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Yesterday, I woke up at 6 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 guy from the city of Suwon named Joo Ho-min. He's a popular cartoonist on the internet with thousands upon thousands of fans. Anyway, Ho-min has a 10-year-old autistic son who was recently abused by his teacher. The teacher is on tape saying I hate you over and over again to the child. For his nasty words, this reprobate was given a $1,600 fine by the criminal court.
I called my mother using Facebook Messenger. However, Chicken Ken picked up the phone.
He said, "How come you're still living in Korea?"
I said, "Because I have a job."
"That's not a good answer. You're torturing Rice-Boy Larry."
I smiled at him. "Isn't torture a harsh description? He gets free schooling and plenty to eat. Plus he's able to live in a warm apartment. And if that weren't enough, he's also blessed to hang out with a cool guy like me. Lots of kids would trade places with him."
"You're not funny."
"Son, when I go back to the states, I'll probably be working in the Waffle House. So it's best to let him graduate before he's forced to endure such humiliation."
Chicken Ken pointed an angry finger at me. "That's your pride speaking. And pride is a deadly sin."
"What a bunch of bullshit. I'm simply being practical."
But my eldest son is a hundred-percent correct. It's hard for a man to pick up a spatula and serve grits to rednecks at my advanced age. The very notion crushes my fragile ego. Yet it has to be done. I'm simply delaying the inevitable.
Later that morning, I relaxed in bed and viewed porn. My favorite videos featured a performer named Lucy Lee. Lucy is a real sex-hungry slut. She enjoys talking dirty as various well-hung Caucasians give her a bone. I really had a good time.
In the afternoon, I walked into the living room. The Dragon Lady was hanging up laundry above the veranda's sliding-glass doors.
She said, "Dis is tellible. All I do is wowk. I cwean. I cook. I take out da twash. Eet too much. Soon, I die."
I said, "What can I do to help?"
"I hungly. I need a good dinnah."
"A good dinner?"
She nodded. "I want da cwab and feesh."
"Crab and fish?"
"That wight. Cwab and feesh."
So I took my family to a seafood restaurant. I ordered six steamed crabs and a platter of sashimi. The meal also featured noodles and a big bowl of fish-head soup. My wife is crazy about fish-head soup. She simply can't get enough of the stuff. I drank three bottles of soju with the meal. It was quite the feast.
I looked at Rice-Boy Larry. "Don't get used to this, boy."
"I understand. It's too expensive."
"This is going to set me back two-hundred dollars. So let's call it our Chinese-solstice celebration."
He turned to his mother. "Do you like the food?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Eet OK. But da feesh not flesh. Dey took da meat flom da fleezer."
I shook my head vehemently. "That's simply not true. I watched them butcher the fish with my own two peepers. They plucked it right from the tank and cut the poor beast to ribbons."
Larry said, "Was it gross?"
"Gross? Hell no. It was fantastic. Watching the cook slaughter the fish is the best thing about sashimi. It never fails to turn me on."
We eventually arrived home at 10 p.m. I walked straight to my room and went to bed. Needless to say, I slept like the dead with all that alcohol in my system.
