Sara Duterte’s knack for attending wakes has become her defining act of “public service”—a gesture of deep, if performative, sympathy. Whether comforting grieving families or dodging legislative hearings, her commitment to the art of pakikiramay knows no bounds.
Recently, her own staff have found themselves metaphorically six feet under, grilled by lawmakers over the alleged misuse of her office’s confidential funds.
But worry not, the vice president’s sympathy flows abundantly, even for the living dead—her loyal aides who valiantly sacrifice their reputations and careers to shield their unyielding boss.
It’s almost poetic: as Sara mourns the dearly departed, she also mourns the erosion of accountability, burying transparency alongside those pesky legislative inquiries.
Why face the living when the dead offer no rebuttal? Perhaps she believes in reincarnation—of trust, of loyalty, or of missing funds. For now, Sara’s strategy seems clear: sympathy is free, accountability is not.
Ah, Maurizio Cattelan’s Comedian—the pinnacle of human achievement, where the humble banana transcends its destiny as a smoothie ingredient and becomes high art.
A banana duct-taped to a wall has once again proven that the art world operates on a different plane of reality. $6.24 million for a perishable fruit! At that price, I hope it comes with a lifetime supply of potassium and a guarantee that it won’t ripen before the auction paperwork is signed.
But the real question isn’t why someone paid millions for it—it’s whether it’s the same banana. Are we witnessing the banana of 2019’s fame, preserved like some Dorian Gray of fruit? Or has it been replaced, secretly, like a museum’s centuries-old tapestry? If so, is this fraud? Or just… performance art?
Perhaps the duct tape is the true star, holding not just the banana but the fragile thread of our collective sanity together.
The Adobo Chronicles 
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