Tuesday, December 25, 2018

My Buttocks

Chapter 51

          Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and fixed myself a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the news on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A man from northern China was recently arrested by the police for kicking the shit out of one of his former teachers. He claims that this particular educator was very abusive back in the day, making him kneel during class and slapping him across the face in front of his peers.

          I was quite lucky as a child. Most of my teachers were pretty cool. I did have a male chemistry instructor who enjoyed slapping me on the ass when I was fifteen years old. But my parents and I thought nothing of it. We had no idea that this type of behavior is a form of sexual abuse. We simply believed that the guy was being friendly. This occurred more than thirty years before the MeToo Movement began, so we didn’t know any better.

          I stepped into my spacious shower. The hot water felt wonderful as it pounded against my blubber, but I was far too sick to masturbate. I’ve been feeling pretty miserable over the last few days. I caught a dose of an extremely nasty virus. My throat hurts. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. Hell, even my lower back is in agony. The illness has been a true motherfucker. But this is the first time I’ve been sick in years. For the most part, I’m a healthy guy. Let’s hope that my luck continues.

          I dried off with one of my wife’s tiny towels and walked downstairs.

          The Dragon Lady said, “Are you hungly?”

          I shook my head. “I’m too ill to eat.”

          She shot me the stink eye. “So I must trow away da food?”


          “You da asshoe.”

          “I’m sick. Can’t you just be nice?”

          “What? You think I bleastfeed you just because you catch da cold?”

          I didn’t respond. I hate fighting.

          I walked to work with Rice-Boy Larry. It hurt to talk, so we trudged along silently.

          Later that morning, I attended a meeting. Our principal has found another job, so he’ll be leaving after Chinese New Year. His replacement is a woman. She gave the faculty a pep talk. I can’t remember a fucking thing she said. Maybe I have Alzheimer’s.

          My mom called me using WeChat.

          She said, “Tucker Carlson says that China is cracking down on Christmas.”

          I said, “Well, we all have to work that day. But I’m not sure if that constitutes a crackdown, or if it's simply business as usual.”

          “What’s wrong with your voice?”

          “I caught a nasty virus.”

          “You sound terrible.”

          “I feel like shit.”

          The classes went well enough. One of my old students came back for a visit. She’s currently studying at a private school in Oregon.

          I said, “Are your new teachers a bunch of liberal loons?”

          She said, “No, and I’m actually enjoying myself. We never talk politics. They focus mainly on the curriculum. They don’t have time for anything extemporaneous.”

          I was surprised. “You don’t talk about politics in your history or English classes?”

          “We avoid it like the plague.”

          “Even the teachers?”

          “Even the teachers.”

          This made me a little sad. Times are changing. People are becoming afraid to speak their minds.

          In fact, I used to post about politics at a message board which caters to Caucasian ESL teachers in Korea. But many of them became completely butt-hurt. They told me that I was a fascist because I read Breitbart News. They also said that they need a safe-space from Nazis like me. I shit you not.

          I got home at 5 p.m. I watched the game between New Orleans and Pittsburgh. The Saints won by a field goal. They now have homefield advantage throughout the playoffs. They are going to be tough to beat in the Superdome.

          I went to bed at eight p.m. I slept like the dead.

Thursday, December 20, 2018


Chapter 51

          Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I took a nasty shit while reading the news on my smartphone. An eleven-year-old boy from Sichuan found his grandfather’s nail gun. He used the dangerous tool to shoot his nine-year-old cousin. Sadly, the poor girl died from her injuries, and grandpa was later arrested by the powers that be for possessing a firearm. He faces a minimum three-year prison sentence for his crime. Here on the mainland, owning a nail gun is against the law.

          I stepped into my spacious shower. The hot water felt great as it pounded against my flab, and my thoughts turned to a porn queen named Ona Zee. Ona is a delicious brunette with a set of big tits who doesn’t mind taking it in the ass. What’s not to love? I jerked off using liberal amounts of shampoo and conditioner for maximum comfort. I shot my load in less than five minutes. My orgasm was quite explosive. I really had a good time.

          Later that morning, I walked to work with Rice-Boy Larry.

