Crazy

 

(My Asian son is a white supremacist.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 5 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A group of loan sharks from Seoul were giving out $300 to low-credit females desperate for money. The catch was that these parasites wanted $500 back a week later. If the victims refused to comply, the criminals threatened to flood the internet with nude photographs of the ladies. Sadly, the world is filled with scumbags.

I contacted my mother using Facebook Messenger. Chicken Ken picked up the call, instead.

I said, “Have you been watching the news? It looks as if the End Times are approaching quickly. It won’t be long till Jesus returns.”

My eldest son sneered at me. “Those Jews are getting exactly what they deserve.”

“You’re a real reprobate, aren’t you, boy?”

“What are you talking about? They aren’t even the real Jews. Bunch of usurpers if you ask me.”

“Have you been listening to Alex Jones again?”

He shook his head from side to side. “I’m no longer a supporter of Jones. He’s become a tool of Zion.”

I looked at him sternly. “Time is running out, so you had better get on the right side of the Lord. Turkey will soon enter Gaza with its troops, and then we’re talking about World War III. Like Christ said back in the day, you don’t want to get caught sleeping when he shows up at the door.”

“What are you talking about? Those are the bastards who nailed Jesus to a tree.”

I sighed heavily. “You can’t have it both ways, son. The real Jews are the ones who murdered Jesus. If these are phony Jews, then they had nothing to do with his death.”

Chicken Ken is a raging white supremacist. Which is kind of strange, considering the fact that he isn’t actually white. In fact, he looks a hell of a lot more Asian than Caucasian. But what do I know?

Most of his buddies are pale, so I figure he's getting this nonsense from them and the internet. Needless to say, I’m deathly afraid that one day he is going to attend a meeting or walk into a bar frequented by true racists. They’ll get one look at my yellow wayward son and beat the living crap out of the poor kid.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for free speech, and you are allowed to hate whomever you want. Yet I’d feel much more comfortable if he had Asian friends who hated the white man or black folk. It would make more sense to me. Sadly, I’m completely confused by his strange behavior.

My day at work went well. I’m currently reading the poem The Bells with my high schoolers. It was written by Edgar Allan Poe.

I said, “I really love The Bells. For some strange reason, it reminds me of a song by Pink Floyd called Time. The tune actually starts with the sound of ringing alarms. But I’m an old dude, and you kids have probably never even heard of Pink Floyd.”

A boy raised his hands. “Everybody here knows Pink Floyd. They’re extremely popular around the world.”

I nodded and smiled. “I find their music hypnotic. However, I don’t listen to them much anymore. They’re a bit too depressing for my taste.”

Another boy raised his hand. “I’m more into the Korean pop female groups. I love to see them dance in those sexy outfits.”

Everybody laughed. But he made a good point. Those ladies are very delicious.

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Eunuch

 

(I will never have sex again.)

On Friday night, I took Rice-Boy Larry to the chicken house. We had a platter of fried bird, and I drank a pitcher of draft beer while munching on the vittles. To be honest, I’m sick and tired of chicken. But the restaurant is close to our house, and I can’t be bothered taking a taxi to another destination.

I noticed a guy sitting by himself who looked to be around my age. He was drinking soju like it was going out of style. We made eye contact, and he smiled. Then he brought a bowl of cherry tomatoes to my table. Being a polite motherfucker, I naturally thanked him profusely.

Larry said, “I fucking hate tomatoes.”

I nodded in agreement. “I fucking hate tomatoes, too. Yet what can we do? If we don’t eat the freaking things, it will come across as rude.”

Long story short, we shoved them in our mouth as quickly as possible and grinned like a couple of morons as we swallowed the foul-tasting vegetables. After that, I returned the bowl and bowed. If you live in South Korea, you have to bow quite a bit. It’s the culture.

He said, “Guess my job.”

I shrugged. “Are you a businessman?”

He shook his head. “No, I not own da business.”

“Maybe you teach at a high school?”

“I not da teachah.”

I sighed heavily. “Well, I’m completely stumped.”

“I da civil engineah.”

“Wow. Civil engineer. That’s great.”

“I have two son. Dey riv with dere mothah. She in da army. We divorce fourteen year ago.”

I took a swallow of beer. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He dismissed my words with a wave of his hands. “Not solly. I happy. Vely happy. Now I dwink soju evely night. But tomollow, I go work. So today I onry dwink two bottle.”

