By: Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope
Writing about
politics is sometimes toxic. Expressing ourselves too much on the subject can
create unnecessary enemies, so maybe I will change my focus for the meantime.
Perhaps Forthweed can be a good topic. Mix it with Cheeze and make a Round
Robin exercise out of it, and suddenly it becomes something playful, something
that can be archived again and forgotten. It is a way of finding refuge, a
lighter escape from the daily heaviness of political noise.
Still, even in
playful escapes, the shadows of politics sneak in. Words like insertion, which
in another world would only mean something technical or mundane, now carry
double meanings—naughty, sometimes illegal, always whispered with suspicion.
Here in Forthweed, insertion becomes a key motif. It is the art of slipping
humor into chaos, the subtle threading of ideas into stories, the gentle trick
of placing a character exactly where the absurdity matters most. We laugh at
it, we pause at it, we breathe through it—because in this kingdom, insertion is
survival.
And then come
the characters—oh, the characters that populate our imagination. There is Sara,
the poor princess, weighed down by trials, who dreams of slaying the
mischievous mythical creature Tambaloslos, whose laugh echoes through every
hall. She is joined by Super Dante with his Magical Blue Ribbon, who guides the
weak, shields the just, and improvises lessons for those who stumble—most
notably Robin without his master Batman, the ever-confused sidekick who
searches for courage in a stage too large for him. Robin, silent and
vulnerable, embodies what happens when guidance is absent; yet through each
stumble, he learns resilience, a lesson subtle as the insertion of hope between
moments of fear.
Not far behind
are the Royal Brother and Sister of the House of Pool, who watch over the scene
with elegance and quiet judgment. They observe as Bato the aspiring comedian
turns hearings into stand-up routines, as Ping the Enforcer stomps in with a
dramatic flair, and as Win, who always sides with the winning side, adapts
loyalties like a flag shifting with the wind. Joel the Dreamer drifts in and
out, conjuring impossible visions, while Lito the Silencer glides silently,
controlling the space between chaos and order.
Family drama
thickens the air. The Jerry Springer wannabe full-blooded brothers thrive on
spectacle, turning debates into near-brawls that leave echoes of shouts
lingering in every corner. By contrast, the Half Brothers quarrel in whispers,
simmering quietly, never fully resolved, their tension like a slow-burning
fire. Meanwhile, Riza the Internet Explorer buffers endlessly, forever
searching, seldom arriving, trapped by the endless rotations of her own
curiosity.
Chaos peaks
with Migz the Boom Tarat Tarat guy, who detonates surprise sound effects and
eruptions at every opportunity, transforming tense silences into unexpected
hilarity. His presence magnifies Titosen’s “Boom Tarat Tarat!”, creating a
symphony of controlled pandemonium. Every insertion of laughter, pause, or
comic relief becomes more vivid when Migz struts across the scene, a walking,
shouting, musical exclamation mark of absurdity.
Meanwhile, Kiko
the Farmer tills words as if they were soil, planting seeds of wisdom in an
otherwise chaotic field. Bam the Teacher’s Pet clutches his notebook,
determined that diligence alone will earn him recognition. Pia moves with
elegance, precise and deliberate, while Alan, the 10,000 Peso Man, waves his
bills with the confidence of someone who believes money can fix all problems.
Grace drifts like a gentle melody, Malasakit offers care like a comforting
spell, and Lito the Silencer ensures that even in bursts of pandemonium, order
lurks between the insertions of chaos.
Together, these
figures weave a kingdom both absurd and familiar. Robin without his master
Batman watches, sometimes lost, sometimes inspired, learning from the antics
around him. Super Dante trains him with patience, showing that guidance can
come even from unexpected places. Meanwhile, Sara the Poor Princess and her
allies prepare to face Tambaloslos, reminding everyone that courage is learned
in chaos. Migz and Titosen punctuate the narrative with eruptions and
surprises, while Lito the Silencer subtly enforces order, creating rhythm and
balance. Each character—dreamer, enforcer, comedian, farmer, sidekick,
silencer, or boomer—teaches resilience, humor, and hope in a world that often
feels absurdly heavy.
Even
impeachment drifts in like a dark cloud, a reminder that serious matters hover
over all their antics. Yet in the play of Forthweed and Cheeze, every
character—Robin, Sara, Super Dante, Bato, Ping, Win, Joel, Kiko, Bam, Pia,
Alan, Grace, Malasakit, Titosen, Lito, Migz, the Half Brothers, the
full-blooded Jerry Springer wannabes, Riza, and the Royal Brother and Sister of
the House of Pool—becomes a vital piece of the story. Each insertion, whether
comedic, dramatic, or instructive, binds the kingdom together, teaching that
survival, laughter, and wisdom can coexist even in the most absurd chaos.
Because in the end, laughter is not just an escape—it is a lifeline. Insertion, carefully crafted, is the secret passage that allows imagination to breathe, chaos to become art, and the weary to find hope. And in this kingdom of Forthweed and Cheeze, survival itself is already half a victory, with Robin learning courage, Sara learning strength, Migz amplifying joy, and every character discovering the power of subtle influence in a world that rarely makes sense.
