April 24, 2024

My former driver of four years Randy Fumbuena, (he left my employ only last year, when he moved his family to Pampanga) was shot and killed by unknown assailants along the Malaban Highway the other Saturday, after attending a cockfight in a nearby town.
Randy was with two others riding a tricycle on their way home, when from out of nowhere, a motorbike with two riders came alongside, and the back passenger began peppering Randy with bullets, four of which found their mark.


His two companions managed to jump off the tricycle, escaping on foot in different directions. The one question that keeps on nagging at the mind of his twin brother, Ranny, is whether the two fled from the scene out of fear for their lives, or to deflect their possible complicity in his kuya’s (older than 10 minutes) gruesome murder.
Ranny suspects that Randy was set up by a syndicate engaged in the rigging of cockfights for gain, and also involved in passing off fake P1,000 bills to unknowing bettors during big-time derbies.
Randy is survived by his long-time partner Rusell, two grown daughters, and two very young sons, ages seven and three.
Our prayers and condolences to the Fumbuena family on the untimely demise of Randy, he of the glib of tongue and persuasive personality, and like Donald Trump, a salesman of the convincing kind.


We live not only in uncertain but in dangerous times as well. Anyone who steps out of his house puts his life in peril, the danger coming not only from criminal elements, but also from law enforcers with links to the underworld, like the so-called ninja cops.
Rather ironic that those tasked with the duty to protect us, are those that we need protection from.
Like the thin line that divides the genius from the insane, one can no longer tell which is which.


Maybe the hard-economic times may have something to do with it, but when was the last time you heard of a mother stealing a can of milk to feed her hungry baby, or someone filching a loaf of bread to fill his empty stomach.
The sociologist in me says that envy and keeping up with the Joneses might be the principal cause for the upsurge in crime at near breakneck speed.
Like when your once impoverished neighbor goes to live in a really big house while driving around in a brand new SUV, you start to wonder where all that money is coming from, and the same thing pops into your mind when your “kristo” graduates into a big bettor.


Aba eh, malamang illegal ‘yan. Halimbawa, panloloko sa kapwa, gaya ng pagbebenta ng lupa na pagmamay-ari ng iba, o kaya galing sa kaban ng bayan, o sa hindi kanais-nais na gawain.
Other examples: demanding and accepting bribes, being on the payroll of a drug or gambling lord, but to be the mistress of a rich and powerful politician is not criminal, it is being practical. But a DI or “attorney” taking advantage of a fat and aging matron with money is a crime.
And killing a rich, gay patron just because he happens to be kuripot is dastardly and barbaric.


You may not know it, but the coronavirus first came over during the PNoy administration, when some senators were infected with the blue and violet plague, even as the virus caused depression that shortened the lives of victims before their time.
In less than a decade, two chief magistrates of the highest court in the land have been ousted; one by impeachment, the other via quo warranto.


I ask you, are these not cases of the law being used as a weapon to get back at supposed foes?
Can you imagine the accused being convicted of murder because he had large deposits in several banks that he couldn’t explain?
Or a senator spending time in jail for non-bailable offenses because her supposed lover had more money than he could count.
I may be speaking on the extreme, but as a former trial lawyer and prosecutor, I remember judges telling me to go to another point because I was presenting side evidence to prove my case.
Anyway, happy birthday to Atty. Rene Cortes, who will be 77 years old tomorrow, March 2.
Belated natal day to Judge Claire Tabin, last Friday, Feb 28.
It would have been the ___birthday of my Minda on March 6, had not cancer taken her away three years (in May) ago.


When my granddaughter Amanda Noelle (Mady) was a week or two old, her dad, my son Melpether, holding Mady in his arms, tearfully looked up to the heavens, and talking to his mom, “Ma, here’s Mady, your granddaughter. Kindly watch over her. Upon saying that, Mady’s eyes suddenly brightened, flashing her cutest smile, and happily giggling like only babies can. Thank you, Minda, love, for the wonderful memories.