Oasis

 

(Sometimes, we all need shelter from the storm.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and had a smoke. Then I briefly thought about scrubbing the sliding glass doors which lead to my veranda. They’re covered with unsightly fingerprints. But I just didn’t have the energy. So I sat on the sofa and watched Fox News instead. The entire broadcast revolved around the hurricane which just slammed Florida. A couple people died who were driving their cars during the storm.

Rice-Boy Larry stepped into the living room. “I’m going outside to play basketball.”

“Who are you meeting?”

“Nobody.”

“You’re playing by yourself?”

He nodded. “That’s right. I need the exercise. Plus I don’t have any homework tonight.”

I shrugged. “OK. Sounds good to me.”

He paused for a second. “Do you think that medicine is doing anything for my acne?”

“Yes. You’re actually starting to look a little bit better.”

Rice-Boy has only been taking the pills for a few days, so his skin is pretty much the same. But a little white lie never hurt anybody. He certainly doesn’t resemble a young Brad Pitt. Yet he isn’t the elephant man, either.

I switched on Netflix and began viewing another episode of Peaky Blinders. I have to tell you assholes something. Sam Neil is a hell of an actor. He’s one of those Hollywood stalwarts who has appeared in everything under the sun but never gets the praise he deserves. In this show, he’s a real son of a bitch who is hunting downs communists and gangsters.

I called Larry at 8:30 p.m. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m still playing ball.”

“Well, it’s time to come home.”

“Why?”

“It’s dark outside.”

He got back to the apartment ten minutes later covered in sweat. My boy isn’t much of an athlete, but I don’t hold it against him. I suck at sports, too.

At 9 p.m., I walked to my bedroom and had a wank before falling asleep. I no longer rely on porn to get my jollies, so playing with myself isn’t the joy that it used to be. Yet that’s OK. I don’t want to help fuel the smut industry with my lust.

The alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I took a wicked piss. Then I walked outside to enjoy a Marlboro before having a shit and a shower. After that, I cooked up six strips of bacon in a frying pan. I also fried some rice cake.

“Get up, Larry! Breakfast is served.”

He climbed out of bed and ate the vittles without saying a word. My son isn’t a morning person.

At 6:30 a.m., it was time to catch the bus. Most of the bus drivers in Korea are a bunch of surly assholes. But today’s guy was actually very friendly. He gave me a warm greeting while flashing me a smile.

I got to work at 7 a.m. and called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “Are you feeling any better?”

She frowned. “I’m still sick.”

“What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing. I’m just not myself.”

“Are you sure you’re OK? You look like somebody took a whizz in your cornflakes.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “It’s that fucking stepbrother of yours. He came to my house and clogged all the goddamn sinks with his funky food.”

“Did you call a plumber?”

“No need for that. I managed to fix the problem myself with Drano.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“God forgive me, Jack. But I wish he’d go the fuck home.”

My day at work went well. The kids were pleasant. I enjoy my job a great deal. It’s my oasis in a storm.

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Garbage Day

 

(Taking out the trash is complicated in Korea.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and did two huge loads of laundry. Some of my underpants were full of skid marks, so I was forced to use a ton of bleach. That miracle liquid really did the job. My delicate panties are now glowing with pure cleanliness. In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find a single speck of fecal matter. Whoever invented bleach should give himself a huge pat on the back.

After that, I made dinner for me and my boy. We had dumplings that I cooked in the air fryer.

I said, “Is your food good?”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not exactly a glowing review.”

“Do you hear me complaining?”

Sometimes, I wish that I had had daughters. Then I could make them prepare the food and wash the clothes. Oh well. What’s a daddy to do?

I sat on the sofa and turned-on Netflix. I watched a couple of episodes of a show called Peaky Blinders. It’s about gangsters in England vying for control of Birmingham. Most of the characters have just returned home from WWI. They’re all violent damaged men.

Rice-Boy Larry walked into the living room. “I might go for a run.”

“OK. I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

“But I have tons of math homework.”

“I’m too old to fuss at you, son. Make a choice and stick with it.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll do the math. My teacher is a motherfucker.”

“I’m sure he’s doing his best, so don’t be too rough on him.”

At nine p.m., I went to my room. I sat in bed and viewed Fox News for an hour. There’s a huge hurricane heading straight for Florida. Governor DeSantis urged everyone to search for higher ground. He said that the storm is going to be a killer. His motto was this: Hide from wind and run from water.

