The Charismatic Movement

 

It's Saturday, and I can't be bothered writing a new post. So I've included a video about the charismatic movement, instead. Here's the link. But have no fear, my friends. I'll be back in a couple of days stronger than ever. God bless.

Robert Frost

 

(The Road Not Taken is frequently misunderstood.)

Yesterday, I read the The Road Not Taken with my middle school class. I explained that Frost’s work is frequently used in American Christmas Cards. However, the businessmen and the housewives often misinterpret the poem. They think it’s about being special and strong, but nothing could be further from the truth.

A girl raised her hand. “So what’s the writer trying to say?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m no expert. Yet since you’re holding a gun against my head, let me put in my two cents. Fatalism and the futility of regret seem to be the true message.”

“That’s not correct. I’ve studied this poem in another school, and my teacher said that the path you take makes all the difference in the world.”

“Well, I’m afraid that she was full of crap.”

She looked at me with surprise. “You really shouldn’t use a word like crap. You’re being unprofessional.”

I nodded. “You’re probably right. Let me change it to garbage.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Frost paints a picture of both the roads at the beginning of his poem. They are exactly the same. There’s not a bit of difference between each path.”

“Well, that’s not the way it was explained to me.”

I suddenly had a huge coughing fit. “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”

“Are you OK?”

I shook my head. “No. In fact, I think I’m dying. Will you come to my funeral even though I’m unprofessional?”

Everybody laughed.

In all honesty, I have a doozy of a cold. Yet I’m afraid to check myself for Covid. If I pop positive, then I’ll be forced to take a few days off for bedrest. This might sound like a nice break, but a stack of missed work will be awaiting me upon my return. No thank you. It’s better just to grin and bear it.

And let me tell you assholes something else. When I first started teaching, I was a real douchebag. I used to send kids to the office at the drop of a hat. Discipline was a huge thing to me. However, I’ve since changed my evil ways now that I’m a geezer. I’ve been transformed into a needy grandfather who is desperate for human kindness. Consequently, I haven’t written an office referral or given a detention in years. I’m all about the love.

I got home at 6 p.m. and sat on the sofa. I took some medicine, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. So I got up and made dinner. I prepared fried rice and eggs. The meal tasted pretty damn good. I’d rather feast on steak and lobster. Yet the life of luxury doesn’t appear to be in the cards. I guess it’s not my destiny.

Later that night, I watched a documentary on Netflix about Murdaugh murders in South Carolina. The show has six parts, and it’s quite excellent. Nobody beats Netflix when it comes to true crime.

I eventually walked to my room at 9 p.m. and enjoyed a quick wank. After getting my jollies, I slept like a baby. Unfortunately, the alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I had another huge coughing fit. I blew my nose about five hundred times and spit some snot into the toilet. I started thinking that I might have pneumonia, but I don’t have a fever. So I guess I’ll live. Good for me.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

The Korean Military

 

(My son doesn't want to join the army.)

Yesterday, I took Rice-Boy Larry to the chicken house for dinner. We had fried bird and a pitcher of beer. My boy is only fifteen years old, so he was forced to drink the Korean version of Seven-Up. It’s called Chilsung Cider. The food was good as always. It cost me thirty dollars.

We struck up a conversation as we chomped on the poultry.

“I noticed that you could get a full scholarship to university if you agree to spend a significant amount of time in the Korean military.”

“How long is significant?”

I shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. But free college is free college.”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.”

“I’m simply bringing it up because you like to run. That type of endurance level is a big deal for soldiers.”

“Yes, but I’m very weak. I can only do eight pushups.”

“Eight? That’s disgusting for a boy of your age. Yet you can improve your ability by simply joining a gym.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have time. Every waking moment is devoted to studying.”

I smiled at him. “I’m sure you could find an hour a day to work on your physical strength.”

“The Korean military just doesn’t intertest me.”

I nodded. “Fair enough.”

Larry has dual citizenship. He’s both Korean and American. But he’s been living on the peninsula for most of his life, so he doesn’t know a whole heck of a lot about the United States. I’m not sure what the future holds for him. This uncertainty makes me a tad nervous from time to time if the truth be told.