          He said, “I really want my own room. I’m tired of sleeping with mom. It’s becoming embarrassing.”

          I said, “Well, the apartment has a spare bed, and you’re welcome to use it.”

          “She won’t let me.”


          “She says that she wants to save on heating costs.”

          I laughed. “That’s bullshit. She’s turned you into her little Teddy bear. She can’t sleep without her security blanket.”

          “I don’t understand her mind.”

          “Don’t bother trying. She’s nuts.”

          “Can you talk to her?”

          “I’ll write her a note. But don’t expect miracles. Mom’s a lunatic.”

          I must admit the truth. His words brought joy to my heart. Larry used to act like a little pampered snot, and I truly feared that I was losing him. But, as he continues to get older, he’s beginning to see that there is something seriously wrong with his Korean family. Like his father and elder brother, he resents being controlled by a group of psychotic Orientals. I don’t want to rehash the details in this particular tome. If you’re interested, read my first book for free over at wattpad.com. It’s called Filthy Beast: The Diary of an English Teacher in South Korea.

          One of my bosses came to see me during breaktime. I’ve got so many supervisors that it’s hard to keep their names straight.

          She said, “Some of the high school teachers are coming in tardy. The principal would like you to fix the issue. Please discuss the faculty attendance policy during the next meeting.”

          “Well, it’s really not my problem.”

          “Excuse me?”

          “I’m not a principal or a vice principal. So it’s not my place to correct the behavior of naughty teachers. The principal should do it himself.”

          She left my room with a puzzled expression on her face.

          I’m not some young firebrand. Nor am I a rabble-rouser. But boundaries are healthy for everyone involved. I have to work closely with my fellow teachers, and the last thing I need is a reputation as a snitch. The powers that be can do their own dirty work, thank you very much. That’s why they have the title and a sweet pay check.

          I got home at 5 p.m. I helped Rice-Boy Larry write a paper for his English class.

          He said, “You’re not supposed to start a sentence with a conjunction.”

          I said, “Who taught you that trash?”

          “My teacher.”

          “Well, she’s full of shit. That’s nothing more than an elementary-school myth. It’s perfectly OK to use and or but at the beginning of a sentence. And don’t let any asshole tell you otherwise.”

          “But she controls my grade.”

          “Good point. You’re a wise man, Larry.”

          I went to bed at 10 p.m. I slept like the dead.

Wednesday, December 19, 2018

Sunday School

Chapter 50

          Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the news on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. Sixty policemen raided a children’s bible study in southern China. None of the kiddies were actually arrested, but one of the parents was detained after attempting to snap pictures of the incident. The government on the mainland really hates Jesus Christ. However, one is free to worship at approved churches. Yet beware! Those places are usually filled to the brim with spies looking to make brownie points by ratting on their friends and neighbors. What can I tell you? Fascism sucks.

          I stepped into my spacious shower. The hot water felt wonderful as it pounded against my blubber, and I started thinking about a porn actress named Delotta Brown. Ms. Brown is a black woman with a great ass and a huge set of tits. She doesn’t take it in the back door, but she doesn’t mind receiving the occasional facial. Good for her. It wasn’t long till I popped a Woodrow. I beat my meat using plenty of shampoo and conditioner for maximum comfort. I blew my load in less than five minutes. My orgasm was quite explosive. I really had a wonderful time.

          I dried off with one of my wife’s tiny towels, and then I walked downstairs. The Dragon Lady had prepared a bowl of oatmeal with granola. It was resting on the kitchen table. The vittles were delicious. I washed them down with a plastic bottle of water. Sometimes, water is the only drink which truly quenches my thirst.

          I walked to work by my lonesome. Rice-Boy Larry is having trouble with his toe, so he took the day off to see a doctor. I passed the factory employees in their canary-yellow vests. The boys in my neighborhood make the component parts for Apple iPhones. Lots of rich assholes and globalists will tell you that manufacturing is dead and that automation is killing the average worker. Well, don’t fall for the bullshit. Humans are still needed to produce goods. Rich capitalists simply hate paying a decent wage. It cuts into their bottom line. So why hire an American when you can get the Chinese for a fraction of the cost?

          I got to my room at 7:30 a.m. and called my mother using WeChat.

