Edgar Allan Poe

 

(The Cask of Amontillado is a great story.)

Yesterday, I taught The Cask of Amontillado to my middle school class. It’s about a son of a bitch named Montresor who murders his buddy, Fortunato. The setting for the tale is Italy during Carnival season. Most of you were probably required to tackle this story in your youth. It remains popular to this day.

I said, “None of the critics liked Poe when he was alive. They thought his poetry was overwrought and considered his prose to be too grotesque.”

One kid shrugged his shoulders. “Who cares? It’s not like we are ever going to use this in real life.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. In fact, the skills you learn here will be invaluable compared to your other classes.”

He sneered at me. “I kind of doubt it.”

“I’m being serious. Take a look at algebra or calculus or geometry. Unless you decide to become an engineer, you will never use that stuff during your entire existence.  The same goes for biology and chemistry. Only scientists and doctors need to know it. But English will always serve you well no matter where you are.”

“What good does a stupid story about a murderer do for me?”

I smiled and pointed in his direction to lend gravity to my words. “This is a fallen world filled with psychopaths, narcissists, and miniature Machiavellis. So perhaps the writing of Poe will help you to identify these scoundrels in the future. That way, you’ll be able to avoid them.”

Of course, my little speech was mostly bullshit. I’ve been reading Poe and other tales of the macabre since toilet training. Yet I still ended up marrying a woman who once chased me around my apartment in Beijing with a meat cleaver. Edgar certainly never changed me into a good judge of character. That’s for sure. Nevertheless, I still enjoy much of his work. Yet I absolutely hate The Pit and the Pendulum. It puts me to sleep.

Later in the afternoon, I caught the bus back to my apartment. The driver was a real asshole. He had us stand out in the rain while he went for a quick smoke. Most of the other drivers let us onto the vehicle before taking a ciggie break.

I got home at 6 p.m. and vacuumed the floor. I try to do it once every few days. I don’t want my apartment to turn into a pigsty now that my wife’s gone.

I soon realized that I was too tired to cook dinner. So me and my boy went to the chicken house, instead. We ordered fried bird and a pitcher of beer, and we struck up a conversation as we ate our vittles.

He said, “Did you have a nice day?”

“It was pretty much the same as always.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good. Things could always be worse. I’m just glad that I’m not getting ass raped in the Congo by vengeful guerrillas.”

“Are you keeping up with the bible?”

I nodded. “I try to read scripture every day. Without the promise of Jesus Christ, I’d probably jump out the window and end up as a grease spot on the sidewalk.”

He suddenly changed the topic. “I have a shitload of tests coming up in the next two weeks. The pressure is killing me.”

I patted him on the hand. “You won’t get any advice from me. Nor will I yell at you if you fail. I’m too old and tired for such nonsense.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome.”

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High Blood Pressure

 

(High blood pressure is deadly.)

Yesterday, I arrived home at 6 p.m. and drank several glasses of off-brand cola. I get my soda over the internet which allows me to save a ton of money. Plus I’m a broke dead dick, so I can’t actually afford the good stuff. Then I prepared dumplings for dinner. I grilled them up in my Phillips air fryer.

I looked at Rice-Boy Larry as he was chomping on his food.

He said, “What’s the problem?”

I shook my head. “No problem. But soon we’ll have to buy more bacon.”

“Are you going to purchase it online again?”

I nodded. “You betcha. It’s the best deal in town.”

He suddenly changed the subject. “I really miss Dolly the dog.”

“Me, too. But I’m sure she’s doing fine and dandy.”

“I just hope that Mom doesn’t give her away to spite us.”

I chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. That won’t happen in a million years.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because if she does, I’ll never let her back in this apartment again. That woman is going to learn her boundaries or suffer stiff consequences.”

“So you think Mom will return?”

I shrugged. “Who the fuck knows? But if I were you, I’d enjoy the peace and quiet while it still lasts.”

I haven’t heard from the Dragon Lady in over two weeks. And I can’t say that I miss her all that much. Yet she’s the queen of chaos. So the idea that she will somehow vanish quietly into the ether seems a tad unreal to me. My wife has a sadistic nature, and she’s not truly happy unless somebody is suffering.

Later that night,I sat on the sofa and watched a couple episodes of Peaky Blinders. However, I had to keep pausing the show in order to complete a few loads of laundry. I’m on the part where Tommy is trying to secure tanks for the White Russians.

I finally went to bed at 9 p.m. and slept like the dead. Then my alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I took the elevator to the bottom floor in order to grab a smoke outside. After that, I ate three jelly donuts before having a shower. But my work was far from done. It was soon time to cook my son’s morning bacon and rice-cakes.

I eventually got to work at 7:30 a.m. and called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “How’s your blood pressure?”

She had a glum look on her face. “Not good at all. Today I’m 166 over 87.”

“Maybe you should go to the emergency room.”

“I can’t. Soon it will be dark outside, and I never drive at night.”

“Where’s Ken the Chicken Man?”