My mom actually lost her condominium in Mississippi after Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast. The sudden surge of water washed the entire complex out to sea. One of her neighbors died during the event. He had refused to leave his home because the local shelters wouldn’t admit his pet. His body was never recovered. That was almost twenty years ago, but it seems like yesterday.

I eventually fell asleep at 10 p.m. Yet unfortunately I had to piss like a racehorse during the middle of the night. I got out of bed and shot urine all over the toilet seat. But not to fear. I cleaned it up with the shower nozzle. My bathroom floors come with a drain. Therefore, I can squirt water wherever the fuck I want. It makes life easier.

The alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I ate three donuts before taking a shit and a shower. Then I cooked six strips of bacon for Rice-Boy Larry.

I said, “You need to take out the garbage.”

“I’ll do it when I get back from school.”

“OK. Sounds good to me. But try not to forget. We’ll soon be drowning in refuse.”

Korea is a pain in the ass when it comes to trash. If the stuff isn’t separated, you will actually receive a hefty fine from Big Brother. Consequently, we have a large blue bag filled with empty plastic bottles out on our veranda.

I caught the bus with plenty of time to spare and got to work by 8 a.m. It was time to start another day.

Sparkling Anus

 

(Skid marks are becoming a nuisance.)

On Sunday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and smoked a Marlboro Red while slurping on a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Then I watched Fox News as I sat on my sofa. The big story involved Donald Trump. He got arrested again and is now selling photos of his fabulous mugshot. In spite of his legal troubles, Donald’s poll numbers keep going up and up. And this isn’t a huge surprise. Nobody wants the FBI or the DOJ to decide whom they can vote for.

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was the Dragon Lady.

She said, “Are you anglee?”

“No, I’m not angry. Larry said that you found a job.”

“Yes. Maybe I soon stawt work for Samsung.”

“That’s great. What will you be doing for them?”

“It in da education department. But dese days I go to hospitah. I have da stone in my kidneys.”

I sighed heavily. “That’s not good.”

“It velee painful. My body hawt so much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

There was a pregnant pause. Something was definitely on her mind.

Finally, she said, “Do you have da money you can geeve me?”

“What?”

“I need da money.”

“Sorry. I’m flat broke. You cleaned out the bank account when you ran away. I only have enough to get me and Larry to the next paycheck.”

“Dat OK. Don’t worry.” Then she hung up without saying goodbye.

I don’t believe that my wife actually found a job. She’s probably living off the charity of her family. It’s not easy being married to a loon. Everything is a big bullshit story. Eventually, she’ll come back to the apartment. What other choice does she have? However, things will be different this time. She’ll no longer have access to a single dime. In fact, I plan on giving her 200 bucks a month as pocket money. Not a cent more.

Korea isn’t like America. Getting divorced is extremely complicated in this part of the world. If both parties don’t agree, then you’re pretty well screwed. My only other option is to run away back to America. Yet a potential career at the Waffle House isn’t exactly filling me with joy. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Later in the day, I walked to church with Rice-Boy Larry. We struck up a conversation along the way.

I said, “Your mom called.”

“What did she want?”

“Money.”

“Did you send her any?”

“No. I told her I was broke. But the whole business is very depressing.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“If she returns, I’ll throw her 200 dollars a month to wash the floors and keep the bathrooms clean.”

“Then basically you’re turning her into a cut-rate maid.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what else to do. On the bright side, she’ll have free food and shelter.”

“I don’t want her to come back. I’m finally starting to enjoy my life.”

“Well, nothing is set in stone. Perhaps she’ll stay with her family.”

When we arrived at church, we were both drenched in sweat. So we walked to the bathroom and wiped ourselves off with paper towels. Then I gave my asshole a thorough cleaning. I’m getting older, and sadly I get skid marks from time to time. Having a sparkling anus now seems like the impossible dream. Yet I do the best I can.

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The Horrors of Acne

(I was a real mess back in the day.)

As a teenager, I suffered from pretty bad acne. I’m not quite as ugly as popular actor Edward James Olmos or the vulgar street poet Charles Bukowski. But I’m not going to win any beauty prizes, either. I bring this up because genetics is often a curse, and Rice-Boy Larry is getting a smattering of pimples. So I took him to the dermatologist on Saturday. We rode the bus together.

I said, “What you need to ask for is a pill called Accutane. They put you on one course for a few months, and then you’re done forever.”

“Is that what you took back when you were a kid?”

“Yes, after many years of suffering, I finally found the right doctor.”

“Why were they so stingy with the meds?”

I sighed heavily. “It all comes down to money. If they cure you too quickly, the cash dries up.”

