My New Novel

Some of you old retards can't seem to find my new novel. Your computer savvy is atrocious. But that's OK. I'm probably dumber than you. Anyway, here's the link. God bless.

I've Found a Way

I've found a way for you fuckheads and retards to read the blog without having to register. But I can't take the credit. A guy on another website gave me some advice.

Here's the link to my new blog.

This is your username: soju-drunk

This is your password: Morning!shite1

Have fun. I'm expecting lots of comments and upvotes.

Cheers and God bless.

Changing the Address

My blog has a new address. All you got to do is click on this link.

Some of you retards and fuckheads will complain. I get it. But Wattpad has over 90 million users. Meanwhile, I can't even get Google to give my site any kind of meaningful ranking. It doesn't even appear in the Google search engine.

Don't worry. You will still be able to make comments and all the other bullshit. But I do have a favor to ask. Please upvote my blog post if you like it. This will allow my content to spread like cancer through Wattpad, and one day I might even become a famous humorist like Mark Twain. I shit you not.

Have a great day and God bless you all.

Crazy Planet

(Satan is the prince of this world.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and enjoyed a quick smoke. Then I soon noticed that Rice-Boy Larry was nowhere to be found. So I gave him a call using my ancient smartphone.

I said, “What are you up to?”

“I’m at a PC room with my friends.”

“Do you want me to make you dinner?”

“Yes, I’m about to run to the house in a couple of minutes.”

“You don’t need to run. Just take your time.”

“But I’m trying to keep in shape.”

“OK. Do as you will.”

Rice-Boy’s big goal in life is to one day finish a marathon. Why? I have no fucking idea. Yet my kid is always jogging from here to there. And I have to tell you motherfuckers the truth. When it comes to exercise, he has a great deal of stamina. The kid never seems to get tired out. I call him three-lung Larry.

I threw twelve Chinese dumplings into the air fryer and served them to my boy with two apples for dessert. I’m trying to make sure that we’re both eating enough fruit and vegetables.

After his arrival, he told me some news about the Dragon Lady.

“Mom texted me today.”

My heart fell to my feet. “What does she want?”

“She’s coming to visit me on Monday, and she’s planning on spending the night.”

I sighed heavily. “Wow. That sucks.”

“Should I tell her to get a motel?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think it would be legal. We’re still a couple in the eyes of law.”

It’s tough to dissolve a marriage here in South Korea. No-fault divorces don’t exist on the peninsula, so both parties have to agree to part ways before the union is considered kaput in the eyes of Big Brother. If there is no meeting of the minds, then the aggrieved party must hire a lawyer in order to prove beyond a doubt that he’s suffered terrible injuries due to his spouse’s abuse. The threshold is extremely high.

I sat on the sofa and watched Fox News. A sixth-grade girl went on a field trip, and the school administrators asked her to share a bed with a boy who identifies as a female. The parents are now suing the district for monetary damages. They are asking for millions and millions of dollars.

Then I switched the channel to Netflix and viewed several episodes of the Australian prison drama Wentworth. One of the guards is currently going crazy because he buried the former warden alive in the woods. Wentworth is truly a hidden gem. It’s a glorious X-rated soap opera filled with sex and violence. It comes with my highest recommendation.

I eventually walked to my bedroom at 9 p.m. and enjoyed a quick wank before sleeping like the dead. The alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit.

A 41-year-old Korean woman was sentenced to thirteen years in prison for forcing her co-worker into prostitution. Over the course of thirty-six months, this lady made close to half a million dollars by turning her acquaintance into a sex slave. And here’s the kicker. The victim’s husband was also found guilty of aiding and abetting in the crime. He was handed a six-year sentence for his bad behavior.

Yet I didn’t find the story the least bit shocking. After all, Satan is the prince of this fallen world, so good luck trying to smell the roses on this crazy planet.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

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Homeless Bum

 

(I'm trying to get the stains out of Rice-Boy's jacket.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and enjoyed a smoke. Then I knocked on Rice-Boy Larry’s bedroom door.

He said, “What do you want?”

“You have to come with me to the store.”

“But I’m studying for a science test.”

“It won’t take long. I’ve got to get eggs and liquid detergent.”

He nodded in agreement. “OK. I have to purchase a new notebook anyhow.”

