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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