Orange Donald

 

(I love Donald Trump, but not in a homosexual way.)

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 viral video in Korea showing a high-school girl mouthing off to one of her teachers. He’s telling her to get to class, and she responds by saying that she’s a precious daughter in the eyes of her family. Not too long ago, this child would have been lined up against the wall and belted with a cane. But the peninsula recently gave up using corporal punishment against youngsters. And I’m OK with that. A couple of detentions should do the trick. There’s no reason to get extreme in such cases.

I cooked bacon and hash browns for my boy as he dicked around at the kitchen table.

I said, “It’s fucking freezing out there today, so it’s important that you dress appropriately.”

He nodded. “OK. Dress appropriately. Got it.”

“I’m not joking. If I catch you wearing shorts or a t-shirt, then I’ll be forced to lay out your clothes on the bed.”

“You’ve got my word. Nothing but winter clothes.”

“Good man.”

I really enjoy living in Korea. Yet the peninsula has the worst weather in the world. You sweat your balls off like a coolie in the summer, and you freeze your nuts off like an Eskimo in the winter. Plus we never get a great amount of snow to cover up the urban ugliness. By the time December rolls around, everything just turns gray and hideous.

I eventually got to work at 7:30 a.m. and tried calling my mother using Facebook Messenger.  However, she never answered, so I listened to Jethro Tull’s Skating Away instead. For some reason, the song brought tears to my eyes. Why? I have no fucking idea. It’s not even that great of a tune. Perhaps I’m getting depressed or missing my youth. Your guess is as good as mine.

My friend and colleague Richard Hurtz stopped by for a visit. He’s a giant of a man, standing a full seven feet tall.

He said, “Are you OK?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“Your eyes are all red.”

I chuckled at his words. “It’s these fluorescent lights. They always play tricks with my vision.”

He took a sip of water from his mug. Hurtz never drinks coffee. “Well, one of the kids reported me to his mother. She called the office and told them that I’m too strict. Now I have to see her this afternoon for a meeting.”

“Will the principal be there, too?”

“Yes, it’s a formal thing.”

I shrugged. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. The principal is pretty good about supporting the teachers.”

“It’s the depressed kid. He claims that I ostracize him too frequently. But nothing could be further from the truth. Shit. I don’t make him do a fucking thing in my class.”

“Have no fear. It’ll all blow over.”

“Rich children are so damn soft. The slightest gust of wind will blow them away.”

“In the future, just be extra kind to Junior. Try to pretend that you actually care about his future.”

My day at work went OK. I’m currently reading Walt Whitman with my high schoolers. He really loved Abraham Lincoln with a deep passion, and I understand his emotions completely. I feel the same affection for Orange Donald. In a non-homosexual way, of course.

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

(Give my message board a try.)