          I said, “The communists closed down another church. Now they’re even cracking down on Sunday schools. They recently pried the bible from the hands of little children.”

          She said, “Well, what do you expect? It’s China. The country isn’t exactly a bastion of freedom.”

          “But children’s Sunday school? C’mon. That’s going a little too far even for these pricks.”

          “Son, wake up and smell the coffee. They execute their prisoners and harvest the organs for money. It doesn’t get much lower than that. And you’re complaining about bibles being confiscated? Get real. In fact, why don’t you just come home?”

          “I can’t do that. I’m here because of God’s will.”

          “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why would God want you to live in China? Does He hate you?”

          “I don’t know His reason. Maybe I’m supposed to be some type of a witness.”

          She sighed deeply. “You are truly daft if you believe that nonsense.”

          Mom is a filthy atheist. Nevertheless, I had a very nice childhood. I always felt loved.

          The rest of the day went well. My students studied vocabulary. I’ve been told that having a good vocabulary is very important. It seems that the more words you know actually correlates into cash. I shit you not.

          I got home at 5 p.m. and watched Monday Night Football. The Saints defeated the Panthers in North Carolina. It looks very likely that New Orleans will have homefield advantage throughout the playoffs. Good for them.

Monday, December 17, 2018

Horny Old Linda

Chapter 49

          In the spring of 1997, Linda and Chung were becoming quite an item. One night, she invited me to join them on a date. It was scheduled to take place on a school night. I expressed my concerns to the horny old lady.

          She said, “What are you? Twelve? So what if you have work the next morning? You’re a young man. You can power through.”

          “Why do you even need me?”

          “Chung’s English isn’t that great, and it’s nice to have a wing-man by my side.”

          “Has he forgiven me for calling him a son of a bitch?”

          Linda nodded her head. “Of course he’s forgiven you. That’s yesterday’s news. He likes you.”

          “Can I ask Bob and Greg to tag along?”

          “Sure. The more the merrier, but they got to buy their own drinks. Those two are a couple of cheapskates.”

          I took a short walk over to the ghetto. I asked Bob first.

          “Hey, Linda is going out with her Korean boy toy tonight, and she wants us to tag along.”

          Bob said, “Where does Chung get all the money to buy so much booze?”

          “Actually, she wants you to purchase your own alcohol.”

          A sour look suddenly crossed his pale freckled face. “Screw that noise. I’m not buying shit. I’m the one doing her the favor. That dude can’t speak a word of English. It ain’t my job to entertain the stuttering fuck.”

          Greg decided to stay home, too. He was suffering from a minor cold.

          Looking back on it, I should have kept my ass in the office building. Being a third wheel is bullshit. But I was quite the drunkard in those days. And, when it came to booze, the word no simply wasn’t in my vocabulary.

          For a rich man with a lot of cash, Chung didn’t have a car. We caught a bus to downtown Daejeon. We ended up at a nightclub somewhere near the center of the city.

          Chung ordered a shitload of beer. He also had a bottle of Scotch delivered to our table. I threw back the hooch as if I were a thirsty cowboy who had just come in from the trail. And, to be quite honest, my memory is a tad hazy about the evening. But I will do my best to piece together the events of the night.

          I kept breaking the glasses at the club. This wasn’t due to vandalism, but rather drunken clumsiness.

          Linda got pissed. “Fucking control yourself. You’re acting like an infant.”

          After we left, Chung and I drank several bottles of soju in front of a convenience store. Linda wasn’t pleased. She kept shooting me the stink eye.

          Her Korean lover eventually took off, stranding us in the middle of town. Luckily, I had picked up enough of the language so that we could find our way back to our humble abode. We lived next to a shop that sold expensive fur jackets. It was called Jindo Mopee.

          Even in my drunken state, I managed to hail a taxi. Then I said this: “Jindo Mopee car chooseo.” Those words simply mean, “Please drive me to the fur shop.”

          Old Linda started kissing me as the taxi sped toward our destination. She even let me touch her tits and pussy.

          She said, “Screw Chung. I can’t believe he left us there. Let’s go home and fuck.”

          “Sounds good to me.”