“Don’t you own a ton of notebooks?”

“Yes, but they’ve all been used in one way or another. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start.”

So we walked to a small supermarket that’s about ten minutes from my house. The weather outside hasn’t been too bad recently. It’s only been chilly as opposed to numb-your-bones cold.

Anyway, we got to the place and started making our way up and down the aisles. We found a great deal on eggs. I bought 30 for seven dollars. They aren’t the good ones laid by the happy free-range birds advertised on TV. Rather, the poor chickens who squeezed these eggs out of their pussies reside in cramped cages and are both stressed and suicidal. But what’s a boy to do? I love animals with all my heart, yet I still have to feed my family.

Next came the liquid detergent. There were lots of brands to choose from. And I finally settled on a large plastic container that was on sale for ten dollars.

Larry said, “Why waste your money? You have plenty of soap powder at our humble abode.”

“Yes, but that powder left white stains on your black jacket. Now I’m trying to remove the flakes so that you don’t look like a homeless bum.”

We eventually got back to the apartment at quarter to seven, and I made my boy dinner. I served him hash browns with five fried eggs. I prepare the same meal practically every day. I also gave him an apple which I had bought off a fruit truck a few days ago.

Then I took his jacket and shoved it into the washing machine. It spun around and around with plenty of liquid soap for a good ninety minutes. And you guessed it. When I finally took it out and hung the fucking thing up to dry, the stains were still present. My washer simply isn’t big enough to handle a coat of that size.

I waited until 10 p.m. to call my mother using Facebook Messenger. It was 7 a.m. in her neck of the woods, and she was sitting on her patio drinking her morning coffee.

I said, “I’m going nuts over here.”

“Why?”

“I can’t get the powder stains off of Larry’s jacket.”

“What you need to do is let it soak in the bathtub overnight and gently rub the affected areas with a brush from time to time.”

“Will that do the trick?”

“Well, if it doesn’t, then you’re fucked.”

“I’ll try that tomorrow.”

I relaxed in bed and watched Fox News. The president of Harvard is a black militant female, and she was getting grilled by a republican member of congress who accused her of being anti-Semitic. I tried to view the entire story, but I fell asleep halfway through the proceedings.

I woke up at 5 a.m. and fixed myself a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. According to a professor in Seoul, there are over 70,000 homeless teenagers wandering aimlessly around the cities of South Korea. Yet I’ve been living here for years and years, and I’ve never seen a single solitary street waif during my entire stay. Go figure.

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A Hard World

(I'm trying to hold it together.)

Last night, I got home at 6 p.m. and had a smoke. Then I walked to the grocery store and bought eight donuts for seven dollars. Four of them were filled with jelly, and the others were frosted with sugar and chocolate.

After that, I cooked dinner for Rice-Boy Larry. I fried five eggs in the skillet and served them with hash browns. I took the plate to his room because my son was busy studying for some type of math test. Asians take numbers very seriously.

Then it was time to vacuum the apartment while doing two loads of laundry. I soon noticed several pairs of dirty socks on the floor and some day-old snot paper on one of the tables. For some reason, I simply went ballistic.

I looked at my boy sternly. “I’m tired of picking up your filthy clothes and snotty tissues.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Bullshit. It’s a huge deal. Furthermore, I’ve noticed that you have a habit of drinking half a bottle of water and leaving the plastic container wherever it may fall.”

“Again, not a big deal.”

I sighed heavily. “Son, I’m not Mister Clean. Far from it. And a little bit of clutter falls off my back like rain from a duck’s ass. But I’m worried about disease. Flush your fucking mucus down the toilet and put your dirty clothes in the motherfucking hamper. It’s not that hard. Even a little kid could master those skills. And stop leaving that water laying around. If you aren’t gonna drink it, then dump the remainder in the sink and dispose of the bottle in a proper fashion. You’re creating a powerful Petrie dish of potential illness with your dirty ways.”

“OK! Got it! Anything else?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ve spoken my peace. You are now free to go about your business.”

Later that evening, I removed the clothes from the washer and hung them to dry. Nobody in South Korea owns a dryer. Why? I couldn't tell you. In fact, I have no idea why the locals hold such a grudge against that particular appliance. Anyway, I soon noticed that one of the jackets contained soap stains because the powder hadn’t fully dissolved during the cycle.