“He’s at the Chick-Fil-A. He won’t be home until eleven.”

“Well, you don’t want to fuck with this stuff. High blood pressure is deadly.”

“Yes, but what can I do?”

I sighed heavily and ran my hands through my hair. “The other day, it was very low. And now it has suddenly gone up through the roof.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Maybe your monitor isn’t working properly.”

“Should I get another one?”

“That’s a good idea. Where do they sell them?”

“Right down the street at the grocery store.”

To make a long story short, Mom hopped into her BMW and bought a new machine to check her vitals. It turns out that the old one has been giving her false readings. Everything is now as right as rain. Thank you, Jesus.

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American Healthcare Sucks Ass

(It sometimes takes an act of God just to see your doctor.)

Yesterday, I read The Scarlet Ibis with my middle school class. This tale is a real tearjerker. It’s about a boy born with physical disabilities, and these handicaps are an embarrassment to his older brother. So the kid tries to fix his younger sibling by teaching him to become a normal person. Ultimately, this results in the crippled kid’s death.

One girl raised her hand. “Why are all the stories in this book so sad?”

I shrugged. “You got me. It’s not like I pick them. They simply come with the anthology.”

“I’m naturally a happy person. Now I’m going to spend the day suffering from depression.”

I smiled at her. “Come on. It’s not that bad. Are you familiar with The Little Match Girl?”

She shook her head from side to side. “Never heard of it.”

“That surprises me. It’s actually a Christmas tradition. It’s about a little waif who lives with an abusive father. She has to sell matches to fuel his alcohol habit, and if she fails to earn enough money, he cruelly beats her. Anyway, one night in the depths of winter, she’s afraid to go home and eventually freezes to death.”

My student let out a long sigh. “Oh, for the love of God! A Christmas tradition? Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Welcome to the wonderful world of literature. Everything’s a downer.”

The rest of the day went smoothly. In fact, lunch was a delight. It featured poultry and rice. And let me tell you assholes something. That chicken was delicious. It was covered in a scrumptious brown sauce.

I finally caught the bus back home at 5:30 p.m. And to my surprise, I actually found a seat. Many days, I’m forced to stand for the entire twenty minutes.  Then I sat on the sofa and watched several episodes of Peaky Blinders. I’m on the part where the boys have alienated the Italian mobsters. Good stuff.

Life has been very peaceful these days. But I’m caught at the crossroads of staying in Asia or going back to America. The great thing about South Korea is the health insurance. The medical benefits on the peninsula are outstanding. Yet I often long to be with my older son Ken the Chicken Man. The Dragon Lady ripped my family apart with her outrageous behavior. I’ll never forgive her for that.

I went to bed at 9 p.m. and slept like the dead. Then the alarm rang at 5 a.m., so I walked to the kitchen for a cup of Joe. After that, I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “How’s your blood pressure?”

“Not that great. It’s a hundred and twenty-seven over sixty-four.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Well, I’m still alive. And any day above ground has its advantages. But if it goes below sixty, then I have to get to the emergency room.”

“Maybe you should call your doctor.”

“I did. He’s gave me an appointment for October.”

“You might be dead before you can get to see him.”

She smiled at me. “What can I do? That’s just the way it is. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

And here’s the thing about the United States. We’re the richest country in the history of the world. Yet many croak because they have to wait endlessly to visit their physicians. With that said, we never seem to run out of money to fight wars across the globe. Go figure.

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Teenagers Suck

 

(My son curses like a sailor.)

Yesterday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and ran to the bathroom. I had to piss like a racehorse, and for a moment, I feared that I might not make it in time. Well, it turns out I was right. I ended up splashing much of the urine all over the toilet seat.

I looked up sadly at the ceiling. “What’s happening to me, Lord? I’m losing control of my bodily functions on a daily basis. And have you seen the shit stains in my underpants lately? They’re downright disgusting.”

The Lord never replied. And I don’t blame him. We all get old, and eventually our bodies start breaking down. It’s simply part of the lifecycle. One day, I’ll walk into a doctor’s office, and the son of a bitch will tell me that I’m dying. So what’s a boy to do? This is why I put my faith in Jesus Christ. He’s my only hope.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

She said, “Did you take Larry out for chicken on Friday night?”

“I wanted to. But the damn place was closed. Sadly, we had to go to another restaurant?”

“Sadly? It was that big of a deal?”

“You should have tasted the food. It was fucking awful.”

“What did you order?”

“Fried chicken. Same as always. One would assume that it’s a safe choice. But the meal was enough to gag a maggot.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Terrible.”

Mom sighed heavily. “Oh well. Look on the bright side. At least you aren’t getting ass raped in the Congo by unruly guerrillas.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Things could always be a whole lot worse.”

I walked into the kitchen and ate three jelly donuts. Then I took the elevator to the bottom floor in order to enjoy a cigarette. In all honesty, I like nicotine gum more than the actual cancer sticks, themselves. Therefore, I should probably just quit again. It’s not like it’s all that difficult. Some people equate tobacco use to heroin. Yet I simply don’t see it. The addiction isn’t nearly as strong as the media will have you believe.