          But things changed as we approached her bedroom door. She started sobbing uncontrollably. Snot was leaking out her nose, and she even began drooling.

          She said, “I just can’t.”

          And then she closed the door behind her.

          That’s where I should have left it. However, I truly felt bad for the woman. Her heart was breaking right in front of my eyes. I suddenly had the urge to tell Linda that everything would be all right and give her a brotherly hug. Make no mistake. My feelings weren’t sexual. After all, her face was a mask of mucus and spittle, so the idea of fucking her was no longer a turn on.

          I walked uninvited into her private space. Big mistake. She started screaming at the top of her lungs.

          “Get the fuck out of here! Get the fuck out of here! You don’t belong in here! Get the fuck out! Get out! Get out! Get out!”

          It was nearly three in the morning, and she woke everybody up. Roger approached me with a baseball bat in his hands.

          I said, “What the fuck is your problem? Are you planning to hit me with that?”

          He said, “Go back to your own side of the office. I don’t want any trouble.”

          “Then relax and let me pass.”

          Even Greg got in on the action.

          He said, “Dude, when a woman says no, she means no.”

          I shook my head. “What the fuck are you talking about? You think I tried to rape her?”

          He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. I don’t know you, and I don’t know her.”

          I went to my room feeling like a pervert. I had never been so embarrassed in my life.

Friday, December 14, 2018

Mom's Advice

Chapter 48

          Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the news on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. Due to Beijing’s one child policy, lots of Chinese men can’t find wives. So they often turn to poor countries such as Cambodia and Vietnam to purchase a bride. It turns out that you can buy yourself an Asian girl for about ten thousand American dollars. Sadly, these women are often treated badly. And, to add insult to injury, they are frequently sold into these marriages by their very own families.

          I stepped into my spacious shower. The hot water felt wonderful as it blasted against my blubber, and I began thinking about a porn star named Kitty Young. Kitty is a Chinese-American actress who doesn’t mind taking it up the ass—which is a definite plus in my book. I decided to beat my meat using plenty of shampoo and conditioner for maximum comfort. I blew my load in less than five minutes. My orgasm was quite explosive. I really had a good time.

          Later in the morning, I walked to work with Rice-Boy Larry. I got to my classroom at 7:30 a.m. and called Ken the Chicken Man using WeChat.

          He said, “I got the results back for my PSAT.”

          I said, “How did you do?”

          “I aced the math section, but I really screwed up on the English portion of the exam.”

          “Well, son, you can’t be good at everything.”

          “I guess I won’t be going to Harvard.”

          “Don’t worry about that Harvard bullshit. Stick to your plans about becoming a nurse. Do you know how much an experienced nurse with a master’s degree makes?”


          “$140,000 a year.”

          “That’s some serious coin.”

          “It's a beautiful thing.”

          Ken handed the phone to my mother.

          I said, “My boss is still pissed at me.”

          “Are you talking about that jogging nonsense?”


          “Son, you’re too old for that shit. How are you going to keep up with a bunch of teenagers when it comes to running?”

          “He gave me an order, so I guess I’ll just go as slowly as possible.”

          “Fuck his orders.”

          “This comes straight from the Chinese government.”

          “Do you actually believe that bullshit? Lots of teachers are little old ladies. What? They have to run laps, too? C’mon. Wake up and smell the coffee. Even Chairman Mao, himself, wouldn’t do something that stupid.”

          “Then what are you saying?”

          “It sounds to me that your school doesn’t have enough PE teachers to cover its nut. So they are picking some unlucky bastards such as yourself to make up for the shortage. Remember this. You’ve got two sons who rely on you. You need another trip to the hospital like a hole in the head.”

          My mother is a very wise woman. And she’s absolutely right. I endured a six-day stint in a Korean hospital due to forced exercise. You can learn the details of the disaster in my first book.

          Classes went well. Not much happened. We read a story about the voyage of the James Caird. The account of the journey was both harrowing and compelling. The kids seemed to enjoy it.

          I got home at 5 p.m. and ate chicken for dinner. The meal came with crispy hot bread and plenty of Coca-Cola. It’s strange. People used to call me a hopeless alcoholic back in the day. I could literally drink an entire bottle of Scotch in one sitting. But quitting the hooch has been the easiest thing that I’ve ever done. There have been zero side effects. Go figure.

