Mom Says the F-Word

 

(My mother's language is atrocious.)

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 nasty dump. The Korean race is about to go extinct. I shit you not. Couples are no longer having children, and most women don’t get married until they are well into their thirties. Everybody is so busy chasing success that family concerns are only a distant second. So the government has decided to tackle this problem by importing thousands of ladies from poor countries to work as nannies for the population. Furthermore, it will be legal to pay these impoverished females below the minimum wage. Yes, their social status will be on par with a slave. What could possibly go wrong?

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I watched the news of the world on YouTube. Target has been selling clothing to children with an LGBTQ motif. Naturally, many parents feel that corporate America is grooming their kids in an attempt to normalize the homosexual lifestyle. So in response, they’ve decided to boycott the department store and spend their hard-earned money in family-friendly establishments. Target is now shitting their pants, removing many of the offensive items in an effort to mend fences. This ongoing battle has even prompted Gavin Newsome, the governor of California, to enter the fray. He called Target’s CEO Brian Cornell a sniveling pussy over at Twitter.

I looked at Rice-Boy Larry. “How’s school going?”

He shrugged. “OK, I guess.”

“Have you been giving any thought to a future career?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“You should take my advice and become a pastor. Tuition is really cheap here on the peninsula. Because we’re poor, you probably won’t have to pay a dime.”

“I don’t want to be a pastor.”

“Why not? You speak two languages fluently, so you’ll always have a job.”

“I guess it just isn’t my cup of tea.”

I pointed my index finger at his heart. “I heard that pastors are the happiest people in the world.”

“Are you sure? They seem pretty miserable to me.”

“How so?”

“Every time I see them in the news, they’re embroiled in embarrassing scandals. Look at Jerry Falwell Jr. and his wife Becky. That was wild.”

I nodded in the affirmative. “That Becky is hot to trot. I have still have dreams about that naughty lady.”

“I don’t want to hear about them.”

I drove to work in my ancient SUV. It’s a diesel and might soon be outlawed by the government due to environmental concerns. Korea isn’t like America. The powers-that-be can make you get rid of your car if it’s in the public interest. When that happens, I’ll be reduced to riding the bus like the other geezers who have no money in their pockets. Sometimes, life is so arduous that it’s difficult for a guy to keep his dick up. But I manage. It could always be worse. At least I’m not getting butt-fucked by angry rebels in the Congo.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger during the ride.

She said, “I have a new neighbor.”

I said, “Is he nice?”

“He pissed me off in the morning.”

“What happened?”

She sighed heavily. “I was edging my front lawn with my weed-whacker, and he told me that elderly people shouldn’t work in the sun. Do I look that old?”

“Make Nurse Ken do it.”

“But I like to screw around in my yard. Besides, he’s already cutting the grass. Soon, I won’t be allowed to do anything.”

“That’s not true. America is still a free country. You can edge all you want.”

“I wish that people would mind their own fucking business.”

Truer words have never been spoken. We all have a future date with death. And I’d rather croak while fixing up my lawn than alone at some hospice. But that’s just me.

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