“Two bottles. That’s a lot.”

“It not much. Usuarry, I dwink four.”

Then he started talking to Larry in the Korean language. I used this time to sneak out of the restaurant to grab a smoke behind the building. I always hide while indulging in my nicotine habit. I don’t want my students to know that their teacher is a filthy scumbag.

When I returned to my seat, I struck up a conversation with my boy. “So what was the geezer saying?”

“His wife is a bigshot in the Korean military, and his boys are a couple of amateur boxing champions.”

“That’s wonderful. I used to love boxing back when I was a kid.”

A look of surprise passed over Rice-Boy’s face. “You boxed in your youth?”

“Hell no. Do I look stupid? I’m talking about watching it on TV.”

Back in the day, I was a huge fan of guys like Marvin Hagler and John “The Beast” Mugabi. But I gave up on the sport because it’s very corrupt. Lots of the decisions seemed completely rigged. Now I’m more of a UFC guy.

We got home at 9 p.m., and I succumbed to my temptation. I walked to my bedroom and viewed a couple hours of pornography. I will never have sex again for the rest of my life. Why? The last thing I ever want to do is meet another woman after twenty-five years of a hellish marriage. And who can blame me? I enjoy peace too much to endure another bad relationship. So porn is all I have.

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Don't Be a Son of the Devil

It's Sunday, and I can't be bothered writing another a new blog entry. So I've uploaded a sermon by Pastor Mark Driscoll, instead. But have no fear. I'll be back tomorrow with more tales from my wonderful life. God bless.

Seek the Lord

It's Saturday, and I can't be bothered to write a new blog entry. So I've uploaded a sermon by Pastor John MacArthur, instead. But have no fear. I will soon return with more tales from my wonderful life. God bless.

Sodomy in South Korea

(Anal sex is forbidden in the Korean army.)

Yesterday, I got home at 6 p.m. and knocked on Rice-Boy’s bedroom door. I could hear him sigh as he lifted himself out of his computer chair.

He said, “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

So I gingerly stepped into his domain. I felt a little nervous entering Larry’s territory. He likes to be left alone when he’s playing his video games.

I said, “I lost my damn bus card. There was twenty bucks on it.”

He shrugged. “That’s not a lot of money.”

“Not a lot of money? Are you fucking crazy? It is to me.”

“Do you have a bottom line? Is there some errand you would like me to run for you?”

I nodded. “I need you to walk to the GS Mart and purchase me another.”

“Another what?”

“Card, you moron.”

“How much money should I put on it?”

“I dunno. Thirty bucks?”

“OK. Thirty bucks it is.”

A bus ride in Korea costs approximately a dollar. Many of us public-transportation zombies have T-money cards. They look like a typical credit card. Anyway, you give the guy at the store your cash, and he digitally transfers it onto the card. Thirty dollars should be enough to last me for fifteen days.

Larry said, “Suppose you find your other card?”

I shrugged. “Then I’ll have two.”

My kid is a good boy. He did as I asked with minimal complaints. The only sass I got was a snotty eye roll. Big deal, right?

I sat on the sofa and enjoyed a couple episodes of Wentworth. I’m on the part where the top-dog Bea is getting fan mail from a loony feminist. I’m a huge fan of Wentworth. In fact, anyone who refuses to watch the show is a worthless fag in my book. This Australian prison drama comes with my highest recommendation.

At 9 p.m., I walked to my room and relaxed in bed. Then I had a quick wank before finally going to sleep. I now pretty much live my life as a twisted old eunuch. In fact, I’ll probably never have sex again for the remainder of my existence. And let me tell you motherfuckers something. I really miss porn. I haven’t seen a fuck-film in ages, and the absence of filth from my life is killing me. But what’s a boy to do? I’m going to be dead soon, and the last thing I need is another sin hanging over my head.

The alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I dragged my sorry ass out of bed. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a giant shit. The Korean supreme court has ruled five to four that engaging in sodomy during a stint in the military is against the law. Why? According to the judges, anal sex is bad for morale. Oh well. I guess this ruling is terrible news for all you Asian butt-fuckers who might be reading this piece of crap. However, you certainly have my condolences.

I ate three jelly donuts for breakfast before going to work. I finally got to the school at 7:30 a.m. and called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “Are you OK? You look very agitated.”

“I lost my fucking bus card the other day. And I had twenty dollars on that bitch.”

“Well, it’s not the end of the world.”