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Morning Exercise Communist Style

Chapter 47

          Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the news on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A 12-year-old boy from central China got caught smoking cigarettes by his mother. She handled things Chinese style. She removed her belt and beat his little ass. But the kid became very angry and stabbed her twenty times with a knife. Later, he told the police that she had committed suicide. The child is too young to be punished, and he’s now allowed to return to school. Understandably, the parents of the other children are quite nervous.

          I’m by no means a fundamentalist Christian. Yet I do believe in everything that the bible says. People are bad, and no one is innocent—especially adolescents. This boy is a dirty criminal, and he should be treated as such. If I were king of the world, I’d throw that little asshole off a cliff. But what do I know?

          I took a quick shower and walked downstairs. I haven’t been jerking off lately. Maybe I’m dying of cancer. Then I ate a bowl of oatmeal with Rice-Boy Larry. It was topped with crunchy granola.

          He said, “What’s wrong? You look sad.”

          “I’m not sad. I’m just fighting with my boss.”


          “Yeah, the Chinese government wants all the children to go out and run in the mornings. And they want the homeroom teachers to jog by the side of their class in a half-assed military formation. You’ll have to do it, too. We start next week.”

          “That sucks.”

          “Tell me about it. Anyway, I told my boss that I’m too fucking old for that type of shit. And I also told him that I don’t want Big Brother forcing me to exercise in the mornings.”

          “What did he say?”

          “He ordered me to run.”

          “So what are you going to do?”

          “What the fuck can I do? I’m going to smile and jog at a snail’s pace.”

          “Therefore, you’ve decided to handle the situation in a passive-aggressive manner?”

          “That’s correct. You’re a very smart boy for your age.”

          “I plan to do the same thing. I’ll pretend that I’m about to keel over and die. Maybe they’ll let me sit under a tree.”

          I smiled. “Now you’re thinking. Like father, like son.”

          I got to school at 7:30 a.m. We had a meeting. Sadly, I can’t remember a fucking thing that anybody said. Most of the stuff we talk about is never very important. Management often gives meetings just to say they did so.

          I walked to my classroom and called Ken the Chicken Man.

          He said, “Something weird happened.”


          “I started playing poker on my virtual reality machine. I was really killing the game. I won just about every hand. Then I got banned from the site.”

          “Take my advice. Stay away from anything resembling vice.”

          “Dad, nobody is playing for real money.”

          “It doesn’t matter. You pissed somebody off. Study math instead.”

          “You’re boring.”

          “Of course I’m boring. I’m old. All old folk are boring.” I changed the subject. “How’s life in chicken land?”

          “Things are the same as usual. People order sandwiches, and I make them. The river just keeps flowing.”

          “Well, routine is important.”

          Later in the day, I talked to one of my Chinese co-teachers. She’s a real pistol who always dresses in the highest fashion.

          I said, “You won’t be able to wear those clothes when we start running.”

          She said, “I’m not going to change my style for anybody.”

          “How can you possibly run in that dress?”

          “You don’t understand China. You just have to look like you’re making an effort. Appearance is everything.”

          I got home at 5 p.m. and watched Tucker Carlson. Donald Trump got caught paying off his former sex partners. Tucker believes that giving an extortionist hush money doesn’t constitute a crime. And what can I say? I agree with him. Great minds think alike.

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Screw Tim Cook

Chapter 46

          Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the news on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. Hundreds of Christians in Chengdu were arrested by the Chinese powers that be for practicing their faith in an unauthorized house church. All places of worship must have the blessing of the dictatorship. Why? The mainland absolutely hates privacy. Make no mistake. In China, Big Brother has his greasy little fingers up everybody’s asshole.

          I stepped into my spacious shower. The hot water felt great as it pounded against my blubber. I briefly thought about beating my meat, but suddenly the image of Tim Cook popped into my mind. Tim is the CEO of Apple, and he recently gave a speech about the importance of taking hate mongers off his internet platforms. A hate monger to Mr. Cook is anybody who doesn’t believe in the Obama agenda. I began to feel ill. This cocksucker has been doing business with the Chinese government for years and years. Yet he has the audacity to give us a lecture about morality. Talk about a lack of self-awareness.