“Do you think this guy will give it to me?”

“Give what?”

“The Accutane.”

I inspected his skin and shook my head. “No chance in hell. Your affliction isn’t severe enough. He’ll place you on antibiotics, and you’ll become a lifetime patient.”

“That sucks.”

I shrugged. “What else can we do?”

“We could shop around for other doctors until we get what we want. That’s the power of being the customer.”

I nodded. “It’s definitely an option.”

We finally arrived at the physician’s office at 9:30 p.m., and Larry was seen almost immediately. The doctor examined my boy for less than two minutes and wrote a script for an antibiotic known as roximycin. He was also given some cream to rub on the affected areas.

The pharmacy was packed. Therefore, we had to wait for twenty minutes to get the medication. We sat together and shot the shit.

Rice-Boy said, “It looks like you were right. Antibiotics.”

“No point in getting glum. The stuff works. But it’s not a miracle drug. Now you’ll be the dermatologist’s butt boy until you’re twenty-five.”

“Have you ever tried roximycin?”

I shook my head. “No. I was on an antibiotic known as tetracycline.”

“And it was effective?”

“To a point. But once you get off of it, all those zits will start coming back.”

“Man! Talk about a kick in the balls.”

I put my arm around him and gave the kid a squeeze. “Trust me. I know your pain. But perhaps being an ugly motherfucker like your dad is simply your destiny. Look on the bright side. If you had been born in Djibouti, you’d never have the chance to improve your looks.”

Later that night, I watched a couple of movies on Netflix. The first was called The Northman, and it was directed by Robert Eggers. He’s the same guy who made The Witch and The Lighthouse. The film was pretty fucking crazy. It’s about a Viking looking for revenge.

The second flick of the evening was The Whale starring Brenden Fraser. Brenden won an Oscar for his portrayal of an obese gay English teacher who is trying to reconnect with his estranged daughter. The Whale is a real tearjerker. It left me feeling like I got hit by a dump truck.

I fell asleep at midnight and dreamt about West Point. I was at the military college giving a speech about the war in the Ukraine. The audience booed me off the stage.

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The Sunday Blahs

Hello, my dearest friends. It's Sunday, and I can't be bothered writing. So here's a video of the USC marching band performing Tusk by Fleetwood Mac. But have no fear. I will be back tomorrow with more sad tales from my life. God bless.

It's Saturday

It's Saturday, and I can't be bothered writing a word. But here's an interesting video from the former head of the Mongols Motorcycle Club. See you soon. 

Mass Homicide

 

(We'll all be dead soon.)

Yesterday, I read a poem by Anne Bradstreet with my high-school class. Anne was a Puritan woman who lived in Massachusetts back in the seventeenth century. She had to look after eight children while maintaining her household. Anyway, the name of the poem is An Author to Her Book. Bradstreet is certainly not as talented as Lord Byron, but her work is both charming and historically interesting, nevertheless.

One of my students raised her hand. “The Japanese and Koreans are no longer having children. They’re too busy working.”

I said, “Anne worked, too. She helped her husband, looked after her kids, and wrote verse on the side.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t call that a real job.”

I smiled at her. “I’m not sure what the early colonists actually did for a living. Yet keeping a clean house certainly isn’t easy. Trust me. I learned that from bitter experience.”

One boy said, “They probably hunted and fished a lot. You had to find food on a daily basis, or you’d starve to death.”

I said, “They grew vegetables, too. I lived in New England until I was sixteen. The farmland is not too shabby.”

He said, “Isn’t it too cold to grow much?”

I said, “I froze my hump to the bone every winter. Yet we had a vegetable garden in our backyard. It produced corn and squash and pumpkins. The stuff simply sprouted right from the ground like there was no tomorrow.”

Another girl joined the conversation. “I wouldn’t want to have eight children. It would destroy my body. One’s enough.”

I shook my head. “One isn’t enough. If every family only produced a single infant, then the world population would dwindle down to practically nothing after a mere four generations.”

She said, “It would be good for the environment. We are the dirtiest creatures who inhabit the earth.”

“We’re pretty filthy. That’s for sure. But the earth without humans doesn’t sound all that great to me.”

Later in the day, I watched a video on Rumble featuring Dan Bongino. There’s an article in Time Magazine where a famous scientist tells the world that our extinction by artificial intelligence is one-hundred percent certain. This man claims that it’s already too late. The dice have been cast, and we’ll all be wiped out within the next ten years. Dan was very nonplussed by this dire news, but it slid off my back like water from a duck’s ass. After all, what the fuck can I do about it? I just hope that my robot overlord exterminates me in a painless fashion. Suffering isn’t my forte.

