Mad Cow Disease

 

(It will eat your brains like Cheerios.)

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 nasty shit. A cow with bovine spongiform encephalopathy was discovered in South Carolina. So the Korean government has decided to ramp up quarantine checks on American beef imports. Instead of inspecting three percent of the meat, the powers-that-be will increase the quota to ten percent. I don’t blame them. Mad cow disease is deadly. It eats your brains like Cheerios. Yet this could potentially have a huge effect on many families. Korean beef is priced through the roof. Most of us on the peninsula simply can’t afford it. American beef, on the other hand, is relatively cheap.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I watched the news of the world on YouTube. A deranged transvestite named Andrea Long Chu won the Pulitzer Prize for literary criticism. Andrea was formerly a man, but now she’s a lady who enjoys having sex with attractive chicks. In other words, Ms. Chu cut off her wang and became a lesbian. Welcome to the postmodern age. It’s all rather confusing. Anyway, Andrea says that sissy porn led her to take the plunge into womanhood, claiming that the asshole is a universal vagina through which femaleness can always be accessed. Her words, not mine. Yes, my friends. This is the kind of drivel which will earn you a major award in these sad times.

I could hear Rice-Boy Larry and the Dragon Lady arguing in the living room. So I got out of bed to assess the situation.

I looked at Larry. “What’s all the hubbub about?”

He said, “Mom keeps calling you garbage, and I don’t like it.”

“BFD. She’s been saying that for years. Don’t let it get you down.”

“She also told me that you ruined her life.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

The Dragon Lady said, “You faddah da idiot and da roosah. He make no money. He also da momma boy.”

Larry shot her the stink eye. “I wish you’d just shut up.”

I cleared my throat to get his attention. “Son, would you challenge a man with no legs to a fifty-yard dash?”

“No.”

“Then why are you arguing with a crazy person? It makes no sense.”

My wife sneered at me. “I not clazy. You are da roosah. I not rying. You money shit.”

But I didn’t acknowledge her presence. Instead, I stayed focused on my son. “Mom is a high-conflict personality. And sometimes these loons have what’s called a target of blame. Unfortunately, that person is me. So she’s always going to bash me for anything that goes wrong in her life. It’s too difficult for mental midgets to look in the mirror.”

She furiously shook her fist at me. “Asshoe!”

I stumbled back to my bedroom. This might sound crazy, but I think I caught Covid again. I’m not as sick as I was when I first contracted the disease. Yet I’m exhausted. I’ve been a zombie for the last nine days.

Anyway, I had another one of my recurring nightmares. I was sitting in an internet café when the famous actor, Max von Sydow, took the chair next to mine.

I said, “I loved you in Conan the Barbarian.”

He smiled at me. “Thank you, my friend.”

Then I stood up to buy a Coke. As I passed him, he slapped me right on the ass.

I said, “Hey! What was that about?”

He said, “Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself.”

I nodded solemnly. “No need to apologize. In fact, you’ve just made my dreams come true.”

I woke up around noon and watched baseball. I was too sick to walk to church.

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