“True. But I hate it when cash disappears because of stupid reasons.”

“Why don’t you take a moment and check all your drawers?”

So that’s what I did. And wouldn’t you know it? I found the damn thing resting under an empty manila envelope. Mom saved my day once again.

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Itchy Nuts

(I've been suffering with jock itch ever since puberty.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 5 a.m. with the urge to blow my brains out. So I crawled out of bed and smoked a Marlboro. Then I drank a cup of instant coffee. Bingo. Once again, I was as right as rain. I suppose early morning depression affects a lot of people. Perhaps I should start sleeping in until six.

Anyway, I took a shit while reading the headlines on my smartphone. A popular delicacy here in South Korea is called san-nakji. Basically, you take a live octopus and cut it into little pieces. Then you eat the fucking thing as its tentacles squirm to and fro due to the nervous system. But it comes with risks. And 82-year-old geezer from the city of Gwangju recently choked to death as he enjoyed his snack. It got caught in his throat.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “What have you been up to?”

I sighed heavily. “I’m neck deep in essays. Grading is the worst part of my job.”

“Well, try to remain positive. At least you aren’t out in the freezing cold digging ditches in Siberia.”

“That’s true. It’s important to look on the bright side of life.”

Mom changed the subject. “So have you finally decided to come back to America to live?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m planning on it. Yet it might not be for a couple of years. I’m trying to let Rice-Boy finish school.”

“Hell, I might be dead by the time you return.”

“I certainly hope not. You’re the only person willing to talk to me.”

And this statement is pretty much true. I have a smattering of friends. But they’re nothing more than mere acquaintances. If I got smashed by a bus tomorrow, not a single one of them would shed a tear. And I don’t blame the motherfuckers. If they got eaten by angry sharks, I wouldn’t cry for them, either. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining about my life. It simply is what it is.

I got to work at 7:30 a.m. and drank another cup of instant coffee as I chomped on a piece of nicotine gum. I managed to grade five essays before the morning bell rang. I’ve got four more to go before I can finally put them all to bed. Then it was time for class to begin.

I’m currently reading a story called The Last Leaf with my middle schoolers. It’s a tearjerker written by O. Henry.

One girl said, “The Last Leaf is brilliant. I can’t tell you how much I love it.”

I shot her the stink eye. “I’ve never been a fan of this writer.”

She looked devastated. “How come?”

“He’s too manipulative. I always feel as if he’s playing my heart.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being touched by great art.”

“Unlike most of you children, I go to church on Sundays. And when the music plays at the beginning and the end of the service, all the bozos start crying and shouting and throwing their hands in the air. That’s O. Henry! He’s the piano player.”

She let out a huge sigh. “You’ve got a lot of problems.”

“Tell me about it.”

After work, I caught the bus home and visited a local pharmacy. I bought 120 pieces of nicotine gum for fifty-five dollars. I also purchased cream for my balls. I’ve been suffering from an excruciating case of jock itch ever since puberty. And let me tell you assholes something. It’s not easy going through life with a set of scratchy nuts. 

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The Waiting Is the Hardest Part

 

(I'm still waiting for the Apocalypse.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 5 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. There’s a video that’s been making the rounds in Korea.  It shows a Chinese worker pissing in the ingredients as he makes beer for the Tsingtao factory. So now the folk on the peninsula are shying away from products produced by their communist neighbors.

But I’ve got to be honest with you, my dearest friends. Tsingtao is actually quite delicious. In fact, I used to drink it all the time when I lived in Beijing. I could buy a huge glass bottle of the stuff for about a dollar. And I’m not one of those fairies who will abandon a tasty beverage over a little bit of urine.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “Is Chicken Ken at work today?”

She nodded. “Yes. He’s actually the team leader of the drive thru.”

“So they gave him a raise?”

She shook her head. “He’s always been the team leader since the day they hired him. And to answer your question, he still makes fifteen an hour.”

“He should have taken a gig at Waffle House. He could’ve made more scratch over there.”

“What is it with you and Waffle House? You’re obsessed with that place.”

“It’s probably my future.”

Mom took a sip from a giant glass of Coke. “Your sister’s boyfriend is making seventeen an hour at a warehouse. Maybe you should try something like that.”

I chuckled humorlessly. “A warehouse? Are you out of your fucking mind? I can barely lift a pencil.”

“Well, he’s obese and he suffers from epilepsy. Yet somehow he still manages to get the job done.”