Once again, I went ballistic.

I screamed, “Motherfucker!”

Larry came running to the veranda. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s this fucking jacket. It still has soap stains. I’ll have to wash it again.”

Larry shot me the stink eye. “Would you fucking relax? You’re about to give me a heart attack with all your nonsense.”

I nodded in compliance. Then I fixed myself a cup of instant coffee and went downstairs for another smoke. The nicotine helped soothe my jangled nerves, calming the savage beast that was raging inside of me.

At 9 p.m., I walked to my room and enjoyed a quick wank before falling asleep. I had a dream that I was sitting outside with a pastor I once knew. We were sipping on a beverage, and neon signs were flashing all over the place. I told him not to move because I had to buy some food for a planned celebration.

I said, “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

He said, “I’ll be here.”

Yet when I returned, he was gone.

The alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I made myself a cup of green tea. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A lawyer from Seoul beat his wife to death with a blunt object. They had been arguing about finances before he finally snapped. Now he’ll have to spend the next two decades in prison. It’s a hard world.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

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Old and Tired

 

(Let the chips fall where they may.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and drank a cup of green tea. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. The dead Buddhist monk, Venerable Jaseung, was finally laid to rest in Seoul after being reduced to a charcoal briquette a couple days ago. But it turns out that the fire which claimed his life wasn’t actually an accident. Quite the contrary. Venerable Jaseung burned himself alive as an offering to Buddha. In fact, the authorities found several suicide notes in his car. It seems that every once in a while, monks like to self-immolate in order to spread their false religion. Go figure.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “One of the teachers at my school is retiring this year. He’s 65 years old.”

“Is Gramps happy about the situation?”

“No, he’s miserable. The poor son of a bitch is getting old, and he feels like nobody wants him.”

“So what’s he going to do?”

“Him and his wife are moving to Pusan to live with their daughters.”

“Is he married to a Korean?”

I nodded. “Yes, they’ve been together for almost thirty years.”

“Is she crazy like your wife?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I have no idea. I don’t really know the toothless geezer that well to delve into his personal life.”

“Do you want some advice?”

I shook my head from side to side. “Not really.”

“Well, too fucking bad.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You need to get on the internet and buy two plane tickets. And then you and your boy should come back home to Texas tomorrow. I won’t be around for another ten years, and I want to make sure that you’re settled before I die.”

“Settled? I’ll be working at the fucking Waffle House with no health insurance or benefits of any kind.”

“It doesn’t matter. You can get on Medicaid.”

“I’m tempted, but it’s such a huge defeat for a man in his 50s to come crawling back home to Mama. I think I’d rather die.”

“But it’s not just about you. You must also do what’s best for Rice-Boy Larry. He’s an American who needs to be around his older brother.”

Mom’s been assailing me with guilt ever since I went to visit her last year. She has even offered to buy me a house in order to lure me back. Yet the very thought of it makes me quite queasy. I have a decent job and great insurance. I’d hate to give that up. Plus I don’t know Chicken Ken’s future. He keeps on talking about joining the Air Force after college. So I might return just to sit by my lonesome. Decisions, decisions.

Larry finally crawled out of bed at 11 a.m.

I said, “Are you coming to church with me today?”

“I can’t. I’ve got too much studying to do.”

“Would you like to go live in Texas?”

“It’s up to you. But don’t think for one minute that Mom is finished with her nonsense.”

“What do you mean? I haven’t seen the woman in four months.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve got a pension, so she’s going to try and take it all. And if you fight her in court, then she’ll smear your reputation to the leadership at the school.”

“Smear my reputation? And how would she accomplish that?”

“By telling outrageous lies. Maybe she’ll say that you’re a pervert or a drug user, and she won’t be happy until you are completely destroyed.”

“But I’m not a pervert or a drug user.”

“Doesn’t matter. What does truth have to do with anything?”

Rice-Boy is quite cynical at times. However, he could be right. The Dragon Lady is a dangerous loon. Yet with that said, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. I’m too old and tired to care anymore. Perhaps I should burn myself to a crisp like the Venerable Jaseung. But who can handle all that pain? I’m definitely too much of a pussy to employ the nuclear option, so I’ll just have to grin and bear it.

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