In the realm of vlogs, a character arose, Maharlika, with ambition that glows. 

At Marcos’ side, she hoped to bask, In the warmth of power, a lavish task.

But fate had other plans in store, Ambition crushed, she sought for more. 

With bitterness, her heart turned purple, Launching attacks, her words a gurgle.

She spins tales like a master weaver, Concocting stories, a deceiving fever. 

A fly on the palace wall, she claims to be, Yet truth is obscured, for all to see.

Cristy Fermin, watch out in shame, For Maharlika’s craft is not a game. 

Respected journalists, beware her sway, For fakery thrives in her display.

Oh Maharlika, the vlogger queen, In a world of deceit, you reign supreme. But truth will triumph, in the end, And your facade, it will surely bend.

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In a twisted symphony of chaos, Baguio’s Burnham Park witnessed a traffic apocalypse that would make Dante’s Inferno look like a Sunday stroll. 

Picture this: the once serene bicycle lanes, touted as the epitome of leisurely joyrides, transformed into a gridlocked nightmare. Cyclists, more stationary than mobile, pedaled furiously in place, their dreams of scenic spins dashed by the cruel hands of congestion.

Amidst the pandemonium, bewildered kids, promised a day of carefree exploration, found themselves stranded on motionless bikes, their excitement throttled by the iron grip of standstill traffic. 

Frustrated parents, voices echoing with disillusionment, demanded refunds from bewildered vendors, lamenting their folly of choosing Burnham Park over the local gymnasiums where stationary bikes abound.

In this dystopian saga, the country’s summer capital became the unwitting stage for a tragicomedy of errors, where the promise of leisure collided head-on with the harsh reality of traffic turmoil. 

As the wheels of progress ground to a halt, one couldn’t help but wonder: perhaps a stroll through the park would have sufficed after all.