The Ultimate Guide to Tombstone Fonts

You can live forever, but in case you don’t, here’s a few of the overly used tombstone fonts and what they say about you.


Ah yes. Times New Roman. You may be the type that believes that technology will take over and be the cause of mankind’s utter destruction. You’re a classic, old soul (badum-tss) and you enjoy watching The Goonies, listening to Tears For Fears, and you probably go boxing on your free time when you’re not too busy playing sick chords on your electric guitar.


You probably work in a large, local company at Ayala Avenue, working a middle management role where you have been complacent with steady bi-annual salary increases, multiple bonuses and your boss being away half the time.


You are a stuck up old woman, divorced from her husband of 20 years with two children who may or may not like you very much. But you have a stellar career of 30+ years and enjoy traveling for work and meeting new people in posh events chuck full of important people.


You probably didn’t choose your tombstone font, and your partner, friends and family didn’t care as much about it because they were completely grief-stricken in your passing. You were a middle child, people often think you are naturally independent and they would have never imagined you dead (or never gave you a place in their thoughts too much).


You are photographer who wears black all the time and has nice, expensive clothes and don’t have to tell anyone how great you are at what you do. They just know.


You are extremely organized, can be seen as a total bitch sometimes, but little do they know you would die (pun intended) for Ozzy Osbourne and the most recent fad in Pop Rock (because there’s literally nothing else to listen to).


You have a lot of notebooks, and at the backs of those notebooks are a number of “different” signatures that all look the same. You like Hemingway, and people like to be around you when they want to do something new (aka boring).


Really, Arial?! Okay, your nothing but a shell of a person. Probably started a few businesses in office equipment that failed. You’re really boring the shit outta me. Go fuck yourself.

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4 Reasons Why The Walking Dead’s (Really) Dead to Me

I was starting to feel that the roller-coaster ride that was AMC’s The Walking Dead‘s seasons 3-6 was going to be all loopedy-loops from then on. My friends and family were losing interest in what could be one of the best zombie apocalypse stories on the small screen, and I was thinking to myself – why am I still holding on?

Then came the finale of season 6, where TWD has betrayed me once more by leaving me hanging on a first person’s POV of being fucked in the head by a baseball bat laced with barbed wire.

What. The. Fuck. 

Those were my last words, staring at my reflection on the screen of my laptop while the bloodcurdling sound of flesh torn away by Lucille filled my girlfriend’s (@chimaap everywhere) bedroom. Then I knew what The Walking Dead was now: it wasn’t a TV series, it was a cheap goddamn joke.

Now at season 7, I’ve decided that I will only see the first episode, see who died, and if I still want to watch, then so be it. Because its easier to quit smoking 10 years, than quitting this show cold-turkey. So after suffering through episode 1, here are 4 reasons why I’m closing the (comic) book on The Walking Dead, forever.

TWD has morphed from apocalyptic drama to unbearable, shitload-of-torture drama. The gory details of cruelty of The Walking Dead‘s seasons past were easy to sweep under a rug as most of the time this actually gives way to further improve the story, or develop a certain character – but this time whether it be the first Glenn Rhee (almost) death, the cliffhanger of the 6th season finale, the 20-minute wait before our questions are answered and Negan bashes Abraham’s skull, they all felt like just schemes to promote #HYPE(insert baseball bat emoji here). The episode even added suspense when Rick was told to chop off Carl’s arm. This wasn’t a story, it was just blind, horrific violence.

Season 7 Episode 1 has projected the whole show as a hollow shell of television material. I’m not one to be against violence on TV (I’ve gone through all Game of Thrones Episode 9s and this), but TWD‘s season 7 premiere went beyond the boundaries of quality storytelling, and some of its fans’ limits as well. It begins its last few chapters as bits and pieces of its protagonists are hanging by the barbed teeth of a baseball bat (and scattered onto the ground). I mean think about it:

Rick depositing the contents of his sinuses and salivary glands all over himself to depict utter helplessness,

The facial contortion of Maggie to an expression of anguish and devastation,

Abraham’s death decidedly becomes a fake-out, and Glenn was murdered in the worst possible way.

these are tactics employed in horror films that are ended in 2-3 hours, not in a TV series opening its seventh season. Oh and the cherry on top:

Glenn’s skull barely holding on to his eyeball as he tries to be coherent with his final words.