I eventually got home at 6 p.m. and cracked open a can of beer. Then I gave Rice-Boy Larry his weekly allowance of thirty dollars.

He said, “Thanks, Dad.”

“Don’t mention it. But let me have twenty minutes before cooking supper. My tootsies are crying out in pain.”

“Are you OK?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. According to the medical community, we’ll all be slaughtered by artificial intelligence in about a decade or so.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it certainly isn’t. Yet what’s a boy to do?”

I finally got back to my feet and prepared fried rice and eggs for dinner. The meal was OK. We devoured every last bite.

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The Atlantic Monthly

(Oliver Wendell Holmes would be rolling in his grave.)

Yesterday, I taught a poem called Old Ironsides to my high school class. It was written by Oliver Wendell Holmes back in the day. It’s about a ship that was used in the War of 1812, and to Holmes’s chagrin, Uncle Sam wants to tear it to pieces and sell the vessel for scraps. Holmes argues for its restoration and says that it would be more patriotic to sink the fucking thing rather than breaking it to bits.

I said, “Oliver was everything you kids want to be.”

One girl said, “That’s not true. He lived more than a hundred years ago.”

I shot her an arrogant smile. “He went to Harvard. He became a medical doctor. He started a successful magazine called The Atlantic Monthly. And it’s still in publication today.”

She nodded in agreement. “Maybe you’re right. I would love to go to Harvard.”

I pointed in her direction to lend gravity to my words. “On the dark side, his magazine is now staffed by loons. They tear down statues. They burn down cites. And they celebrate war pimps. Even guys like Abraham Lincoln and Thomas Jefferson aren’t safe from their wrath. Poor Oliver would be rolling in his grave if he saw it today.”

She said, “Why are Americans destroying their heritage?”

I shook my head from side to side. “I haven’t the foggiest clue. We seem to be going through a type of cultural revolution that infected the Chinese back in the days of Mao. We might not even survive.”

One of the boys decided to pipe in with his two cents. “You’re a conservative Trumper!”

I lifted my hands in a sign of surrender. “I’m not a conservative, and I haven’t voted since 2008. But yes. I do appreciate Orange Donald’s style. He was an effective leader.”

Yet this didn’t stop him from giving me the evil eye. “You’re the type of person who was storming the Capitol on January sixth. You’re old and white, and your ideas are stale.”

I didn’t respond to his insults. I’m past the point of caring anymore. After years of teaching, these minor skirmishes roll off my back like water from a duck’s ass. In fact, I enjoy the feisty children more than the ones who obey all the time and agree with my every word. Perhaps I’m a sick son of a bitch, but the conflict can be rather exciting.

I eventually got home at 6 p.m. and vacuumed my floors. It had been four days since the last cleaning, so it felt good to get it out of the way. Then I sat on the sofa and drank a large can of beer. The alcohol always helps to take the edge off.

Rice-Boy Larry called me. “I’m eating dinner with my friends.”

“What time will you return?”

“Probably around eight.”

I sighed heavily. “I never see you anymore.”

“Do you need me at the apartment?”

“Not really. But could you help me order bacon and deodorant from Coupang when you get back home? It would be a huge help.”

“Sure. No problem.”

True to his word, my boy walked through the door right at eight on the nose. Then we sat together as we ordered our supplies off the internet. 2.5 pounds of bacon cost me twenty bucks. And I got three sticks of deodorant for twelve dollars. I also purchased twelve bottles of off-brand cola. The entire order came to right around $50.

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Marianne

 

Marianne is a forgotten gem that you can find on Netflix.

Yesterday, I took the bus home after work. I was able to find a seat, and my heart leapt with joy. However, the driver was a maniac. He ran a couple of red lights and came within a cunt hair of rearending an unsuspecting vehicle. I nearly shit my pants.

Rice-Boy Larry called me. “I’m playing basketball with my friends, and I won’t be home until seven.”

“But you have to order some stuff from Coupang.”

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow?”

“We’re almost out of bacon. So what will I serve you for breakfast?”

“I’m fine with mandu.”

I shrugged. “OK. Less work for me.”

Mandu is the Korean word for dumplings. Vegetables and tiny pieces of meat are shoved into a crusty pastry shells. And all you have to do is throw them into an air fryer for five minutes and put them on a plate. Then bang. You’re done.

