Protocol

 

(The rules of society are fucking important.)

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 shit. There’s a hotshot lawyer in Korea named Kuk Cho. He worked as a professor for Seoul National University for many years and had also held the position of Justice Minister under the previous presidential administration. Anyway, he just got fired from his college job for lying about his son. Mr. Cho wanted his boy to go to a good school. Politics in Korea is sheer hell. If you piss off the wrong people, they will destroy you with a smile on their faces and a song in their hearts.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I surfed the internet. The feds just indicted Orange Donald because of the documents found at Mar-a-Lago. Uncle Sam seems to be claiming that Trump is a traitor deserving of death. The fuckhead in charge of the case is a lawyer named Jack Smith. He says that our former president was sharing sensitive defense secrets with groups of foreign retards who have malice in their hearts toward the good old USA. In other words, this is actually a capital crime. Men like Benedict Arnold get killed. You certainly don’t let them live. 

In my humble opinion, Trump will probably die spending the remainder of his life under house arrest. Trust me. He won’t be on the ticket when the election rolls around. Is he actually a criminal? Of course not. But that’s what happens when you break into the circle jerk without an invitation. Just ask JFK. Oh, that’s right. You can’t. They blew his fucking brains out. However, try not to worry. The Deep State doesn’t actually exist.

I looked at Rice-Boy Larry. He was lounging on the sofa.

I said, “What’s your problem?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a problem.”

“You look terrible.”

“I only slept two hours. I’m tired.”

“Why didn’t you go to bed?”

“I was studying for a couple of tests.”

“Which ones?”

“Science and Korean.”

I took a sip from my coffee mug and sighed. “Man, that’s rough.”

I drove to work in my ancient SUV. I really like my automobile. It guzzles diesel with the zest of an alcoholic and vibrates like a powerful sex toy. But the South Korean government is confiscating it next year. Why? The peninsula is loaded to the gills with green-energy assholes who don’t believe in freedom. They’ll throw me a few bucks to justify their theft, yet it won’t be nearly enough to cover the nut for new wheels. Essentially, Big Brother has reduced me to a loser, and I will be forced to rely on public transportation for the rest of my life.

I called my mother using Facebook messenger as I cruised down the highway.

She said, “How’s tricks?”

I said, “I’m a little pissed.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m still thinking about the balls on that principal.”

“Your principal?”

I shook my head. “No, the bastard who called my school after I sent him my resume.”

“He was only checking your references. No crime in that.”

“But I hadn’t listed any references. The son of a bitch jumped the gun. First comes the meeting of the minds. Then and only then should he call my supervisor. It’s common courtesy.”

She shot me a sympathetic grin. “Well, it’s over. Might as well let it go.”

“You don’t get it. His behavior has a chilling effect on job seekers. Now I’m too afraid to apply for other gigs. If I get caught again, my employer might refuse to renew my contract.”

Mom laughed out loud. “You’re being paranoid.”

But here’s the straight-skinny truth. I’m not being paranoid. That’s just the way this world works. If protocol is ignored, then everything falls to pieces.

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