Social-Justice Warriors

 

(I don't really understand the younger generation.)

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. Pretty much everybody in Korea lives in high-rise apartment buildings, and this can cause problems because rugrats enjoy tossing stuff out the windows. Anyway, a geezer in his 70s was killed by a rock thrown by a child from the 18^th floor. Because of the kid’s age, he won’t be charged with any type of crime. And I’m OK with that. The whole thing was a freak accident. Nevertheless, the victim’s family is both frustrated and angry.

I prepared bacon and hash browns for Rice-Boy Larry. He was sitting at the kitchen table playing a computer game.

I said, “I woke up this morning and found a lot of garbage on the kitchen counter.”

“What kind of garbage?”

“There was an empty noodle container and some plastic wrapping. But that wasn’t the worst of it. There was red sauce all over the place. It took me fifteen minutes to clean the stuff up.”

“That was me. I ate a snack last night. It won’t happen again.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “No big deal. You help me a lot now that your mother has flown the coop. I couldn’t live in Korea without you. So you’re free to trash the place all you want.” I paused for dramatic effect. “However, if you love me, then try not to leave me with a disaster area in the future.”

I do my best not to yell at my children. Instead, I use guilt and shame to my advantage. Make no mistake. It’s an abusive form of punishment, yet it doesn’t leave any physical marks. I learned this tactic from my mother.

Anyway, my day at work went smoothly enough. I sat with a teacher named Tabitha for lunch. The cafeteria served chicken and French fries.

She said, “I really have to see the principal this afternoon.”

“Why?”

“I want to give him some suggestions about the schedule. I believe that I can make it more efficient.”

I sighed heavily. “You want my advice?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m going to give it to you anyway.” I took a long swig from my juice box. “Leave stuff alone. You’ve got enough on your plate to worry about. So let the leadership go about their business without any interference.”

She smiled at me with derision in her eyes. “I’m not like you. I want to make the world a better place, and when I die years from now, it’d be great if a few people actually remembered my name. Plus I want to prevent this school from crashing and burning.”

“Crashing and burning? This place has been around for a long long time. But I’ve seen lots of teachers crash and burn. They take on too many responsibilities and eventually go insane.”

Sometimes, I have a hard time relating to the younger generation. It’s filled with social-justice warriors who have a savior complex. I find them rather tiring if you want to know the truth.

I eventually got home at 6 p.m. and sat on my sofa. I was supposed to vacuum my apartment, but I simply didn’t have the energy. So I watched several episodes of Wentworth instead. Thank God for Netflix.

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Jesus Morning Star

 

(The world is filled with devilish cults.)

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. Jeong Myeong-seok is a Korean cult leader who runs a group called Jesus Morning Star. Back in 2018, he molested a couple of white ladies who were his devoted followers at the time. They pressed charges, and now he’s facing thirty years in prison for his crimes. Netflix actually did a documentary about the guy. This dirty old bastard got an amazing amount of fresh young pussy by claiming to be the messiah. His antics continue to blow my mind.

I caught the bus just in the nick of time and got to my office at 7:30 a.m. My colleague Richard Hurtz stopped by for a chat. He’s a gym teacher who stands nearly seven feet tall.

He said, “I’m getting really tired of this gig.”

“Why?”

“All of my students are a bunch of sissies.”

“The males or the females?”

“Both.” He took a sip of water from his mug. “I have this one clown who claims that he’s suffering from depression. I asked him to run a campus lap, but he said that he was too sad.”

“What did you do?”

He shrugged his giant shoulders. “What the fuck could I do? I let him sit on one of the benches while his classmates exercised.”

“Maybe the kid is actually depressed. Have you ever thought of that? Is he getting the help he needs?”

Richard smirked at me. “Don’t worry. Junior has both a psychiatrist and a social worker at his beck and call.” He paused for dramatic effect. “I liked the old days better. Mental midgets and the physically infirm simply withered away and died. It was natural selection at its finest.”

“Be careful. You’re talking about eugenics.”

He shrugged his giant shoulders again. “It is what it is. Nature takes care of itself. I don’t make the rules. I just hope that this loser never has children. The last thing the world needs is another pathetic fat ass who can’t run a single campus lap. Present company excluded, of course.”

After getting that off his chest, he left the room silently and closed the door behind him.

I’m a huge fan of Mr. Hurtz. He might be a Nazi devoid of human empathy, but he’s one of the few guys at the school who actually speaks to me. I’m becoming a geezer, and nobody likes to hang out with old people. And who can blame them? I’m a lonely fat dude with bad posture and rotting teeth. I wouldn’t want to hang out with me, either.

I called my mother using Facebook Messenger.

I said, “It’s almost Thanksgiving, huh?”

She smiled at me. “Only a few days to go. Your niece is here with her boyfriend, and your sister is driving in tomorrow.”