I went to the little supermarket across the street and bought some chicken to prepare at home. I also purchased spicy poultry sauce. The meal was fantastic.

After that, it was time to do a load of laundry. I sat on the sofa and watched Marianne while the clothes were being washed. I also drank a big can of beer. Marianne is so scary that I had a hard time looking at the television screen. Instead, I played around on my smartphone to avoid pissing my pants with fear.

My son came walking through the door right when one of the characters was levitating off the ground and spewing blasphemous obscenities. Spooked out of my mind, I jumped out of my chair like a silly child.

Larry said, “What’s your problem?”

I pointed at the TV. “It’s this show. It’s terrifying.”

“Then why don’t you turn it off?”

I nodded in agreement. “I want to, but I can’t seem to control myself.”

“Did you make dinner?”

“Yes, there’s chicken in the kitchen. Are you sure that you don’t want to order bacon?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got too much homework to do.”

I hung up the laundry out on the veranda. People in Korea never use dryers, so my apartment only came with a washing machine. I guess it saves on the electricity bill. I briefly thought about vacuuming my floors, but I was just too tired.

I finally went to bed at 10 p.m. and slept like the dead. I didn’t even wake up during the night to take a piss. Lately, I’ve been exhausted.

The alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “How’s Ken doing?”

“He’s working and taking five classes this semester. He didn’t get home until eleven last night.”

“Why so late?”

“He had to clean the place. Chick-fil-A closes at nine, and then the crew has to make the restaurant all spic and span for the next day.”

“Don’t let him work too many hours. School should come first.”

“That’s what I told him, but he never listens to me.” She suddenly changed the subject. “You have a horrible angry look on your face. What’s the matter?”

I sighed heavily. “I have to take a dump, and I’m holding it in.”

“Well, go and do your business. Don’t let me get in the way.”

After emptying my bowels and taking a shower, I caught the bus to work. It was time to start the day.

Asians and Math

 

(Rice-Boy Larry takes algebra very seriously.)

Yesterday, I read a poem called Concord Hymn with my high school class. It’s written by Ralph Waldo Emerson, and the themes of freedom and patriotism resonate throughout the stanzas. Emerson was obviously a huge fan of the American Revolution. But in his day, the poet was considered an unhinged libtard by many in polite society. Go figure, right?

I looked at the students. “Are any of you patriots?”

A boy from Lithuania raised his hand. “Not really. It’s a refuge for scoundrels.”

I sighed heavily. “You might be right. My mom is a huge patriot. If you say anything against America, she’ll rip out your spleen with a warm spoon.”

“There’s no point in loving Lithuania. It’s run by a bunch of corrupt douchebags.”

All his cronies laughed so hard that they nearly fell out of their chairs. Teenagers love naughty language.

I said, “Why use a word like douchebag in mixed company? There’s a time and a place.” I paused for dramatic effect. “But even though you feel no love for the politicians, you still like the people, don’t you?”

“The Lithuanians?”

“Yes. The Lithuanians.”

He shrugged. “I can take them or leave them.”

“OK. Good enough.”

When I was a boy, I used to wave the flag a lot. Plus I was into politics big time. Ronald Reagan was the president when I attended high school, and I thought he was the cat’s meow. Now I’m beginning to think that Ronnie was just another fuckhead in a long line of fuckheads. The only leader worth a damn in my lifetime has been Trump, and sadly the deep state is about to send him to prison forever. Yes. Like a hapless retard, I foolishly believed that the United States was a democracy, but that notion no longer clouds my mind. So there you go.

I caught the bus back home at 5:15 p.m. It was so crowded that I couldn’t find a seat. I had to stand for the entire journey while clinging to a metal pole. I was terrified. Every time the vehicle stopped, I nearly fell over.

I finally got to my apartment at 6 p.m. Sixty rolls of toilet paper were stacked neatly outside my door. I live in a society where the necessities of life can be shipped right to your domicile in a matter of days. It certainly makes things extremely convenient. Now I can defecate without any fear. Good for me.

Rice-Boy Larry was sitting on the sofa. “Hi, Dad.”

I shot him a puzzled glance. “What are you doing home so early?”

“I lost my toenail playing basketball.”

“Your toenail? The entire thing?”

He nodded. “It just came right off. Now I’m bleeding.”

“Should we go to the hospital?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think so. I looked it up on the internet. It should grow back in a month or so.”

“Aren’t you in pain?”

“Not really. Let’s wait and see what happens. I don’t want to miss any school. I’ll fall behind in math.”