I decided to change the subject. “Do you have any cute classmates who catch your eye?”

“Of course. I’m not some type of homosexual.”

“I never said you were.”

“But I’m not interested in dating. It makes life too complicated.”

“That’s a wise policy.”

We got home at 8 p.m., and I prepared myself some Theraflu. I’ve been feeling under the weather for the last few days. I keep hacking my lungs up. That’s the thing about being a teacher. You are constantly surrounded by germs. I drank the medicine while sitting on the sofa. It made me very drowsy, so I stumbled into bed ten minutes later and slept like the dead.

I woke up at 5 a.m. and ate a couple of jelly donuts. Then I called my mother using Facebook messenger.

She said, “Are you going to check out the Republican debate?”

I shook my head. “I can’t. I have to work.”

“I’m a big fan of the Indian guy.”

“I like him, too. But I refuse to vote for a pagan.”

“He’s not a pagan. He’s actually a Hindu.”

“Same fucking thing.”

She laughed out loud. “Well, he might be a pagan, but I certainly like him more than that asshole Mike Pence.”

“I’m with you there, Mom. Pence is certainly a giant pile of turd. Yet he doesn’t stand a chance in hell of garnering the nomination.”

“Praise God for that.”

“I’m staying with Orange Donald simply because I want to stick it to the deep state.”

“Suppose he’s in prison?”

I rubbed the stubble on my chin. “Well, if I can’t vote for him, then the next best choice is Meatball Ron.”

Of course, I’m completely full of shit. I have zero plans to cast a ballot. Voting is a huge pain the ass if you live in a foreign country. I simply don’t have the patience.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

Soju

 

(You can get blind drunk in Korea for very little money.)

Yesterday, my middle schoolers read about the death of Edgar Allan Poe during class. Poor Edgar was found piss drunk in a Baltimore tavern wearing ill-fitting clothes and a dirty hat. He was eventually taken to the hospital where he suddenly died after screaming, “Lord, help my poor soul!” Those were his last words.

I looked at my students. “Alcohol isn’t a harmless drug. If you drink too much of the joy juice, you can actually kill yourself. I bet you didn’t know that.”

One girl said, “We all know it, Mr. Woodd. The other teachers tell us all the time.”

“Well, good for them. It’s important news, especially here in Korea.”

A boy raised his hand. “Why Korea? Alcohol is everywhere.”

I smiled at him. “The peninsula is a different story because of soju. A guy can drink himself blind for less than five dollars a day.”

He said, “It’s a free country. Are you saying that soju should be illegal.”

I tapped myself on the chest with my fingertips. “Me? Never in a million years. All the Korean drunkards would nail me to a cross if I ever suggested such a thing. I’m merely saying this: Be careful. Life is fraught with danger.”

But he continued pressing me with questions. “My dad loves soju. Does that make him a bad person?”

“Of course not. He’s over nineteen, so he’s allowed to enjoy whatever cocktail floats his boat.”

“OK, I’m just checking. Because sometimes you come across as a fascist. A real Nazi, if you want to know the truth.”

I quickly changed the subject. “Many experts claim that Poe wasn’t killed by joy juice. Instead, he expired from rabies. But I don’t believe it for a second. Whiskey was definitely the cause of his demise. That stuff is real poison.”

Of course, I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I’ve been inebriated more times than I can count. In fact, I was so shitfaced one night that I actually woke up on a busy sidewalk at 11 a.m. People simply stepped over me to get to work. But that occurred when I was in my 20s. I had a lot of stamina back then. Now I’m just a twisted old eunuch who pretty much sticks to cola. I guess it happens to the best of us.

I eventually got back to my apartment at 6 p.m. and did two loads of laundry. After that, I cooked dumplings and French fries for dinner. The meal wasn’t great, but it was sturdy enough to make a turd. Rice-Boy Larry ate every last morsel on his plate. Good for him.

Then I sat on my sofa and watched Peaky Blinders on Netflix. I’m currently on the last season of the series. The stock market has crashed, sending the family business into turmoil.

A few hours later, I walked to my room at 9 p.m. and enjoyed a quick wank before falling asleep. My night was plagued by strange dreams. I was in church listening to a sermon by the famous pastor John MacArthur. He proceeded to lash out at me verbally before throwing me out of the building. Nobody in the congregation would even speak to me.

