Shithole America

 

(Is the United States turning into a third-world cesspool?)

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 Korea Times interviewed a fuckhead from Harvard named Jeffrey Miron. He teaches economics at that overrated shithole in Boston, Massachusetts. Anyway, Jeffrey said that the opioid crisis in America could have been avoided if the government hadn’t cracked down so harshly on the medical clinics and pharmaceutical companies. As you remember, they were handing out Oxycontin like candy to the zombies back in the day. Dr. Miron concluded his interview by urging Korean law enforcement not to be too draconian when it comes to the illegal use of narcotics on the peninsula.

I couldn’t disagree more. The Korean government has a zero-tolerance policy for drugs. And if you decide to snort cocaine or smoke weed, then you’re going to prison. This makes me extremely happy as a father. I never worry about whether Rice-Boy Larry is going to die from an overdose. Sadly, the same can’t be said for Nurse Ken. Now that he lives in the United States, my life has been a nightmarish festival of fear. A kid can take a hit off a joint in the morning and be dead by the afternoon because it was laced with poison. In fact, I often wish I could go back in time. Knowing what I know now, I would never have shipped my oldest boy off to America in a million years. It’s a glorified third-world cesspool.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I listened to the news on YouTube. A ten-year-old boy from Georgia was found searching for food in his neighborhood. He only weighed thirty-six pounds. The police arrived, and the child begged the officers not to make him go back home. It turns out that his mother and father have been slowly starving him to death. But that’s not all. The poor child also has bruises and crooked teeth from all the beatings he’s been forced to endure. There’s a lot of evil in this world, and I simply laugh at people who tell me that Satan doesn’t really exist.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “How come you’re in bed?”

She said, “I don’t feel well.”

“What’s the problem?”

“My doctor upped my dose of Lexapro to 20 mgs a day.”

“Wow, are you that depressed?”

She shook her head. “I’m not depressed at all.”

“So why are you taking crazy pills?”

“They are supposed to be effective for victims of stroke.”

“Maybe you should call your doctor and tell him how you’re feeling.”

“I will. But I’m going to give it a couple of days first. Maybe my body will adapt.”

“Well, I’m praying for you.”

Mom changed the subject. “Your sister has shingles.”

“Shit! That’s painful.”

“She also has irritable-bowel syndrome.”

“Damn! That’s no fun, either.”

“What do you think is the cause?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Probably her job. Stress is eating her up.”

My sister is a public-school teacher in America. It’s a terrible way to earn a living. I did it for five years until I eventually escaped to save my sanity. Along with being abused by the children, you’re often forced to take your lumps from the leadership (principal and assorted vice principals) and the other members of the staff, including the secretaries, the janitors, and the kitchen crew. I shit you not. It’s an existence filled with unbearable psychic pain.

My day at work went well. During my downtime, I managed to catch the game between the Lakers and the Nuggets. It was very exciting. But all that nervous energy nearly gave me a heart attack. That’s why I prefer baseball. It’s boring in a good sort of way.

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