          I dried off with one of my wife’s tiny towels, and then I walked to the kitchen. I had oatmeal for breakfast. It came with lots of granola. The food was delicious. It contained just the right amount of salt. I washed the vittles down with a cold plastic bottle of water.

          Rice-Boy Larry was upstairs drying his hair.

          I called out to him. “Let’s get a move on, boy. I have a meeting this morning.”

          The weather has been downright cold lately. But I don’t mind the frigid temperatures. My layers of fat keep me insulated from Jack Frost’s icy fingertips.

          I got to work with plenty of time to spare. My boss spoke for several minutes, and everybody clapped enthusiastically. But I can’t remember a fucking thing he said. Maybe I have Alzheimer’s.

          I walked to my classroom and called my mother using WeChat.

          She said, “How’s your crazy wife?”

          “Well, Mom, she’s still fucking crazy. How do you think she is?”

          “What’s wrong now?”

          “She’s still pissed about Thailand.”

          “Tell her to get a job, and then she can go wherever the fuck she wants.”

          “I wish it was that easy.”

          I’m certainly no bleeding-heart liberal, and I’m not going to let the Dragon Lady off the hook for her bad behavior. In fact, I often pray for her death. I shit you not. But I don’t think that the mentally ill can help themselves. For instance, Jeffrey Dahmer used to kill and eat his victims. He even drilled holes in their heads in order to fuck their skulls. Was he a scumbag? Sure. Could he control his actions? Probably not.

          The same holds true for my wife. She wakes up with a hateful scowl on her ugly face, and she spends her days and nights overcome with illogical rage. Nobody in their right mind would want to live that way. And what makes it worse is that she doesn’t want psychiatric help. She clings to her anger as if it were her best friend. Long story short? The woman’s a loon.

          My day went well. We are currently studying 1984. I’ve read it a million times, and it never gets old. I think it’s the most remarkable book ever written. And it remains prescient even though 1984 has come and gone. When I look at Antifa on the television screen, I see progressive Bolshevism at work. These pampered white kids dress in black and function as the shock troops for the far-left elite who wish to bring America to her knees.

          I got home and watched football. The Patriots lost on a last-second play to the Miami Dolphins. It was a wonderful game.

          I went to bed at 9: 30 p.m. I slept like the dead.

Monday, December 10, 2018

Chung Wept

Chapter 45

          In 1997, I lived in a place I called the ghetto. The less-attractive side of the office building was populated by five English teachers. Greg and Bob were both from New Orleans, and we hit it off right away. There was also another unmarried couple named Ross and April who were living in sin unbeknownst to Mr. Song. And then there was crazy John, a giant loner who would often get drunk in his room and walk in his sleep.

          One night in late March, I went to a disco with Bob and Greg to drink beer and listen to music. Old Linda tagged along.

          Discos in Korea weren’t cheap back in those days. I was forced to order several drinks and a pricy side dish. The waiter returned with six large bottles of beer and a big tray of fruit.

          Right away, Greg started giving me problems.

          He said, “I didn’t come here to eat overpriced apples, and I ain’t fucking paying for it.”

          Greg was tall and balding. He did have some hair on the sides of his head, but the middle of his noggin was nothing more than a strip of pasty flesh.

          I said, “Listen, asshole, you’re putting up your cash like the rest of us. You cheap motherfucker.”

          “Well, you don’t have to use that kind of language.”

          Bob said, “Quit being such a Jew.”

          Linda said, “There’s no reason to bring the Jews into this matter.” She turned her attention to Greg. “If you don’t want to pay, then the solution is simple. Go find another table.”

          He became defensive. “OK, already. I’ll fucking pay.”

          Greg wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, I grew to like him a lot. He was simply a cheap stingy bastard, and every once in a while, I had to lay down the law to avoid getting ripped off.

          All the Koreans kept asking Linda to dance. They liked her blonde hair, and they thought she was beautiful. Needless to say, the horny old lady loved the attention. She danced with every man in the joint.