I woke up at 5 a.m. with this soul-crushing mood of bleak depression. But after I had a cup of coffee and a cigarette, I felt much better. It was time to start another day.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

Poetry

 

(I'm not a huge fan of Sara Teasdale.)

Yesterday, I taught a poem to my high schoolers called There Will Come Soft Rains. It was written a hundred years ago by a woman named Sara Teasdale. I’m not a huge fan of her work. Ms. Teasdale was a real libtard.

I looked at my class. “Is anyone offended by the tone of her writing?”

All I got back were blank stares, so I repeated the question.

One girl shrugged her shoulders. “It’s just a stupid poem. Why should I be offended?”

I smiled at her. “Well, in my humble opinion, Sara seems pretty happy that the whole human race will one day disappear. Her thesis seems to be this: Without people, the globe will turn into a natural paradise filled with clean water and chirping birds. In other words, we are so bad that we deserve our comeuppance.”

She shot me the stink eye. “Man, you need to relax. Has your wife been mean to you lately? You’re such a grouch.”

“Of course, she’s been mean to me lately. Is water wet? But that’s not the point.”

“So what? Sara Teasdale loves nature and hates humans. Big freaking deal.”

Everybody laughed.

Perhaps my student is right. Maybe I’m just a bitter old man. And to her credit, I do need to relax. I’m far too tense these days. The cleaning and cooking are driving me up the wall.

Later, I caught the bus home at 5 p.m. We were all stacked into the vehicle like sardines. In fact, we were so full that the driver had to kick people to the curb. He told them angrily in Korean that they would have to wait for the next ride to come. This shit happens from time to time. Seoul is a city teeming with 10 million people. Sometimes, you can’t even walk down the street without bumping into folk.

When I got back to my apartment, it was time to smoke a cigarette and make dinner. I prepared fried rice and eggs. It’s always my go-to meal. Does it taste great? Hell no. Yet it’s filling and easy to prepare. Plus it might actually be nutritious. With that said, my stomach constantly growls from hunger since the Dragon Lady left. But this might be a good thing for a fat ass like me.

Rice-Boy Larry was playing computer games, so I brought a plate of food to his room.

He said, “Did you have a good day at work?”

I nodded. “It was OK. How about you?”

“I’m not complaining. We didn’t have any major tests, and all my homework is done.”

“Are you enjoying Korea?”

“Yes, the ROK is my country. I actually feel more Korean than American.”

“Would you be able to survive if we moved back to the United States?”

“I suppose so.”

I sighed heavily. “Nothing is set in stone, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”

“Understood.”

I sat on the sofa and watched several episodes of Peaky Blinders. I’ve now completed season five. Adrian Brody gets shot through the head by his English enemies. Good stuff.

I walked to my room at 9 p.m. and had a wank. Then I fell asleep and dreamt about buying lunch for a black guy at a fast-food restaurant. The bill came to $51 dollars, and I kept yelling at the girl behind the counter.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

The Second Coming

 

(Libtards and Jew haters had better change their evil ways.)

Yesterday, I walked to church with Rice-Boy Larry. Along the way, I noticed that he was staring into his smartphone and mumbling to himself.

I said, “What the hell are you doing?”

He said, “I’m studying for a test.”

“Well, you had better be careful.”

“Why?”

“You might wander into the street and get hit by a car.”

“Now you’re just being silly.”

I shook my head from side to side. “It happens all the time to kids your age. They are so into their technology that it often leads to death and injury because they become oblivious to their surroundings. Smartphones are nothing more than a video form of crack cocaine.”

He pointed at me with his index finger. “You own a smartphone, too.”

“Yes, but it’s different for me. I’m a geezer. It’s not like I’m trying to make love to the fucking thing.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Yuck. That’s gross.”

The sermon was OK. The pastor is still preaching from the Book of Isaiah. God makes a promise to eventually save the Jews from the fires of hell. In order for that to happen, they will have to accept The Man of Sorrow as their true king. This will occur during the Great Tribulation.