“Sounds great.”

Mom sighed heavily. “I wish you could celebrate the holiday with us. Chicken Ken is even making ice cream for everybody.”

“I just read a poem with my high schoolers called The Emperor of Ice Cream. The writer is Wallace Stevens. He once visited Key West and badmouthed Ernest Hemingway’s sister. Hemingway beat the shit out of him, and poor Wallace spent a week in the hospital.”

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

“Not a thing.”

I eventually returned home at 6 p.m. and ordered groceries off Coupang with Rice-Boy Larry. We bought bacon, hash browns, Chinese dumplings, and four cases of bottled water. The price tag came to eighty bucks.

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The Dark and Silent Lake

(Mom says that she'll probably die soon.)

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 60-year-old geezer from Okcheon went into the mountains to hunt for game. He saw a wild pig drinking from a stream and filled the beast with lead. Unfortunately, the boar wasn’t actually a boar. Instead, it was a man in his 30s who was searching for crayfish. The poor bastard is now as dead as a doornail, and his killer will probably have to spend a year in prison for the crime.

I prepared bacon and hash browns for my son. He was sitting at the kitchen table working on a math assignment.

I said, “Tonight, we have to order more supplies from Coupang.”

Rice-Boy Larry rolled his eyes. “I’m so tired all the time.”

“Well, if you want to eat, then you’ll have to help me out.”

“What do we need?”

“Lots of things. More bacon. More hash browns. More bottles of water. More dumplings. More French fries. The list goes on and on. You eat like a horse.”

He shot me the stink eye. “Take a look at yourself. You aren’t exactly slim.”

“That’s true. But I’ve lost a lot of blubber over the last year. I’m still down close to sixty pounds.”

I used to be a giant fat ass, topping the scales at 260 lbs. However, I’m now a svelte 206. I really need to she another 26, yet that would take a miracle. I’ve been static at this weight for nearly five months. My diet usually consists of three jelly donuts for breakfast, the school lunch, and dumplings plus French fries for dinner. I’m not going to bitch and complain. I feel comfortable and healthy these days.

I caught the bus to work and arrived at my office at 7:30 a.m. Then I drank another cup of instant coffee before calling my mom over Facebook Messenger.

She said, “Thanksgiving is right around the corner.”

I nodded. “Yup. I haven’t had turkey in over fifteen years. But I don’t really miss it too much.”

“It’s not about food, son. The holiday is more about family.”

“That’s true. Yet modern technology is amazing. I’m halfway around the globe, but I can still speak with you as if we were in the same room.”

“Don’t be fooled. Technology is a mere devilish illusion. It’s nice to touch the ones you love.”

I sighed heavily. “I want to return to America in the worst possible way.”

“So why don’t you quit your job and hop on a plane?”

“I’m too afraid. I’ve got a somewhat stable gig and great health insurance. And if I go back to the States, the only job I’ll be able to land is slinging fast food at the Chik-Fil-A drive through. I’m too old for that type of shit. Hell, I don’t think I could even stand up for eight hours straight.”

She took a long sip of cola. “I understand. However, remember one thing. My door is always open if you decide to change your mind. Yet don’t take too long. I’m not sure how long I’ll actually be around in the future.”

Mom’s not above using guilt to get her own way.

My day at school went well. I’m currently reading a death poem called The Snow-Shower with my high school crew. All the snowflakes drop into the dark and silent lake only to evaporate as if they had never even existed. Good stuff. I think that Mom would love it. 

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My Poor Anus

 

(Am I suffering from fecal incontinence?)

On Saturday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the headlines on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A 40-year-old man from the suburbs of Seoul asked his 70-year-old stepmother for some money. This poor lady had a part-time job selling vegetables from the side of the road. Anyway, she told him to get bent, and he strangled the elderly woman before burying her in a nearby field. He will now spend the rest of his life in prison for this dastardly crime.

Later, I walked across the street to the pharmacy to stock up on some much-needed supplies. I bought four boxes of nicotine gum which came to nearly sixty dollars. And I also purchased two tubes of cream to help with my itchy testicles. Then, last but not least, I brought home some first-rate dental floss so that my boy won’t be plagued with the loss of his teeth in the future. Everything together was eighty bucks.

After that, I went to work around the house. I cleaned both the bathrooms with bleach. What I do is squirt this nasty substance all over the walls and floors and mirror. Then I let it sit for fifteen minutes before dousing the entire area with scalding hot water from the shower head. It’s not an easy task. Bleach fucks with my eyes, nose, and throat. But it really does the job.

In the evening, I took Rice-Boy Larry to the chicken house. We ordered fried bird and a pitcher of beer. Then we struck up a conversation as we shoved the food into our mouths.

He said, “Why is your nose running?”