          But, as the evening wore on, she became attracted to one guy in particular. He was short and athletic, and wore a black pin-striped suit and a cherry-red necktie. He reminded me of a young Jackie Chan. She brought him to our table.

          Linda said, “Let me introduce my new friend. This is Chung.”

          He said, “I Chung. I grad to meet you. Welcome to Kolea.”

          We all smiled and nodded.

          He said, “I vely rich man. I want to buy you dwinkee. You not pay. Chung pay.”

          I could tell that Greg was about to have an orgasm. Eating and drinking for free gave him wood. He immediately ordered more beer. But Chung was in the mood to show off for Linda. He shouted some words in Korean, and the waiters brought over an expensive bottle of single-malt Scotch.

          I used to be a filthy drunkard in my younger years. I would literally indulge until I passed out. And my favorite drink? Single-malt Scotch.

          I started throwing back the whiskey at an alarming rate. Then I stood up in an attempt to say something clever.

          I pointed to Chung. He was sitting across from me.

          “I’d like to propose a toast to my new best friend. This Korean is a wonderful son of a bitch.”

          To my surprise, Chung started weeping, and the tears of grief slid down his cheeks and fell onto the table cloth.

          I looked around helplessly. “What the fuck just happened?”

          Linda shot me an angry look. “You called him a son of a bitch, you dumb motherfucker.”

          “But I call everybody a son of a bitch. It’s a term of affection.”

          She said, “Well, this is Korea. You aren’t in Kansas anymore. Why don’t you learn some fucking manners?”

          I went home dazed and confused. I felt like a piece of shit.

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Old Linda

Chapter 44

          Back in 1997, Mr. Song drove to the airport with David to pick up a new teacher. He returned with an older woman named Linda who hailed from Utah. Dearest readers, don't confuse her with the Sexy Linda, the Korean woman who had given me wood upon my arrival. Sadly, this particular Linda was much different. She was a 42-year-old former truck driver with blonde hair and pale skin. She had a nice figure in spite of her age, but I would later find out that she was a complete loon.

          Linda’s new home was on the nice side of the office building. She lived in the same sector with Roger and Michael Freeman. She also shared the space with two couples who were shacking up in an effort to save money for their impending nuptials. Korea was very conservative back then, so these individuals had to pretend to be married in order to sleep in the same bed.

          Moss and Peggy were from Seattle. They were liberal tree huggers who wore homemade sweaters and sported wire-rimmed glasses. Dave and Patty, on the other hand, were right-wing Canadians from the city of Lethbridge. Dave was very short, and like lots of midgets, he had a surly attitude.

          Moss said, “Hey, Buffalo, have you met the new teacher? Her name’s Linda, and she’s from Utah. Isn’t that cool?”

          Peggy said, “Linda used to be a truck driver. There aren’t many females attracted to that profession. And she’s so pretty and feminine. Just look at her. She’s so cool.”

          I smiled. “Hello, Linda.”

          She returned my smile. “Nice to meet you, Buffalo.”

          I could tell right away that she was attracted to me. And, even though she was fourteen years my senior, I was really dying for a piece of pussy. The very thought of fucking Old Linda gave me wood. So I decided to do something about it.

          I said, “You just had a long flight. You’re probably tired.”

          “A little. Why do you ask?”

          “I’d like to take you out for a drink…if you’re up to it.”

          “I’d love a drink. Just give me fifteen minutes to freshen up.”

          We went to a joint that was close to the building. It was only a five-minute jaunt. We drank soju and ate dried fish.

          Linda said, “Mmmmm, this stuff tastes great.”

          I said, “Really? It’s like chewing on a baseball glove.”

          She giggled. “I love it.”

          Linda batted her eyes at me, and I figured that I’d get a blowjob at the very least. The woman really loved to drink. She kept throwing back the shots as if they were water. We both became quite inebriated as the evening progressed.

          I said, “You have nice hair.”

          “You like blondes?”

          I touched her locks with my fingers. “Very much.”

          “Did you know that the hair on my pussy is gray?”

          I nearly choked on my soju. “No shit? I would have never guessed.”

          “My pubes might be gray, but my stuff is still nice and tight.”

          “Well, that’s certainly a blessing.”