Later that morning, I watched Fox News. But I can’t remember a fucking thing that the talking heads said. It was probably about Trump’s indictments. That poor orange motherfucker is going to prison for a long long time. Yet at least the deep state hasn’t murdered him like they did to Kennedy back in the day.

I fried some bacon and rice-cake for my boy. He ate his vittles while staring at his smartphone.

I said, “Many scientists are predicting that A.I. will kill us within the next decade.”

He shrugged. “What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

“It came into my head when I saw you playing with that video crack in your hands. I wonder if our young people are being conditioned to accept their servitude under their new robot masters.”

“How can we become their slaves? They don’t even have bodies.”

“With their extreme intelligence, they can create their own flesh and blood in a laboratory. Anyway, that’s what it said in Time Magazine.”

“Fuck Time Magazine, and fuck the horse it rode in on.”

I miss the old days when my kids were young and innocent. Rice-Boy Larry never cussed like a sailor when he was five years old. On the contrary. He was a good boy. But now he’s suddenly a teenage reprobate. This very notion brings tears to my eyes. What the hell happened?

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The Man of Sorrow

It's Sunday, and I can't be bothered writing a new blog post. So I've posted a video where Pastor John MacArthur discusses Isaiah 53, instead. John is a great bible teacher, but he's made a few giant mistakes along the way. If you are interested, Google Eileen Grey and Wendy Guay suffer at Grace Community Church. Make your own mind. Anyway, see you tomorrow. God bless. 

False Teachers of Scripture

It's Saturday afternoon here on the peninsula, and I simply can't be bothered making another blog entry. So I've posted a YouTube video about false preachers, instead. Have a wonderful day, and thanks for your support. God bless.

Debbie Downer

 

(Mental illness runs in my family.)

Yesterday, I had coffee with one of my co-workers. Her name is Sabrina, and she’s been working at the school for nearly twenty years. However, she’s always been a bit of a downer, and it’s affected her popularity amongst the staff.

She said, “I’m fifty-nine years old now, and the leadership is going to force me to retire in three years.”

“Why?”

“Because those are the rules at our workplace. Once you turn sixty-two, you are out the fucking door.”

“Are you sure? There’s always been a ton of oldsters in the past.”

She shook her head glumly. “Not anymore. The policy has changed. There’s no room at the inn for the elderly.”

This brought me down emotionally because I’m a geezer, too. My mind immediately turned toward the Waffle House. I thought of myself bringing pancakes and bacon to surly customers. And do you motherfuckers want to know something? This grim notion didn’t bother me a bit. The good thing about working for tips is that I won’t have to declare them on my taxes, which will allow me to qualify for Medicare and food stamps. 

Later in the day, I spoke briefly to my buddy Richard Hurtz. He’s a giant of a man who stands seven-feet tall.

I said, “Sabrina says she’s out the door in a few years.”

He smiled at me. “She’s finally had enough, huh?”

“No, it’s her age. She claims that the school doesn’t like old people.”

“That’s not true. They only get rid of you if you start acting old. This gives them some leeway to toss out the deadwood.”

“How do you mean?”

“Do you remember Beatrice?”

“Sure. We all have fond memories of her.”

“Well, she got canned at sixty-five because she used to take naps during the day. No employer wants to retain a sleeping old maid. So her age gave the leadership an excuse to give her the heave-ho. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine as long as you can handle the load.”

His words made me feel a lot better. I enjoy living in Korea. Plus I have permanent residence in this nation. The only way I can get kicked out is if I go on a horrendous crime spree.

I eventually got home at 6 p.m. and cooked a shitload of sausage in my miniature oven. I also served biscuits with the meal. Rice-Boy Larry ate his vittles in no-time flat. Then I vacuumed the floors and did a load of laundry. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. A woman’s work is never done.

I finally walked to my bedroom at 9 p.m. and enjoyed a quick wank. After that, I slept like the dead until five. There was no change in the morning ritual. I smoked, took a dump, and followed it up with a shower.

I dried my filthy body with a tiny towel before calling my mother using Facebook Messenger. There was a grim expression on her face.

I said, “What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s the fucking sprinkler system. The damn thing shit the bed.”

“I wouldn’t let it haunt you.”

“Without water, all my damn grass will get burnt to a crisp.”

“It’s only grass, so who gives a flying fuck? It’ll grow back.”

“Plus I’m all alone in the world. Nobody is here to help me.”

“That’s crazy. You live with your husband and your grandson. And Sis is there all the time with her kids.”

“I feel like I’m the only person on the planet.”

“Have you been taking your anti-depressants?”

“No. I’ve been off of them for the last couple of weeks.”

“You can’t do that, Mom. It’s like talking to a black hole.”

Mental illness runs on both sides of my family. My father’s people suffer from intense OCD and mania, and my mother’s side is eaten up with lingering melancholia. I’m the only sane motherfucker in the entire clan.