Larry, like many Asians, takes algebra very seriously. Getting a bad grade would kill his pride. It’s a matter of life and death.

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Anal Hijinks

 

(I'm not qualified to judge anybody.)

On Saturday, I woke up at 7 a.m. and went downstairs for a cigarette. But it was pissing rain outside, so I had to settle for a piece of nicotine gum instead. Then I called my mother using Facebook messenger. I was sitting on the sofa at the time.

She said, “You look rough. What’s wrong with you?”

“I had beer at the chicken house last night. Perhaps I overdid it.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Only a pitcher.”

She shook her head in disdain. “That’s insane! A full pitcher? Are you out of your mind?”

“A pitcher really isn’t that much alcohol. I used to do that with no problem at all.” I paused for dramatic effect. “I’m really worried about myself. I’m turning into an old lady. Soon, I’ll be reduced to sipping tea and snacking on Kit-Kats.”

“Have you been eating properly?”

“Not so much these days. I usually just have jelly donuts for breakfast.”

“Jelly donuts? What about your diet?”

I sighed heavily. “I don’t have time for that shit anymore. I’ve got a full-time job. Plus I’m taking on the role of a housewife. And let me tell you something. A woman’s work never ends.”

“Maybe you need to go back to bed.”

I nodded. “I think you’re right.”

And that’s exactly what I did. I slept for another four hours. In fact, I didn’t wake up until noon. But there was no time to relax. I had to clean the bathrooms. I performed this feat using copious amounts of bleach, and I just about burned my lungs out. I spent the rest of the day coughing and sneezing and blowing my nose. The snot wouldn’t stop dripping down my face.

Rice-Boy Larry said, “Are you catching a cold?”

“No. It’s the bleach. There’s got to be a safer way to keep the shitters clean.”

My son went to his room to play computer games while I enjoyed Netflix. I watched a three-hour documentary about Johnny Depp’s divorce. He used to be married to a beauty queen named Amber Heard. Their marriage was a real disaster. They couldn’t stop beating the shit out of each other. Mr. Depp even lost the tip of his finger when she hit him with a full bottle of vodka. Yet it was tough to feel sorry for either of those loons. They’re both a couple of Hollywood assholes.

The next day, I walked to church by my lonesome. Rice-Boy Larry didn’t want to come. Instead, he hung out with his friends. The weather was brutal. By the time I made it to the building, I was covered in sweat. I had to hose myself off in one of the public restrooms.

The sermon was about the Samaritan woman at the well. Jesus gently rebukes her because she’s had too many husbands in her life. But he doesn’t send her to the fiery pit of hell. Instead, he offers her living water so that she won’t have to spend the rest of her life living like a thirsty sexual deviant.

I notice that Christ often gives sexual sinners a pass as long as they repent. Just look at John 8 and the tale of the adulteress. That’s why I never slam homosexuals in spite of their anal hijinks. It’s not my place to judge. I’ll leave it to the Lord.

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Sunday

It's Sunday, and I can't be bothered writing. But don't worry. I should be back tomorrow with more boring stories about my life. In the meantime, here's a video about a notorious mob hit which was later dramatized in the popular film Casino. God bless.

Schrodinger's Cat

(I've never been good at math or science.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and discovered 120 bottles of water waiting at my door. They were wrapped in plastic in groups of thirty. I let out a sigh of agony. The last thing I wanted to do was drag them all into the house. But what other option did I have? It's not like I could leave them in the corridor. My neighbors would probably start gossiping about me.

Anyway, I lugged them to the veranda and stacked them along the wall. And trust me. They were some heavy sons of bitches. But no big deal. I really need all the exercise I can get. I don't want to become one of those old men who can't do anything physical. I'm trying to age gracefully.

Rice-Boy Larry walked through the door at 7 p.m. He went crazy with joy when he saw that his delivery had arrived successfully.

He screamed, "The water came!"

I nodded. "It sure did. It was hell dragging that shit into the house."

"It was the best deal on the internet. It should last us until the end of October. I did the calculations in my mind."

"You're probably right."

"Twenty eight bucks for 120 bottles. You can't beat that with a stick."

"Granny says the price is too high. She shops at Sam's and gets it for a fraction of the cost."

He frowned at me. "The comparison isn't the same. The water in America is cheaper. But we did the best we could by Korean standards."

I patted him on the shoulder. "Great job."

Later that night, we went to the chicken house for dinner. We ordered a platter of fried bird and a pitcher of beer. Because we are regular customers, the owner knows what we want before we even speak. Perhaps I should diversify my choices of restaurants. I hate being predictable. But I'm a big fan of draft beer, and all the poultry places have suds on tap. The other establishments only serve my favorite beverage in large glass bottles.

