The MAGA Crowd

 

(The media is full of shit.)

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. There’s a guy named Dr. Scott Shepherd who works in Seoul at Chongshin University as an English professor. Dr. Shepherd is a cunning linguist who speaks Korean fluently. Good for him. That’s quite an accomplishment. I can barely utter a word of this language.

Anyway, he went out with his buddies for a few beers, but the lounge barred his entry because of his white skin. The man at the door told him that foreigners were not allowed inside. Needless to say, he’s hurt and angry over the situation. In response, he wrote an opinion piece in the local paper to describe his outrage. Quite frankly, I couldn’t care less. The peninsula is loaded to the gills with bars. If one of them kicks you out, you can walk two minutes down the road and find another that will let you in. There’s no point in getting all hot and bothered. But he’s a young passionate man with ideals whereas I’m more of a bitter realist. So what’s a boy to do?

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I watched Fox News. There was a terrible shooting spree in Ohio which claimed the lives of five people from Honduras. One of the victims was an eight-year-old boy. They were all murdered with a .223 rifle. The suspect is a Mexican national who currently lives in Texas. In other words, this story has no legs and will soon be forgotten by the media. Why? Because the talking heads have no interest in crimes that aren’t committed by the MAGA crowd.

Dolly the dog kept licking my toes, and I squealed and giggled like a schoolgirl. Then I rolled a sock into a ball and played fetch with the little beast. This puppy has brought a great deal of joy into my life. I’m completely in love with her. The bichon frise is a breed that can live for nineteen years, and I’m a geezer with one foot already in the grave. Perhaps we can die together of old age. Nothing would make me happier. Maybe we can even share a casket. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “How’s your urinary-tract infection? Are you going to live?”

She nodded. “I feel much better today.”

I clapped my hands together joyously. “That’s great. You had me all worried. Is this a miraculous healing? Yesterday, you were on death’s door.”

“I started drinking a lot of water. I must have been dehydrated.”

“Have you been taking your medication?”

“Yes, I do it first thing in the morning.” She changed the subject. “Are you still on your diet?”

“I don’t even consider it a diet anymore. I’ve gotten used to it. It’s more of a lifestyle change.”

“Aren’t you afraid that you might gain the weight back?”

“It won’t happen in a million years. I was so fat that I couldn’t fit into my stretchy pants. Did you know that I’ve been forced to buy my wardrobe at one of the local fish markets?”

“They sell clothes at the fish market?”

“Yes. For fat people. I shit you not. They sell lots of stuff at the fish market that isn’t related to seafood. Cigarettes. Alcohol. Rice. Candy.”

She laughed and laughed and laughed.

Later in the day, I watched the Yankees. They lost to the Texas Rangers by three runs. Half of New York’s team is out of the lineup due to injuries. It’s a real pain in the ass.

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