Working Out

 

(Robert Kennedy is built like a brick shithouse.)

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 dump. Koreans spend more on academic tutors for their children than they pay for food and housing. I find this stat hard to believe, but that’s what my favorite newspaper claims. With that said, practically every parent on the peninsula sends his child to after-school academies. The rugrats attend these institutes to improve their math and English skills. Sometimes, they don’t return home until midnight or later. Lots of Asian folk take education way too seriously. They would poison your coffee to get Junior into Harvard. I shit you not.

I ate hash browns for breakfast as I surfed the internet. Democratic hopeful Robert Kennedy is completely covered in muscles. The old geezer is nearly seventy years old, but he’s sporting huge biceps and an impressive six pack. In one crazy video, he can be seen pumping out pushups like a kid in his twenties.  I find him to be a physical inspiration. I’m in my 50s, and I have a hard time getting off the sofa. So maybe it’s time to start hitting a gym. With the help of steroids, I might be able to transform myself into an ancient Adonis. Perhaps my new physique will help me get pussy. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “My wife wants you to give her twenty grand.”

Mom cackled like a witch. “Twenty grand? That’s all? Why not ask for a million dollars?”

“She’s thirty-five thousand in debt. She really went to town with the credit cards.”

“Not my problem. Tell her to go out and get a job.”

I changed the subject. “I saw a weird movie last night. It’s called Beau Is Afraid. The film was directed by the same guy who made Hereditary.”

“Is it fantastic?”

“Which one? Beau Is Afraid or Hereditary?”

“Beau is Afraid. I already know how you feel about Hereditary. You never shut up about it.”

I smiled at her. “I’m not really sure. The movie was Kafkaesque.”

“And is that good or bad?”

“In general, I enjoy reading Kafka, but strangely enough I hate art that is Kafkaesque.”

“So you’re giving it a thumbs down?”

I shrugged. “I’ll have to watch it a few more times and get back to you. I’m simply not that bright whereas the director might be a genius.”

She sighed heavily. “He’s not a genius, and don’t sell yourself short. You’re a smart man.”

“How do you know that he isn’t a genius?”

“Because geniuses do great stuff like fly men to the moon or invent pills which save millions of lives. They don’t waste their time making Kafkaesque films for snooty assholes.”

Mom has never been a huge fan of art. In fact, her idea of living large is viewing a James Bond marathon featuring the late great Sean Connery. Yet everybody is entitled to their own opinion.

I went to church in the afternoon. Rice-Boy Larry stayed home, so I had to go by my lonesome. My son is turning into a real pagan. I was disappointed to learn that many people are leaving our congregation. They’re returning to their homelands or getting jobs in other cities. The news also hit the pastor pretty hard. He’s attributing their departure to his lackluster sermons. Trust me. He’s no ball of fire, but his preaching seems to follow sound doctrine. I try not to complain. Things could always be worse. At least I wasn’t born in Djibouti.

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