I talked to Larry while stuffing the food into my fat face. "How's school these days?"

"I'm going to try to study harder. I want to improve my scores."

"I got your report card, and you're doing pretty well. You wouldn't want to burn yourself out."

"It's important to be the best that you can be."

I smiled at him. "That was the motto of the United States Army when I was a teenager."

"I wouldn't do well in the military. I'm too much of a pussy. That's why I have to work on my mind. Science and math are my most important subjects."

"Did you learn anything new?"

"Yes. Something called Schrodinger's cat."

"I've heard of that. Sheldon Cooper used to talk about it on The Big Bang Theory. Can you explain it to me?"

"There's a cat in a cardboard container. It's either dead or alive. But you can't find out unless you decide to open the box."

I sighed heavily. "That's the dumbest fucking thing I ever heard."

"Maybe so. Yet it's very scientific."

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No Car, No Problem

(Public transportation is OK by me.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and did a load of laundry. Then I cooked fried rice for dinner. The meal came with eggs and curry sauce. I sucked down a tall boy as I chomped on my vittles. Overall, the food was pretty good.

I knocked on Rice-Boy Larry's door. 

He said, "What?"

I said, "I need you to order supplies over the internet."

"What kind of supplies?"

"We require bottled water and toilet paper."

So he started typing away on his computer and found me some good deals. I bought 120 bottles for twenty-five dollars. They will be delivered to my doorstep on Saturday. I also purchased 60 rolls of toilet paper for a mere thirteen bucks. They're coming on Wednesday. The company I use is called Coupang. It is famous throughout the peninsula.

I said, "Tomorrow is Friday."

"So?"

"We visit the chicken house on Fridays. It's our new ritual."

"I'm going to have to skip out on you. I'm meeting my friends."

"When will you be home?"

"Not until 9 p.m."

I shrugged. "Well, the chicken house closes at midnight, so it's no big deal."

"Can you wait that long to eat?"

I nodded. "I'll have to because Friday is chicken night."

Now that the Dragon Lady is gone, I'm quite intoxicated with a sense of freedom. But I certainly don't want to go out all by my lonesome. What's the fun in that, right? Therefore, Larry is stuck being my sidekick. Yet I don't feel sorry for the boy. There are worse things in the world than slapping on the feedbag with your old man. At least he wasn't born in Djibouti.

I sat on the sofa and watched two episodes of Marianne. They both scared the living crap out of me. Marianne is a real cunt of a witch. She makes the green woman in The Wizard of Oz seem like a nice elderly lady. Trust me. Those flying monkey ain't shit.

I finally fell asleep at 10 p.m. But I had to keep getting up during the night to take a piss. Then the alarm sounded at 5 a.m., so I walked to the kitchen and ate two jelly donuts before going for a smoke. After that, I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a huge satisfying dump. 

A woman from Incheon with a low IQ recently had a baby. However, being a mother was just too much for her to handle. She kept dropping the child on the floor every time the kid began to scream. This resulted in a skull fracture that eventually killed the poor thing. For her crime, she was sentenced to ten years in prison.

I called my mom using Facebook Messenger. 

She said, "Ken starts work tomorrow."

I said, "What time does he go in?"

"That's the thing. The manager hasn't told him yet."

"The guy's probably busy. It's not easy running a fast-food restaurant."

"I hope he tells him today."

"I'm sure he will. But I have no idea why Ken didn't go for the gas-station job. It seems so much better than a gig at Chick-fil-A."

"There's no point in talking to your son. He has a mind of his own, and he's a stubborn son of a bitch."

Later that morning, I caught the bus to work. I really enjoy not having a car. It makes life so much easier.

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Sex Education

(Rice-Boy Larry is being educated about the birds and bees.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and smoked a Marlboro Red. Then I took the elevator to my apartment with the intention of cooking dinner. Suddenly, I was seized by a sense of lethargy. The idea of preparing fried rice sent shivers down my spine. Plus the notion of doing another load of laundry felt like a crushing defeat. Instead, I drank a beer.

Larry said, "I'm starving."

I nodded. "So am I."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Finally, he spoke up. "Are you going to make dinner?"

I shook my head. "Not a chance in the world."

"Then I guess we're both going to starve."

I sighed heavily. "Let's go to the chicken restaurant."

"But aren't you trying to save money?"