          “I love my pussy. I play with it all the time.”

          “All this sexy talk is turning me on.”

          She smiled. “I once even ejaculated like a man?”

          “I had no idea.”

          “I was playing with myself, and suddenly I just squirted all over the living room floor.”

          “No kidding. That must have been one hell of an orgasm.”

          “It felt great.”

          “I bet it did.”

          “Do you jerk off?”

          “From time to time.”

          “Maybe one day we can jerk off together.”

          Then she howled with laughter at the notion.

          I took her home, and we walked over to the ghetto. We kissed several times in the television room, and I did my best to get her out of her panties. However, she kept batting my hands away. I was desperate and horny, so I made a disgusting offer that would have landed me in a lot of hot water in the current age of the Me-Too Movement.

          I said, “Do you want to watch me rub one out?”

          “Are you crazy? I barely know you.”

          I had obviously misread the signals.

          Later that night, I beat my meat as I relaxed in bed. Then I blew my load into a tissue and slept like the dead.

Monday, December 3, 2018

Eating Rabbit

Chapter 43

          Yesterday, I woke up at 8 a.m. and drank a cup of instant coffee. Then I read the news on my smartphone while taking a nasty shit. A Chinese man borrowed a crossbow from one of his friends. He used the weapon to go hunting. His quarry? Stray dogs. He managed to bag three mutts before the police arrived. It turns out that killing canines with an arrow is against the law on the mainland. He spent a couple of days in jail for his crime. However, like many people in China, the perpetrator loves the taste of dog meat. He plans to eat man’s best friend until the day he dies.

          Later that morning, we caught a taxi to my wife’s clinic. She had to meet her doctor yet again in order to check her bloodwork. Grave’s Disease is one of those illnesses which requires a lot of trips to the hospital for periodic checkups. The Dragon Lady no longer has a thyroid, so she’ll be on medication for the rest of her life.  

          It turns out that her levels are fine. The medicine is really doing the trick. However, her physician believes that she needs more vitamin D. We are scheduled to return at the end of January.

          I stepped outside. The weather felt great. Things are pretty chilly here in Beijing. I like the cold. My fat keeps me nice and insulated. Plus my balls seldom itch when the temperature is frigid.

          Rice-Boy Larry said, “I want to buy Pop Tarts. Let’s go to the foreign mart.”

          I said, “That actually sounds like a good plan. I wouldn’t mind purchasing some cans of chili.”

          Well, the store only had chili with beans. And I prefer my chili without beans. So I bought a big Cadbury’s bar instead. It came with nuts and raisins blended into the chocolate. I devoured the snack in less than five minutes.

          Then we walked to a grocery store called Carrefour. I found a whole roasted rabbit resting in the deli. I decided to buy the golden-brown beast. It cost me fifteen dollars. But it should keep me fed for the next three to four days. Rabbit is very delicious. It tastes much better than chicken.

          I turned to the Dragon Lady. “That clinic has a psychiatrist who speaks English.”


          “Why not give him a try. I’ve seen his picture. He’s actually quite handsome. Maybe you can make a boyfriend.”

          “You da fucken idiot.”

          “Do you like being a slave to your moods?”

          “Shut da fuck up.”

          “He probably has medicine that will help. Why suffer if you don’t have to?”

          I truly believe that my wife is afflicted with a severe mental illness called borderline personality disorder. This disease primarily affects women. These crazy bitches are tormented by episodes of deep depression and psychotic rage. Luckily, modern science is the stuff of miracles. I have no doubt that a good psychiatrist would set her ship in the right direction. But the loony twat won’t listen to me.

          At 2 p.m., we stopped at a Brazilian barbecue restaurant. I ate a ton of succulent beef. I really made a pig of myself.

          The heavyweight championship fight between Tyson Fury and Deontay Wilder was on the television. I thought that Fury won easily. His head movement and stinging jab reminded me of the late-great Mohammed Ali. Yet the judges declared the match a draw. Basically, the fix was in. Boxing is a crooked sport. That’s why nobody watches it anymore.

          We got home at 4 p.m. I sat on my sofa and enjoyed the UFC. Lots of blood was spilled. I really had a good time.