Grendel

 

(It's all fucked up.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a shit. Seoul is having problems with pools of vomit in the subway system. What happens is that lots of company men go drinking with their buddies after work. Needless to say, they get completely shitfaced and hurl their cookies on the train ride home. This can be a problem because people are slipping on the bodily fluid and hurting themselves. And, as we all know, physical injuries often lead to a myriad of lawsuits.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I watched Fox News. Angry parents in Ireland are holding a protest. They’re pissed that gay pornography is being promoted in their children’s school. I have nothing against homosexuals. In fact, I’m sure their sex lives are much more gratifying than that of the average married man. Yet I have no idea why they insist on including minors in their perversions. I guess they are trying to normalize their behavior amongst the masses. But grooming the rugrats still seems kind of gross to me. I’m really surprised that the pushback by the straight community has been so mild. I literally thought that heads would roll.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “Your sister came for a visit.”

I said, “How’s she doing?”

“She’s sick.”

“I bet she caught it from her students. I’m still sick, too. I can’t stop blowing my nose.”

“Yeah, but you’re only a normal sick. She’s really sick. The poor girl can barely talk.”

“Have you tried lemon tea?”

Mom shook her head. “I don’t have any lemons.”

“How about honey tea?”

“I don’t have any honey, either.”

“Well, maybe bed rest will do the trick.”

Mom changed the subject. “We’re all going out for fish and chips later tonight.”

“That sounds nice. Who are you taking?”

“Your sister. Your niece. Your nephew. Plus all their boyfriends and girlfriends.”

“That’s going to cost you a pretty penny.”

She shrugged. “It’s well worth the cash. Sometimes, you have to splurge.”

“That’s true. You can’t put a price on happiness.”

Later that morning, the Dragon Lady came into my room. Her eyes were glassy with rage. My wife hates it when I talk to family and friends. She always tries her best to keep me isolated. But I don’t hold it against her. It’s not like she can help it. In fact, the Dragon Lady reminds me of the character Grendel in Beowulf. The sound of people having fun fills her with fury.

She said, “You mothah da hoar.”

I said, “Did you just call my mother a prostitute?”

“Dat collect. She not mally her husband. She riving in sin.”

“It’s a common-law marriage. Christ, they’ve been together for over thirty years.”

“It not mattah. She still da hoar.”

“Why don’t you divorce me?”

“What?”

“You obviously hate my guts. You’re in my bedroom telling me that my mother is a slut.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Isn’t it easier just to pack your bags and leave?”

“I nevah divorce. I spend the lest of my rife to torture you. It my purpose for riving. Asshoe.”

My heart often goes out to my wife. The woman is nuttier than a fruitcake. It’s got to be a chemical thing. Furthermore, she hasn’t spoken to her parents in nearly a year. She’s still angry that they wrote her out of their will. Even though she finds me completely disgusting, I’m all she has.