the promotional goings-on. The security at the venue was handled by volunteer URCC (Universal Reality Combat Championship) and Mad Dog Motorcycle Club members. I had flashes of the Rolling Stones' Altamont incident where they made one of rock music's most infamous decisions by hiring the Hell's Angels for crowd control (paid in beer), resulting in several casualties. Surprisingly though, the security was not as strict and I found my way backstage easily.

It seemed that other people also came to the same conclusion, finding their way not only backstage but into the media pit as well, with some even making themselves comfortable on parts of the stage... it was something of a miracle that the show went on relatively smoothly.

I had to watch the show backstage, where the projector rendered my view of the proceedings vertically flipped. The show began with a URCC exhibition match, with flavor commentary courtesy of Jackie Forster. Sports commentary isn't one of her strong suits, apparently, because she was openly rooting for one of the combatants (who she said was her boxing coach). Her coach won the ten-minute two-round match bloodlessly, but no thanks to her frequent inciting. I eagerly watched as the combatants went through a variety of animalesque interlockings. I guess watching sweaty half-naked men homoerotically grapple is ok as long as they are beating each other up.

After a game sponsored by Miller, ably facilitated by hosts Paolo Abrera and ClubTV's Laura Jean, a newbie singer named April took the stage but left almost at once owing to some difficulties with the CD player, which played her backing track with skips. The new novelty girl-group Hot Tsikz then followed, and if there was a moment for me to be thankful about a skipping CD player, it was then. It was also a lucky detail that the defective CD player kept skipping forward, pushing their lip syncing turn to a quicker finish. April got back to the stage after the Pony-sponsored game, with a rendition of either a Beyonce or Gwen Stefani song (incidentally the other performers' tracks of choice as well).

I also watched pogi rock band of the moment Hale from my reversed vantage point, turning out five songs in their set. By this point, I was already going up to the different celebrity performers for jolog photo-ops, and not surprisingly, other people were also angling for them photo-ops, usually opening with 'Excuse me, can I have picture?'

Covergirl Chynna Ortaleza then did her dance number, which was not unlike her regular SOP numbers. She expertly avoided the photo-op seekers (we are an annoying bunch after all), but having developed a precision for jolog photo-ops from the last five FHM parties, I waited by the exit like a sniper and got my shot in under three seconds.

Other notable performers included ABS-CBN regulars Cherry Lou and Jenny Miller, who almost started a riot during her solo turn when she went down to the audience. The show got scarily stalled a good five minutes after her performance to clear the stage of people. With the crowd somewhat dulled by the security sweep, Desiree del Valle was then introduced as the magazine's next covergirl to mixed reactions, and it should be to her credit that she still turned out a gracious performance. Ella V and Myles Hernandez, popular Viva Hot Babes (and Pump columnists), then put out a crowd pleasing dance number, followed by a musical performance courtesy of fellow Hot Babe Sheree.

The party was closed by a lingerie fashion show, featuring two of Pump's less famous pinups. I couldn't care less for this segment, having already had a good selection of photos taken with the more popular guests, but the crowd roared appreciatively. I settled by the exit where I watched the fashion show director tensely bark out directions amidst a large gathering of people who, like me, shouldn't have been there, but unlike me, had more imposing presences.

With a lungful of secondhand smoke, I decided to call it a night and head home, worried somewhat about the next day's planned rally. Another lad rag party crashed, another good set of photos... all in the life of an aspiring DOM, really. Please keep on buying Pony footwear, good folks.

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