After the service, we all broke up into groups and drank coffee together. Snacks were also served. Larry ate two hamburgers for free. That’s the great thing about church. You get a lot of food without having to pay a dime. Don’t look at me askew with hidden contempt. I’m a broke dead dick who can use all the charity he can get.

The pastor tapped me on the hand. “What did you think about today’s message?”

I smiled at him. “I loved it.”

“Really?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Don’t seem so surprised. Take a look at Israel. That nation didn’t exist for 1,900 years. But now prophecy is coming true, and the remnant has returned. It’s a big sign that the End Times are coming sooner than later. Furthermore, America has now recognized Jerusalem as Israel’s rightful capitol even though it pisses off the Muslims and the libtards and the Jew haters. It’s another sign. It won’t be long before Jesus returns on his pale white horse.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Hallelujah.”

“Praise be to God.”

In the old days, I was nothing more than a nominal Christian. For instance, I used to think that Jesus was simply a wise teacher and that the Old Testament was merely a collection of ancient fables. But now I’m all in. I believe every word in the bible hook, line, and sinker. And I would say this to all the atheists and progressive Christians who regard me as a country rube: Go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut.

I got home at 6 p.m. and made myself dinner. I had French fries and dumplings. I didn’t have to cook for Larry because he decided to sup with his friends.

Then I downloaded the UFC matches on my computer. The fights were very exciting this week. One poor woman got the shit pounded out of her for two full rounds before the ref mercifully stopped the affair. Her blood was spread out all over the matt as if she were a victim of a gunshot wound. It looked like a murder scene.

I eventually went to bed at 10 p.m. and slept like the dead.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

Rolls Royce

 

(Rolls Royce makes a beautiful SUV.)

Last night, I went downtown with Rice-Boy Larry. We walked to the Rolls-Royce dealership and looked at the automobiles through the showroom glass. Did you assholes know that Rolls Royce now makes an SUV? You should get a gander at this beast. It’s absolutely beautiful.

Larry said, “How much do you think it costs?”

I shrugged. “If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”

“I’ll never own a fantastic car like that.”

I shrugged again. “Who knows the future? Ten years from now, it could be you tooling down these busy streets and tooting your horn at the beautiful ladies. Dare to dream, right?”

“There’s a Porsche dealership right across the road. You want to have a look?”

I shook my head. “Not really. It would be too much of a letdown. Nothing beats a Rolls.”

Our next destination was Dominos Pizza. I ordered two pepperoni pizzas. One with cheese and one without cheese. I’m lactose intolerant, and dairy products fuck me up royally. But the pie actually tasted great with only the sauce and meat.

While we were chomping on our vittles, one of my co-workers stepped into the restaurant. Her name is Viv, and she’s young and beautiful. She also has a smoking-hot body. Viv is currently dating a fancy man. He’s from Italy, and he looks wonderful in a suit.

We started talking about movies, and the topic turned to a film called Hereditary.

I said, “Hereditary is one of the best pictures in the history of cinema.”

Viv shot me the stink eye. “Now why would you even say that? It’s pure trash.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Not really. But I’ve viewed many clips on YouTube. I know how it ends.”

“You should really give it a try. It deserves your attention.”

“Tell me why I should waste my time.”

I sighed heavily and rubbed my fingers through my hair. “First of all, the performance by Toni Collette is legendary. I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire life. She comes across as the craziest bitch in the world. Secondly, the experience is akin to being slowly boiled in oil. By the end, you will be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

“Well, the subject matter simply isn’t my cup of tea. And I don’t take pleasure in torture.”

Her fancy man added his two cents. “I’ve seen it many times. I love it almost as much as you.”

Viv punched him on the arm, and he laughed out loud. Then they collected their food and walked out the door. In Korea, most of the patrons at Dominos never actually eat the food in the restaurant. They always take it home.

Larry and I eventually got back to our apartment at midnight. I went to my room for a quick wank, and I fell asleep immediately after enjoying myself. I had no dreams.

I woke up at 8 a.m. and called my mother using Facebook Messenger. However, she never answered the phone. Right away, my imagination created all kinds of crazy scenarios. I pictured her in stone-cold dead in the rose bushes from another stroke.

