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.)