“No thanks. I’ll stick to slinging hash.”

I turned on Fox News to catch the latest events in Israel. The IDF still hasn’t entered Gaza as we speak. The brass is too busy amassing troops along the border as they barter for hostages. According to biblical prophecy, the Canaanites and the Russians will form a coalition to wipe Israel off the face of the earth. Yet Jerusalem will find an ally from the west to thwart its foes ungodly efforts. Ironically enough, the antichrist will arise from this savior nation. Pretty spooky, huh?

I cooked bacon and hash browns for my boy. The television was blaring as the meat sizzled in the pan.

Larry said, “You’re still waiting for the Apocalypse, huh?”

“You bet your balls I’m waiting. If this ain’t biblical prophecy coming to a fruition, then I’ll kiss your ass.”

He sighed heavily. “Dad, it’s just another stupid war. Nothing more.”

“I’m not sure about that. We’ll simply have to wait and see.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little sick to pray for global destruction?”

“I’m not praying for global destruction. Far from it. I merely want the king to come back and take what’s rightfully his.”

“Suppose he doesn’t like you?”

“Who?”

“The king.”

I shot him a big toothy grin. “That’s crazy. Why wouldn’t he like me? I’m a pleasure to be around. Plus I’m always quick with a joke.”

“You sound like Linus in the pumpkin patch.”

“How do you know about Linus and the pumpkin patch? It’s a bit before your time.”

“I saw it on YouTube.”

“Fair enough.”

Later that morning, I caught the bus and made it to school by 7:30 a.m. It was time to start another day.

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Gog and Magog

 

(Is the end finally approaching?)

Yesterday, I woke up at 5 a.m. and was crushed by this looming sense of despair. So I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I smoked a cigarette. Suddenly, I felt as right as rain. It’s strange how your overall mood can fluctuate over a matter of minutes.

I walked to the bathroom and took a shit. While sitting on the throne, I read the headlines on my smartphone. A Korean film called Parasite won the Oscar for best picture a few years back. Anyway, one of the lead actors has just been arrested for drug use. It’s not a good idea to smoke dope in Asia. The-powers-that-be take cannabis very seriously in this part of the world.

After that, I called my mother on Facebook Messenger.

I said, “How’s Chicken Ken doing?”

“He’s OK. He’s at work right now serving up those sandwiches and waffle fries.”

“He’s living life like a king, huh?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t call him a king. But he seems to be enjoying himself.”

“That’s great. I’m happy for him.”

Mom smiled at me. “How about you? How are you doing?”

“It’s really funny.” I paused for dramatic effect. “When I first wake up in the mornings, I always feel like blowing my brains out. But then I have a Marlboro and a cup of Joe, and everything becomes hunky-dory. The nicotine and the caffeine must be helping my mind cope with the daily stress of living.”

She sighed heavily. “Well, it’s a good thing that you don’t own a gun.”

We laughed and laughed.

I turned on Fox News to get the latest information about Israel. I’m a huge believer in the Apocalypse, and Israel is now surrounded by her enemies just as the bible predicts. Have Gog and Magog finally made their appearance? Will Jesus soon be riding down from the clouds on his white horse? Is it time for the king to return and claim what’s rightfully his? Well, only time will tell. Yet I’m certainly keeping my fingers crossed. It would be wonderful to witness such a glorious sight.

I cooked bacon and hash browns for Rice-Boy Larry. He sat at the kitchen table in his skivvies as he consumed the vittles.

I said, “The weather is getting frosty.”

“And?”

“You might want to put on some pajamas at night before you freeze your nuts off.”

“I’m fine.”

I changed the subject. “How’s school going?”

“It’s going OK.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

I find that all teenagers are a bunch of assholes. Don’t get me wrong. Larry’s a good kid. However, I miss the affectionate child of yesteryear. He used to be quite talkative back when he was younger. Plus he wasn’t full of sass. But this too shall pass. Hopefully, he’ll become more cheerful as he gets older.

I caught the bus and made it to my classroom at 7:30 a.m. My buddy Richard Hurtz was already in his office.

He said, “Did you go to your bible study last night?”

“Sure. I never miss.”

“Still waiting for the Apocalypse, huh?”

“You betcha.”

“What a load of crap.” He started laughing but then broke down into a fit of violent coughing.

I said, “That’s what you get for mocking God.”

He laughed and coughed even harder.

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