Well, thankfully Mom’s still alive. In fact, she called me back at 10 a.m. as I was taking a shit. Needless to say, we didn’t have much of a conversation. We exchanged a few pleasantries before finally saying goodbye.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

Rituals

 

(I always get drunk on Fridays.)

Today, I woke up at 8 a.m. and walked to the bathroom. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A man from Seoul has to spend the next ten years in prison for posting videos of his sexual exploits online for all the world to see. His victims will now be forced to go through life bowing their heads in shame because of his stupid behavior.

After emptying my bowels, I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “I have a terrible hangover. In fact, my head is pounding like some asshole is hitting it with a sledgehammer.”

“How much did you drink last night?”

“Only a pitcher of beer.”

“Well, it’s the same old story, same old song and dance. I told you that you should keep it down to only a couple of glasses.”

I nodded in agreement. “I wish I could, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’m a slave to my own idiotic rituals. I always drink a pitcher on Fridays. If I fail to do so, the world might explode.”

She scoffed at me. “Now that’s just stupid.”

“Yes, I agree. But I can’t help myself. I have a low IQ. Plus I’m also battling many demons.”

“Speaking of demons…Have you heard from your wife lately?”

“Not a word.”

“Oh well. It’s probably for the best.”

I changed the subject to happier thoughts. “Larry was in a cross-country competition the other day. He finished in first place.”

Mom clapped her hands in joy. “How many other kids did he compete against?”

“A shit ton.”

“He’s that fast?”

I shook my head from side to side. “Of course not. In fact, he’s not fast at all. It’s simply that he never gets tired no matter how far he runs. It’s like he has five lungs instead of two.”

“Did he get a prize?”

“They gave him a trophy.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Later in the day, I took the bus with my son to visit his dermatologist. The two of them jabbered in Korean for quite a few minutes. I had no idea what they were saying to each other. But I have to tell the truth. This doctor is doing a great job. Larry’s skin is recovering quickly.

We waited in the pharmacy for a good twenty minutes in order to get a new batch of medicine.

He said, “The doctor is lowering my dosage.”

“How come?”

“I can’t stay on steroids for too long because they might harm my body.”

“I didn’t even know that you were taking steroids. I thought he had you on antibiotics.”

“He does. But I take three different pills.”

“Well, he seems to know what he’s doing. So I guess we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

When I got home, it was time to clean the toilets. I used a lot of bleach, and it really did a job on my throbbing noggin. I became so dizzy that I had to go for a nap.

I spent the rest of my afternoon watching Netflix. I’m currently enjoying a documentary called Sunderland Until I Die. It’s about the idiots in England who worship football like an idol. They even cry like babies whenever their team gets defeated. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

Taking a Little Break

I'm taking a three-day break. I need to recharge my batteries. See you then. God bless.

The Antichrist

 

(I believe in the pretribulation.)

Yesterday, I went to a bible study after work. The topic of pretribulation was discussed. According to guys like me, the faithful will be raptured before the Day of the Lord so that we don’t have to suffer a horrific seven-year span in which the Antichrist rules supreme.

I said, “I often wonder where artificial intelligence fits into all of this.”

A guy named Barry said, “Well, what’s your opinion?”

I cleared my throat. “Daniel claims that this tyrant will have no interest in women. So I used to think that the Son of Perdition was either a naughty pope or an out-of-control homosexual. But my thoughts have since changed on the matter. A.I. will have the ability to manufacture its own body in a laboratory. This will allow the technology to actually construct a humanoid dictator capable of taking over the world.”

Barry nodded. “That’s quite interesting.”

However, another man named Rod scolded me.

He said, “You have to be careful with apocalyptic literature. It’s easy to misinterpret. The Book of Revelation should be confined to the first century. It’s essentially a closed tome.”

I looked at him scornfully. “Who says?”

He shot me the stink eye. “Most college professors.”

I shook my head with disdain. “Then what you’re basically telling me is that I need an egghead from Harvard to tell me which way is up. No thank you. I’m perfectly capable of reading scripture and coming up with my own conclusions.”

“Yes, but you’re leading innocent people down the wrong path. That’s why you should be more cautious with your words.”

“More cautious with my words? Why? Are the police going to break down the door and take me away for having my own interpretation?”