TWD apparently has nothing but utter scorn for its viewers. Okay, okay, maybe it’s just a stupid zombie series, and gore together with cheap deaths are part and parcel of how these shows entertain, but it used to have really awe-inspiring storytelling and character development. Now we have nothing but shallow characters destined to die, and a show that pretends to be artful and bold.

Context is and always will be everything. Given the history of this TV production where sick amounts of blood are obviously sick CGI skills, its pretty surprising how the shots of Glenn’s murder was nothing but outrageous, and totally off-character. It’s not difficult to see that this as yet another example of bullying the audience’s emotions to get a cheap reaction. I mean, I was already expecting half-pregnant Maggie to be killed off just as brutally, or actually have to watch while a father divides his son’s arm in two with an axe.

JUST RESPECT YOURSELF MORE AND JUST SHOOT TWD IN THE HEAD. If there were any time to say no to this series – to exercise your will not just a viewer but as a human being – that time is now. Actually, it was 4 nights ago. We all witnessed a psychopathic display of cruelty and contempt, all for the attempt to confirm allegiance and submission to the show that is The Walking Dead.

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A Open Letter to my Older Girlfriend

Now that you’ve reached another milestone in your life I’d really like to cut the crap and tell you that its not going to get better. Its going to get harder to understand why the things are what they are, and what the hell is wrong with each other sometimes. Issues are going to get rougher: paychecks will seem impossible to budget, time won’t always be around, and compromise is going to be harder to achieve.

Our metabolism won’t help – we’re going to gain more weight, feel more sluggish and make us feel like we need to give up on life entirely. Our families won’t be the most cooperative (as they sometimes are) and we’ll feel that the only thing holding our life together are the very beings that is us, together.

There are many more worthy of mentioning but it won’t be appropriate in an open letter. All I’m saying is that the rest of your life won’t be the best. But as long as you keep on keeping on, every single piece of shit flung your way by the bitch that is life will be easy to clean. Don’t give up. Keep fighting.

I love you. Last surprise na ‘to.



Three Words: Nitrogen. Gelato. Liquid. (Not In That Order)

Outre Manila from Vincent Clarke on Vimeo.

We are in the era of the hipster, where customised VSCO filters and everything that doesn’t conform is now considered ‘cool’ to some extent. Not that the hipsters care.

I’m quite the ice cream (see: #thisiswhyimfat), and would never pass on the occasional gelato. And even more occasional, the liquid nitrogen kind. So it was a complete bummer when I had a bad stomach (also read: lactose intolerant) that day when I joined my girlfriend for a meeting at the (sorta) newly-opened Outré Manila. OUTRÉ, quite literally translates to ‘strange’, or ‘unusual’, and damn straight there isn’t anything usual in this restaurant in Circuit Makati. Fronting their store are three tanks of liquid nitrogen used to create gelato, like it was straight out of one of Breaking Bad’s outtakes – creates the right kind of excitement for the process, and not just the finished product.

It looked like a labor of love because its prepared on demand. Their bestsellers Milo Dinosaur (a robust coffee-chocolate flavor) and Happy Sally (salty-sweet caramel) look amazing and most of all, worth it. Both are priced P160. Moving on to the food that we actually ate, my first thought looking at the menu was “this better be fucking blow-my-brains-out awesome”.

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Potato Wedges / Sour Cream + Sweet Chili Sauce Combo *thumbs up emoji* *thumbs up emoji* *thumbs up emoji*

I now believe that this is the ONLY way I can enjoy sour cream without completely retching. Sweet chili sauce. Who knew? I knew who didn’t…me.

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Bulgogi Cheese Steak Sanger #BOMB

Sanger  is basically Australian slang for a sandwich. And man, I’d really like to go in a reality warp and become this sandwich, mate. The Korean sling to it was pretty awesome. But for P235? Maybe it would be even more awesome if it wasn’t too pricey.

The next time I’ll be around Circuit Makati, I’d give the Wombok Salad and the 6-Hour Beef Ragu Fettuccine a go.


What My Mother Taught Me About Being A Father

My mother wasn’t a single mother. she was married to my stepfather as long as I can remember. When father’s day came every year, we gave our stepdad cards, and presents to celebrate him as if he was the loving parent he occasionally portrayed.

My sister and I knew better.

