Math and Science

(Literature isn't for pussies.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 6 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a shit. Many Koreans still visit shamans in order to learn their destiny. And it ain’t cheap. It can cost thousands of dollars to have these assholes read your future. In one instance, a woman didn’t have the money to pay her witchdoctor. So she was forced into prostitution in order to make restitution. I stay far away from this type of nonsense. Quite frankly, it scares me. I’m one of those fundamentalists who still believes that mediums and necromancers should be burned at the stake. But hey, that’s me.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I watched Fox News. Senile Joe gave a brief press conference after the Christian kids were gunned down by the transvestite in Tennessee. He began his speech by laughing and joking about ice cream. The panel of The Five thought his behavior was unseemly. Well, no shit, Sherlock. But here’s the truth. Biden and the scum who surround him only care about power. Consequently, the world is divided into friends and enemies. The victims of this mass slaughter are evangelicals, so our president doesn’t give a flying fuck less about their lives. In the president’s mind, all MAGA filth deserve the same fate.

Dolly the dog came prancing into my room. She brought me a sock, and we began playing fetch. My puppy is back to her old self. In fact, she’s full of piss and vinegar which is a huge load off my soul.

The Dragon Lady said, “Are you da stoopid man? Dorry have da stich in da stomach. Maybe you keel her.”

I nodded. “Good point.”

The last thing I want to do is hurt my pooch. She’s getting those stitches out in another week. So I’m going to take it easy until she’s 100 percent.

I scratched her ear. “No roughhousing for you, Dolly. If you die, I’m going to jump right out the fucking window.”

My wife shot me the stink eye. “Idiot.”

“I know I’m stupid. Look who I married. No need for reminders.”

I drove to school with Rice-Boy Larry. We called my mother while tooling down the highway.

She said, “Larry, you look terrible. What’s wrong with you?”

He said, “I have a cold. Plus I haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

“Why?”

He sighed heavily. “It’s all the homework. We get piles of the stuff.”

“Well, you tell those teachers to lighten the load. If they refuse, I’ll fly over there tomorrow and personally kick their asses.”

“Granny, you don’t understand Korea. It’s a nation filled with toil and misery.”

“Then tell your dad to move over here.”

I said, “It’s tempting. But I don’t know if my pride can handle it. I’m too old to be living with my mommy and working at the Waffle House.”

My day went well. I’m reading a new story with the middle school. It’s about a girl who grows up in the Dominican Republic back when it was ruled by dictators. Her dad is on the government’s shitlist, so she moves to America with her family. Sadly, however, she is forced to leave her puppy behind.

I looked at the class with a mournful gaze. “These types of tales always kill me. Have any of you read Old Yellar?”

They all said no.

I cleaned my glasses with a tissue. “It’s about a beautiful dog who contracts rabies. At the end of the story, the family is forced to blow its head off with a rifle.”

There was a collective squeal of horror.

I slowly put my glasses back in place. “Tell me about it. Literature ain’t pretty. You want my advice? Stick to science and math.”