Sunday, September 6, 2015

Sunday

(That's quite a pillow fight.)

Yesterday, I made fried chicken for dinner.  The meal was fantastic. I smothered the poultry in this super-hot black pepper sauce.  My eldest son was quite impressed.  He ate every last morsel.  I washed the vittles down with a bottle of Jinro soju.  The experience was marvelous.

I watched the first episode of Blunt Talk.  The show's hilarious. Major Blunt is nabbed by the Los Angeles police for hiring a transsexual prostitute.  He doesn't want to have sex with her. Rather, he only wishes to suckle on her breasts like a baby.  He then proceeds to assault several cops--even rupturing the testicles of one poor officer.  I'm giving this series my highest review.  It's laugh-out-loud funny.  So far.

I paid homage to the Christ God.  I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees.  No big surprise.  I'm not some filthy nihilist.  I asked Jesus to keep my family intact.  I honestly believe that the damaged relationship between the Dragon Lady and my oldest son will mend slowly.  She just has to accept the fact that he isn't Korean. He has no interest in math or science.  Perhaps he will enlist in the United States Air Force.  Those men are smart guys who hate books and exercise.  James-uh would fit into that culture in no time.

I went to bed at 10 p.m.  I didn't dream.  I woke up at 7 a.m. and turned on my laptop.  The annual pillow fight at West Point got out of hand.  A bunch of students ended up with broken bones and concussions.  It seems that some of the cadets were placing heavy objects in their pillow cases.  Boys will be boys.  I used to be a wrestler in high school.  We were vicious to one another.

I read the paper later in the day.  Couples in Korea are killing each other more frequently these days.  Fighting between the sexes can quickly get out of hand.  We all remember when Ray Rice knocked his girlfriend cold with a single punch.  When stuff starts to get violent, it's just best to make an exit.

Anyway, it's time for the song du jour.  Here's Hurt by Nine Inch Nails.  God bless.

2 comments:

  1. Good on Trent Reznor for writing some powerful lyrics, but Johnny Cash's cover blows it clean out of the water. The first time I moved to Australia, the Cash version was used as background sound for a TV public service advert against child abuse. I was so moved by Johnny's poignant delivery (he was not far from death when he recorded it) that I went out and bought the CD just for that cut. My more recent Xwife was so saddened by it that she forbade me to play the tune when she could hear it. She was too sensitive in many regards. Still didn't stop her from being a caustic cunt when it came to criticising me, though. I was not tremendously "Hurt" when she buggered back to San Francisco.

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