Fecal Matter Redux

(I've always had a huge problem with skid marks.)

Yesterday, I took Rice-Boy Larry for dinner at 7 p.m. We went to a fried-chicken restaurant which is located right across the street from our apartment. That's the best thing about Korea. You don't need a car to get to where you want to go. Anyway, the bird came to eighteen dollars, and I also ordered a pitcher of beer in order to catch a buzz. Meanwhile, Larry drank a large can of Chilsung Cider to quench his thirst. Chilsung Cider is basically Seven-Up by just another name. It's an Asian knock-off.

We struck up a conversation while eating our meal.

I said, "I've been getting a lot of skid marks in my underwear lately. It's worrying me."

He said, "What's the problem?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm getting older, and my body simply isn't the same. Unfortunately, my asshole has broken with age. I have to wipe it five or six times a day to keep my skivvies from looking like used toilet paper."

He pointed at the pitcher of suds. "Maybe it's the beer."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. I haven't been imbibing much alcohol these days. In fact, this is my first drink in nearly a week." 

"Did you have the same issue when you were my age?"

I nodded. "My lack of proper hygiene has always caused me deep shame."

"Then maybe you were born with a defective cornhole. It could come down to genetics."

"Perhaps you're right. I just hope that I don't have cancer."

"I'm sure that you're fine. You shouldn't overreact."

I pointed my index finger at his chest and looked him in the eyes. "My father died of cancer when he was younger than me. The disease first attacked his pancreas before spreading through the rest of his body."

"That's not good."

"No, it isn't good. It's downright terrible."

I stepped outside for a cigarette. Like America, you are no longer allowed to smoke in restaurants here on the peninsula. I met a semi-attractive woman who was also enjoying a puff. She was a little bit younger than me and couldn't speak a word of English. The thought of sex briefly crossed my mind. But then I quickly let it go. I've decided to remain celibate until my death.

I went back inside and took my seat. "How would you feel if I found a new girlfriend?"

My boy let out a long sigh. "It would kill me."

"I don't blame you. And I completely understand. It wouldn't be easy to see your old man with a new partner."

"Thanks for your patience."

We got home at 9 p.m., and I went to my room and watched porno. Don't worry. My kid didn't hear a thing because I was using earphones. I viewed several videos featuring big-breasted MILFs getting boned by a young guy with a Chelsea tattoo on his forearm. I felt kind of guilty. I'm really too old for that childish type of stuff. Yet I'm officially celibate, so smut is all I have left.

I fell asleep at 11 p.m. and dreamt that the interest rates around the globe had been hiked to 20 percent. The world was in a panic, and people were screaming all types of obscenities at both presidents and kings. However, a chubby young man in glasses told everyone to relax. This guy also had a mustache and a well-groomed goatee. Everybody listened to him. 

Then I woke up at 8 a.m. to the sound of my doorbell. An old guy in his 60s brought me a new washing machine and refrigerator. I didn't have to pay for them. My employer had picked up the check.

You should have seen this geezer. He carted both of the appliances into my apartment and set them up in no time flat. Heavy lifting was involved, but he handled it like a champ. I was quite impressed. Korea is a no-tipping society, yet I felt compelled to give him thirty dollars for his effort. I wasn't going to let him walk away empty handed after such feats of strength.

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