Less Is More

(I'm a huge baseball fan.)

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. A teenager from Seoul met a 27-year-old man on an internet chatroom. Together, they formed a suicide pact. He took her for dinner and karaoke, and they discussed their shitty lives here on earth. After that, she jumped to her death from the 19^th floor of an apartment building, but he was too chickenshit to take the leap with her. This demon is now in custody for the crime of aiding and abetting a suicide. I hope they fry his ass.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I watched Fox News. Hundreds of black teenagers from Chicago swarmed the downtown area of the city, causing all types of mischief and mayhem. They broke windows, jumped up and down on vehicles, and even had the audacity to assault their Caucasian elders with their fists and feet. Two African Americans were shot during the riot. One was a six-year-old boy. Sadly, he took a bullet in the arm. The mayor of the city, a libtard named Brandon Johnson, warns us against demonizing these punks. However, I believe that they belong in jail. One of the greatest things about living in Korea is that I no longer have to endure this type of crap. Praise Jesus.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “I’m really worried about your sister.”

I said, “How come?”

“She couldn’t go to work this morning.”

“Why?”

“She can’t stop crying.”

“Is she depressed or something?”

Mom nodded. “I think so. She believes that I’m going to die soon because I had a stroke. But I feel fine.”

“There’s a lot of nonsense going on in her life right now. Plus that job isn’t easy.”

“What are you talking about? She’s a teacher like you.”

I shook my head. “Not really. She works in the American public school system, and it’s fucking hell. Trust me. I’ve been there and done it.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not exaggerating. You civilians simply refuse to understand the job. Those kids are all fucked up in the head, and the amount of bureaucratic paperwork a teacher endures would break a horse’s back. I’ve got nothing but mucho respect for her. It’s pure torture.”

“Torture? It’s not like she’s digging ditches in the hot sun.”

“Let’s put it this way. If I come back to the States, I’m going to be a waiter at the Waffle House. That’s how bad teaching sucks. I kid you not.”

Sis has been going through some tough times. She recently divorced her husband of thirty years and is now living in sin with an epileptic. He seems like a nice enough guy, but people often rush blindly into a new relationship after a breakup when the best course of action is to patiently get your head together. To make matters worse, her new love interest is a bit of a ne’er-do-well. For instance, he’s been through four jobs in the last five months. And because he has no health insurance, he can’t get the medicine he needs to stop the shaking and the foaming at the mouth. It’s actually sad when you think about it.

My day at work went well. I talked about sports with the middle schoolers.

I said, “Do you know why I like baseball?”

Nobody raised their hands.

I smiled at them. “The sport relaxes me. It literally lowers my blood pressure. Last night, I watched a basketball game between the Kings and the Warriors. It was so exciting that I actually came close to having a heart attack. I even bit my nails right down to the nub. Look!”

I held both hands up in the air for them to see. Some even got out of their seats to see for themselves.

I cleared my throat. “This doesn’t happen with baseball, my friends. Nobody loses any sleep when enjoying a contest between the boys of summer. Sometimes, less is more.”

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