Very rarely do we experience moments of thoughtful father, and grown more used to his unreasonable fury: the man that used to choke me at the slightest mistake, or call my sister names whenever she did something wrong. He was the man that doesn’t respect my grandmother (his mother-in-law), obviously preferred his true-born sons, and received tokens of appreciation every year to orchestrate the illusion of a relatively normal family. 

I somehow recall a father’s day card that stood out from the rest, the letter praised of the lessons I learned from him, I signed my name with my heart in my throat as I feared what he would think of this complete bullshit. I knew with all the cells in my body that I wasn’t writing for him. I was writing for my mother. 

My mother was never on the receiving end of his dagger. The nights that the pain was enough not to let me sleep, she chose to turn away. Although that was a fact, she taught me more about being a father than my stepdad ever could. 

My mother taught me about true dedication, thinking more about other’s first than herself. I learned that a father’s duties didn’t stop at financial stability and discipline. Just like how a mother’s responsibility didn’t stop her children’s births. Yes my stepdad put food on the table, paid off our schooling, but it was my mom who kept the house a home as much as she could, she planned birthday parties and decorated the house for special occasions, going above and beyond so that her brood would feel as special as she believed them to be. She was there when we won, and when we had important losses. 

My stepdad was only there to exist. It was my mom that taught me that a father should be understanding, attentive, and most of all, present. And she was present enough for the both of them.

My mom is the reason why I believe in true love. She never once let us feel that we weren’t worthy of her hard work, or patience (especially when we fucked up the worst way that we could). Even at her most livid anger, she reminded us that her love was endless and forgiving. There was nothing we could do to lose it.

My father loved us, but only when it was convenient for him. My mother taught me that a father’s love should be constant, as her’s was constant enough for the both of them. 

My mother taught me about respect. That it was truly earned and not forced or taken. My father demands respect. My mom survived without it. 

When I felt like nothing, my mother made me feel like I could be everything. I could only wish that I could be that person for her as much as she was for me. 

Thank you mom, I love you, and Happy Father’s Day.

If You Want To Art, Do It in the Park.

ART IN THE PARK started around 2006, and since then, they’ve put together a plethora of galleries, independent art spaces/collectives, and art schools for the one of (if not the most) the more affordable art fairs in the Philippines.

I remember going with my grandmother at the first Art In The Park. Back then, I didn’t really get it (I can’t say I do now, but I better appreciate it, I guess), fast forward to 10 years later (!!!), I’d say it was a visually bountiful experience.

I’m going to let me videos and photos speak for themselves (all mine, if you want them to be taken down, please email:

IMG_3187 from Vincent Clarke on Vimeo.

PAINTINGS AT “ART IN THE PARK” from Vincent Clarke on Vimeo.

OTHER ARTWORK AT “ART IN THE PARK” from Vincent Clarke on Vimeo.

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I take pretty cool Instagram photos, I got pretty cool GIFs at PHHHOTO.

I sing too. Check out my cover of Zayn’s PILLOWTALK here now.

Game of Thrones Opens The Door to a Whole New Level of Heartbreak



You had twice the warning on the spoilers past this point, so I don’t want to hear that I’m a total #CuntyMcCuntface for writing this.

I have mixed thoughts on the episode that marked halftime on 2016’s run of the HBO hit series, Game of Thrones, titled ‘The Door’.


Sansa Stark grows a pair of ovaries after 5 and half-long seasons, and stands up for herself for the first time with Littlefinger. It was pretty awesome seeing Petyr Baelish quiver, but he does something at the end of the scene that makes me think that maybe budding Wonder Woman Sansa will be short-lived.


We are all so ready to ship #Torienne (#Briemund?), but since Sansa sends Brienne of Tarth out questing for her uncle, Brynden “The Blackfish” Tully, and his supposed army to back her claim of Winterfell, it doesn’t look like there’ll be any developments on Brienne’s lovelife anytime soon, unless she runs into the Kingslayer, Jamie Lannister, on her way to the South.


Non-blind Arya Stark continues stick-fighting at The House of Black and White, and Jaqen H’ghar decides it may be time for her to move into another phase of the course – actually trying to kill someone. Its clear that this is little Arya’s last chance, its either Lady Crane’s or her face on the wall. She meets Lady Crane on a spying sesh backstage of the theater (that by the way, was pretty entertaining), decides she is a pretty okay girl, and starts to wonder why she needs to kill the thespian. Jaqen shuts her up by stating that she is a servant of the Many-Faced god and servants shut up.


