wanna join the karlo loyola fans' club?

as a tribute to my crush-turned-friend karlo coronel loyola, whose birthday he celebrated days ago, i will post some twenty essays and no song of despair, all of which i wrote for him at the turn of the century. see you soon ,barok!:)
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Ever wonder why public servants are susceptible to giving in to foolishness? The papers banner it all the time and you need not open your eyes wide to take a baffled glimpse at these silly politicians messing about like they were fated to talk gibberish. You see, the fad of these people being possessed by some unknown crippling energy terribly afflicts most clown replicas in the government.
The strain appears to spare not even the USSC movers: they, too, are apparently infected. You receive news that they are driving their brains out or their skulls for lack of sleep and such. The latest is that they swoon over the last Lantern King of the Millennium (has the new millennium really started and is the word really so hard to spell idiots fail to memorize that it is never single letter “n”?). Right, it’s Karlo. Karlo Coronel Loyola, to be exact. That much-praised-over dashing Bulaqueño with the raving looks and all.
Of course, it is but normal to admire a gorgeous being, especially if he happens to land a foot on this weird university accidentally where the fruitfulness of the mango trees is adversely proportional to the chances or ideal-looking guys enrolling themselves at the stake of being fantasized or paddled at their godly faces. Nevertheless, if this buoyant emotion can send visibly intellectual people arguing who must and must not phone the unwitting talk-of-the-campus heartthrob at his dormitory, you diagnose frenzy. How else can you subtly term this madness, whereas you can readily throw these suddenly stupid creatures into a swarm of hungry crocodiles?
I doubt if one of this days, I won’t catch Karlo’s photo pasted as wallpaper in the computer monitor. Or find his class schedule neatly wallet-tucked inside one of the officers’ secrete pocket. Or read poetry devoted to glorifying Karlo’s cute visage and princely bearing. Or, I bet my Twisted books if this is impossible, happen to look into a picture with an autograph courtesy of Karlo himself. Kindly check if I seem like a “doom” prophet.
You just don’t know when these perfect mental patient materials will march the roads of the University clutching a streamer that either reads “The Loyal Friends of Karlo Loyola” or “Karlo Loyola Intergalactic.”