"Yes. However, I'm too exhausted to lift a single finger."

To make a long story even more tedious, I bought a platter of fried bird and a pitcher of beer. The suds tasted great as the liquid slid down my throat. It was just what the doctor ordered.

Larry said, "The pretty girl isn't here tonight."

I shrugged. "Maybe she's meeting her boyfriend."

He changed the subject. "I had to take a sex education class today."

My ears perked up. "What did they teach you?"

"They mainly spoke about masturbation."

I frowned. "Man, that doesn't sound very exciting. Leave it to the libtards to turn fornication into a drag."

We both devoured the chicken with enthusiasm. Rice-Boy and I are simply crazy about poultry. We can never get enough. Then we started looking at stuff we could purchase online. You'd be surprised. Toilet paper. Bacon. Steak. Bread. Bottled water. Coca-Cola. The list went on and on.

I pointed my finger at Larry's chest to lend gravity to my words. "I really don't see the need to get a car. We can buy our groceries over the computer, and they will even deliver the stuff right to our door."

"It certainly makes things more convenient."

We got back to the house at 9 p.m., and I sat on the sofa to watch Fox News. The governor of Arizona said that she's been thinking about convening a grand jury to indict Trump. However, she later recanted her words. Orange Donald has really opened my eyes. I always knew that the people in charge were complete slime, but I never understood how evil they truly were until he came along.

I finally fell asleep at 10 p.m. Yet I had to keep popping out of bed to take a piss. That's the thing about beer. Now that I'm older, it goes right through me like wind from a duck's ass.

The alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I drank a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A woman from Seoul had to pay $1,500 for slipping laxatives into the water of a high school student. It really caused the kid a lot of problems. He couldn't study for a big exam because he was constantly defecating.

Later that morning, I caught the bus and went to work. The driver was a maniac. I thought he might kill us all. Luckily, I arrived at my destination in one piece. Good for me.

Working Man

(Ken the chicken man finally found a job.)

Yesterday, I cooked dinner at 6 p.m. I feel sorry for Rice-Boy Larry. I prepare the same meal day in and day out. I throw some rice in a pan along with eggs and curry mix. Then I fry the vittles to perfection using bacon grease. My poor kid must be getting tired of the same old shit. Yet to his credit, he never complains. Good for him.

After that, I sat on the sofa and watched a nasty Japanese program called Ju-On Origins. Trust me. This show will put a real knot in your ass. It's filled with angry ghosts and broken people. You won't be able to take your eyes off the screen. You can find it on Netflix.

I called my mother at 10 p.m. using Facebook Messenger.

She said, "Ken finally got a job."

I said, "He was accepted at Chick-fil-A?"

She nodded. "He's the new team leader. They're paying him fifteen bucks an hour."

"And when does he go back to school?"

"August 22nd." 

"Fifteen an hour for a team leader seems like chump change."

Mom shrugged. "What can you do? But he needs to work. That boy is eating me out of house and home."

"I agree. However, the gas station up the street is paying the same money, and it seems like a lot less stress."

"He likes the grub at Chick-fil-A. And the position comes with a hefty discount on food."

"Well, it's his choice in the end. More power to him."

I finally fell asleep at 11 p.m. while viewing Fox News. Trump got indicted in Georgia on charges of racketeering. Eighteen of his cronies were also charged with the crime. The district attorney of Fulton County in a radical leftist. She ran on the promise of putting Orange Donald through the wringer. Our country is being assaulted by socialist libtards. I fear for our future as a nation.

I woke up at five a.m. and ate two jelly donuts. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty dump. Several attractive ladies from Seoul put on some skimpy bikinis and rode through the streets of Gangnam on their motor scooters. The government has decided to arrest the girls for indecent exposure. Korea is a very conservative country. A public display of tits and ass is strictly forbidden. 

I woke up Larry at 6:30 a.m. I kept shaking his leg until he eventually opened his eyes.

He said, "What do you want?"

I smiled at him. "I made you breakfast. Bacon and fried rice cake. It's on the kitchen table."

He devoured the food in no time flat, and put the dirty plate in the sink. But I didn't have time to wash it. I'll have to do it when I get home tonight.

I gave my kid a hug. "Try not to act like an asshole today at school."

"I never act bad at school."

"Well, that's up for debate."

Several of my son's teachers say that he talks to much during their classes. Yet I'm much too old to fuss at the child. I simply no longer have the energy to be that type of father.

I ran out the door and made it to the bus stop with two minutes to spare. I feel like I'm in better physical shape since my wife left me.

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