Yara and Theon galavants away with the entire (?) Iron Fleet, after being ousted from the Salt Throne at Pyke, by their own uncle, Euron Greyjoy by impressing the voters of the Kingsmoot with the details of Balon Greyjoy’s death. Really, Yara should’ve known that her fellow ironborn wouldn’t turn away by a guy (cock intact) who is willing to toss his brother off a rope bridge.


Jorah is still Lord Friend-zone and not Lord of the Stoned Men. And also, Daenerys telling commanding him to find a cure to his incurable rock eczema is such nice way to completely send his ass to Friend-zone lands, because, obviously that’s what you tell someone with a fucked-up terminal disease. But good job on the Dothraki (but how do you go about bring all of them to Westeros tho? *Euron clears throat*), Dany.


Younger, hotter Melissandre 2.0 is introduced this episode, to help with the Mother of Dragons’ PR combined with this whole R’hollor biz. Good work, rattling Varys with his childhood trauma and all. Nice.


Bran fucks up and now is the new Three-Eyed Raven. He blatantly disobeys his boss’ rule not to go on telepathic trips solo, and ends up sending their pinpoint location to the Night’s King via Waze(teros). The Children of the Forest (the bitches responsible for the White Walkers in the first place) try to keep out the intruders with fairy grenades, but fail to do so (killing Summer, Bran’s direwolf, in the process). After a zombie attack/chase that puts AMC’s The Walking Dead to shame, Meera Reed escapes with (literally) white-eyed Bran, thanks to the heartbreakingly perfect hero, Hodor.


We now know why Hodor is, well, Hodor. In the most perfect way possible – a person like Hodor dying a hero’s death. I experienced almost every possible emotional reaction there is towards this series, and I never thought I’d turn out to be a little (A LOT) sad. Ned Stark’s head rolling on the Great Sept of Baelor was inevitable, and The Red Wedding was just completely senseless. Hodor’s death sends us the message that for war sometimes, the ends can justify the means, but it doesn’t equate that the means aren’t unbearable.

Daenerys Targaryen here is all of us, after ‘The Door’

Thank you for reading, and until next time!

For stories straight to your news feed, like my Facebook page.

Live and alive tweets on my Twitter.

I take pretty cool Instagram photos, I got pretty cool GIFs at PHHHOTO.

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To cheer you up:


The Best Ramen In Town…is also the Cheapest Ramen in Town

BEFORE GOING ANY FURTHER, I’D LIKE TO SAY “HI” TO YOU, WHO HAS TAKEN THE TIME TO BE HERE. Let me clarify that this isn’t a food blog. No. Its so much less than that. Its an anything blog, where in I will write anything and everything there is to write. I may even take topics that are recommended by you. So again, hello! And welcome to VINNYVERSE.

Why do Filipinos love Japanese food? Because its cute, new to our tongues – no thanks to the generous helpings of oil and sugar dumped in most Filipino dishes, and finally (and most importantly), it is amazingly delicious. Mid 2013, ramen started taking over Manila. And up until now, we still aren’t cured from ramen fever. Who couldn’t blame us, it’s heartiness, saltiness, and the tenderness of the pork immediately takes us home. But what really bums me out about ramen is that it averages P400. That’s robbery too much for us (yes it is, if you can only afford to eat it once a month, then yeah, its too much). But then my friends recommended this really awesome ramen place in Malate, not only was the ramen amazing (as per usual), it was also below P150. Read that again, just to double-check. Yes. Less than ONE HUNDRED FIFTY PESOS.

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Awesome ramen, in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant taking up half the street in Adriatico? Sign me up. (Photo by me)

You just have to take my word for it that Erra’s is pretty freaking awesome for Shoyu Ramen for P60. I’m not going to be writing a review about how tender the meat of the pork was, or how the soup was just the right salty, you have to see it for yourself.

The great thing about this concept is that its authentic, in local prices. That’s how it should be.

Erra’s Ramen Cart is at Zone 076, 1755 Adriatico St, Malate, Manila, Metro Manila, Philippines.

For stories straight to your news feed, like my Facebook page.

Live and alive tweets on my Twitter.

I take pretty cool Instagram photos, I got pretty cool GIFs at PHHHOTO.

I sing too. Check out my cover of Zayn’s PILLOWTALK here now.