Needless to say, we spent the rest of the hour ignoring each other. It was quite uncomfortable.

Guys like Rod really chap my ass. I spent three years in China attending a state-sanctioned church. Talk about tiresome. The pastor wasn’t allowed to discuss anything interesting which might offend Big Brother. It was a fucking snooze fest. Rod, however, would do just fine on the mainland. He’s perfectly happy turning the bible into a giant bore.

I eventually got home at 7 p.m. and cooked my boy dinner. I prepared four fried eggs and a plate full of French fries. The poor kid must have been starving. He wolfed down all the vittles in less than five minutes.

Then I sat on my sofa and watched a couple episodes of Peaky Blinders. Adrien Brody is the guest star for season five. He plays a mafia hitman from New York who has come to kill the protagonist. Adrien won an Oscar for his riveting performance in Roman Polanski’s The Pianist. Yet his career has never really gotten off the ground in the sense that he isn’t some huge movie star.

At nine p.m., I walked to my room and enjoyed a quick wank before falling asleep. Then I woke up at 5 a.m. and called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “How’s Ken the Chicken Man? I haven’t heard from him in ages.”

She said, “He’s at work.”

“Is he still enjoying Chick-Fil-A.”

She nodded. “He loves it.”

“Have I done something to offend him? He never calls me these days.”

“Of course not! He’s simply the busiest man in Texas. He doesn’t even have the time to use the bathroom.”

My main fear in life is losing touch with my children. They’re my biggest source of pleasure.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)

The Book of Life

 

(Life's tough, but God has a plan.)

On Friday night, I had to go to my second job. I work in a study room, and my main purpose is to sell overpriced chips and soda to exhausted high school students. My employer lets me watch movies on my laptop during my downtime. Basically, I’m just an overseer who keeps his eyes open for bad behavior.

Anyway, I gave The Pope’s Exorcist a try. It stars Russell Crowe as an Italian priest who drives out demons. The Pope’s Exorcist has to be one of the worst films ever made in the history of Hollywood. It’s literally that bad. But its failure gave me brief hope for my novel The Demon in the Doll. I rushed over to Amazon to see if I had sold any copies of my tome. The final result? Nothing. I can’t even seem to give the fucking thing away for free. Nobody is the least bit interested.

I eventually met Rice-Boy Larry in the chicken restaurant at 10:15 p.m. We ordered fried bird and a pitcher of beer. It’s our Friday-night ritual.

He said, “I got a sixty on a biology test.”

I sighed heavily. “A sixty? That’s very disappointing news.”

“Yeah, but it was a hard exam. The class average was only forty.”

“You can spin it any way you desire. Yet I could find a meth head living in the gutter, and he could score a sixty on the exact same test in spite of his chemically altered brainwaves.”

“Well, he must be an extremely smart drug addict. Because a sixty was the best I could muster, and I’m not some fucking retard.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Fair enough.”

Larry’s birth was an accident. I was too old to be a good father by the time he came out of my wife’s vagina. Therefore, I no longer have the energy to properly break his balls over bad grades. I fear that I’m nothing more than an old eunuch who is perpetually exhausted. But what’s a boy to do? It happens to the best of us.

I woke up Saturday at 8 a.m. with a huge headache. Once again, I had enjoyed the beer a little too much.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “You look rough.”

I nodded. “I drank a lot of alcohol last night. It’s my Friday-night ritual. It’ll end up killing me.”

“How much did you have?”

“A pitcher of beer.”

“Why not keep it down to a glass or two?”

I smiled at her. “That would make too much sense.”

“So what are you going to do this afternoon when you finally recover?”

“Clean the toilets and vacuum the floor. I also have a couple loads of laundry that I must to get out of the way.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll probably just watch the TV.”

And that’s exactly how it went. It was another day of endless toil. But I’m one of those assholes who likes to whistle while he works. It’s tough to get depressed because the King of the Universe has written me into the book of life. So I try to do my duty with a big goofy smile on my ugly face. And why not, right? I’ve got food in the fridge and a little bit of money in the bank. Therefore, there’s no reason to get all suicidal.

(Did you like this post? Then read my novel for free. Click here.) 

(Give my message board a try.)