The New Year is for Lunatics

Hello.  Once again, I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch.  Just got back from a couple of days spent with my in-laws to commemorate the Lunar New Year.  Ate a shit load of great food and sat around watching incomprehensible Korean TV on a screen the size of Da Vinci’s painting of “The Last Supper.”

Hallelujah!  My wife and I both overslept on Sunday, which meant we finally got to miss church (it’s about time, for Christ’s sake).  God, how I hate that place.  If any zone on earth could be designated the Heart of Boredom, my wife’s church would have to be it.  What makes it even worse is that most everyone else seems to want to be there, although I was pleased to see an old man catching some z’s the time we had to attend a (dis)service to usher in the Solar New Year (at night, bafflingly enough).  At least some people are still human.

She wanted to spend the whole afternoon cleaning the apartment, I think because she figured her folks would probably give us a ride back from their place in the suburbs after we’d finished feasting on myriad slain beasts and fish tortured and murdered for our delectation.  Ah, we’re such a lovely species!  We entertain ourselves by slaughtering everything in our path.  And now we have the gall to want to seek a new planet to pollute with our plotting poltroonery, if that’s even a word.

This cleaning procedure entailed an anal-retentive attack on every dust particle visible in the place with the voracious vacuum cleaner, a feverish scrubbing of dirty dishes in the sink, an assault on the laundry, and a stashing of odds and ends cluttering the various tables and surfaces that occupy our rooms.  My wife, whose name I’ll change from the pseudonym Jinsoo, since that’s a man’s name (I hadn’t realized that when I chose it; pardon my ignorance) to Jina, which is easier both to pronounce and remember for those of you unfamiliar with Korean names, and also shorter, hence less time-consuming to spell–anyway, she gets mad at me because I never clean the bathroom, although I try to make up for my sluggardliness in this department by being a vigilant dishwasher and vacuum cleaner (that’s how much I suck, at least according to her–just kidding).

Her mother was mad at us because we were running late, and it was her mom’s birthday, and she had bronchitis but still was stuck in the kitchen slaving away over heavenly creations for her Christian family, doing her best heartfelt impersonation of Jesus Christ, King of the Suffering Servants (that phrase is copyrighted, by the way, and intended for use as the name of the new Christian fast food franchise my wife and I are planning to open as soon as we can work out a deal with the Pentagon by which they’ll allow us to make use of Reaper and Predator drones to hunt down wild African animals and use them as bush meat for our glorious menu in the name of promoting mass-extinction of endangered species already antagonized by ever-so-charming humanity, the wacky, irrepressible, omnivorous rapscallion homo sapiens; I realize this is probably not something Jesus would have promoted were He alive today–but guess what, He ain’t, and since we’re living in a global capitalist paradigm, we get to exploit his name for our own profane profit and call it sacred so we’ll be tax-exempt.  “HA-ha,” as troglodytic bully Nelson Muntz of “The Simpsons” would say).

When we got there, we were greeted by Jina’s three nieces, along with her lovely sister, brother, sister-in-law, and both parents.  They’d already had dinner, but her mother fed us anyway.

I hate to say it, but I’m going to have to finish this entry later (or add to it with a newer one), as I have to get ready for work, and Jina will soon be arising from her crypt and bothering me again.  At least she won’t be speaking in tongues the way she was a few hours ago. Hasta la vista, amigos y amigas.


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