I wiped the snot away with a napkin. “It’s the fucking bleach. It always turns me into a jellyfish.”

“Maybe you should use something else in the future.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Bleach might be hazardous, but it makes my life easier. The last thing I want to do is get down on my hands and knees to scrub the floor.”

“Even if it kills you?”

“That’s the price I might have to pay. Yet at least we can enjoy a spotless place to take a shit.”

He suddenly changed the subject. “How’s your health been overall?”

I sighed heavily. “What can I tell you? I’m getting older. Did you know that I often wipe my ass more than ten times a day?”

He nodded his head gravely. “You’ve told me that many times.”

“As a consequence, my rectum feels like sandpaper.”

“Is it painful?”

I winced as I thought about the question. “Painful isn’t the word I’d use. Uncomfortable is more like it.” I took a sip of beer. “Lots of people love to shove stuff right up their anus. In fact, gay men live for the sensation. But I have no idea how they do it. Their assholes must constantly feel like an inferno.”

“That’s kind of gross. I’m trying to eat over here.”

“Sorry to rattle your cage. However, that’s the world we live in.” I paused for dramatic effect. “You’re probably now old enough to watch dirty movies. And I certainly don’t approve, but there isn’t much I can do about it. Yet don’t mistake the sex you see on television for the real thing. Always draw the line at sodomy. The last thing you’d want to do is injure some innocent woman just to get your jollies.”

We finally got home at 9 p.m. I crawled into bed as drunk as a coot. I really need to give up the alcohol on Saturday nights. I should stick to tea or cola.

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Waiting for God's Return

It's Sunday, and I can't be bothered writing a new blog entry. So I've posted a sermon by Pastor Mark Driscoll, instead. But have no fear. I will return tomorrow with more stories from my wonderful life.

Get Behind Me, Satan

It's Saturday, and I can't be bothered writing a new blog entry. So I've posted a sermon by Pastor Charles Lawson, instead. But have no fear. I shall return before you know it with more tales from my wonderful life. God bless.

Reunited

 

(Chicken Ken is becoming tired.)

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. Many high school dropouts in South Korea are starting vlogs on YouTube. Some of the videos even got nine million views from fans around the peninsula. But here’s a fact that blows my mind. Only one percent of students in this nation actually drop out of school. Amazing, isn’t it? When I was a teacher back in the States, nearly half the students threw in the towel before getting their diploma.

I made bacon and hash browns for Rice-Boy Larry. I buy all my groceries over the internet using a company called Coupang. I often get great deals.

I looked at my boy. “Do you have any tests today?”

He nodded. “Biology and English.”

“Did you study?”

He nodded again. “Of course I studied. My biology teacher is a maniac. I’d fail the course if I didn’t hit the books.”

“It’s that tough?”

“Killer.”

“Well, do the best you can, and put your faith in God.”

“I wish that life were that easy.”

Speaking of God…My favorite pastor is a geezer named Charles Lawson. I watch him religiously via YouTube. And he never fails to make me feel better about my situation in life. Anyway, Lawson is having some real problems these days. It seems that the deacons in his church have been breaking his balls, and now half the members have gotten up and left his congregation. So I’m sending my prayers his way.

Later that morning, I caught the bus to work. Once again, the driver was a complete lunatic. In fact, he was even driving eighty in a thirty-kilometer zone. The daily commute is always harrowing. When I finally exited the vehicle, he closed the doors on my arm. Luckily, he noticed his mistake before dragging me to the next stop. That’s how you die in Korea. Traffic accidents.

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

She said, “I’m really worried about Chicken Ken.”

“Why? What’s going on with him?”

“He’s so exhausted that he’s becoming very grouchy these days.”

“Well, he works forty hours a week. Plus he has a full load of college courses. I suppose it ain’t easy.”

She took a long sip of cola. “I told him to quit his gig at Chick-Fil-A. It’s simply not worth his sanity. They load him with too many responsibilities.”

“I agree completely. No point in wearing himself thin. He should only work three days a week. Tops.”

“I was thinking about a gas station. We’ve got plenty of those close to home.”

“Sounds like a solid plan. Work the cash register and steal the cigarettes when the manager isn’t looking. It’s certainly better than slaving your life away in Djibouti.”

After speaking with Mom, I sent my son a few messages over Discord. Discord is his favorite app. I told him that he should think about coming to Korea after finishing his bachelor’s degree. The pay is mediocre, and the driving is completely fucking nuts. Yet there isn’t the same level of stress that one must deal with in America. Plus the health insurance is great.

There are a couple of other benefits, too. Chicken Ken is a Korean citizen, so he’ll have no problem with any annoying paperwork. And more importantly, his crazy mother has flown the coop. Therefore, he can live with me and Larry, and we can all be a family again. Dare to dream, right?

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