Pizza and Fun

(Getting together for a meal is pretty damn important.)

Today, I woke up at 8 a.m. and drank a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while smoking a Marlboro Red. A guy from Seoul went crazy and started stabbing complete strangers with a butcher knife. One of his victims died and the other three are currently recovering from their injuries at the hospital. The perpetrator said he did it because his life sucks ass, and he wants other people to know his pain. My life is shit, too. But I relieve my frustrations by writing a stupid blog which caters to retards and fuckheads.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, "Sis came for a visit this weekend. She brought her friend Tammi."

I nodded. "I remember Tammi. We all graduated from the same crap high school."

"They took me for pizza. I just got home about five minutes ago."

"Was it good?"

"Was what good?"

"The pizza."

She shrugged. "It was OK. It came with pepperoni and mushrooms. I'm not a huge fan of mushrooms these days."

"Why didn't you tell the ladies to order you something else?"

"I don't like to cause problems. It's important to be grateful when people take you out to eat."

And Mom's a hundred percent correct. I've been picky all my life when it comes to food, and sometimes I even gag when I put creamy stuff in my mouth. For instance, I can't eat cheese and many types of sauce. I suddenly get the sudden urge to puke. And this goes for salad dressing, too. Hell, I can't even stomach mayonnaise. Needless to say, I don't get invited to many dinners.

I read the bible for thirty minutes. I'm currently enjoying the Book of Acts. Paul has told his followers that he's going back to Jerusalem, and they all beg the apostle to avoid that city like the plague. A kid with the gift of prophecy warns Paul that he'll be shackled by the authorities and handed over to the gentiles for punishment. But the apostle refuses to listen and marches forward to his doom.

Later in the day, I walked to church. It took me an hour to get there, and I was covered in sweat by the time I arrived. I looked like a glazed donut, so I went to the restroom and cleaned myself up with paper towels.

A little boy pointed at me and shouted, "Waygook! Waygook! Waygook!" Then he threw his head back and laughed like a madman.

Waygook is the Korean word for foreigner. Lots of children on the peninsula go nuts when they see a white man. They shout and scream and even dance. At first, it used to get to me. However, now it's nothing but water off a duck's ass.

Anyway, the boy's father told junior to settle down, and the kid obeyed.  So I waved and gave him a pat on the shoulder. He seemed to get a kick out of it.

The sermon was OK. We are still reading the Book of Isaiah. But I have to tell you the truth. My pastor isn't exactly the most dynamic speaker in the world. Yet he's a really nice guy, and it's my pleasure and privilege to support his ministry. After all, it's not his job to keep me amused.

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