Friday, April 10, 2009
Asian Fetish
Around these parts there are a lot of men who date Korean women. I call them "rice lice." I typically see them at the local white-guy saloons, Road King and MJ's. I see them there, these couples. They tend to be an aesthetically pleasing woman with balding, chubby men. I have decided that I will never trust a man who is in to Asian's, for in his heart he deems himself a god.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
notes on Bruce Cuming's North Korea: Another Country
In the book North Korea: Another Country Bruce Cummings goes out of his way to paint a picture of Kim Jong Il as a well meaning, fairly naive prince born in the wrong century in the wrong country. I am afraid I have to contradict this gentleman. I believe that Kim Jong Il is a manipulative despot who happened to become the eye of a perfect storm forming in Northeast Asia.
For the record, I do not believe being manipulative is a bad thing for a Head of State. There is no righteousness in international politics. We pay our leaders to acquire and allocate resources. The job of a politician is merely to get his or her hands on as many resources as possible for the people who chose him to garner them.
However, the wrong-place-wrong-time label for Mr. Kim is completely inaccurate. It is precisely the time and place that allow The Dear Leader to hold onto his power and effectively run the North in whatever manner he sees fit.
The Korean peninsula is a strategic wet dream for the United States and a liability for China. In the event of war with China, South Korea would become the strategic center of a US campaign. A militarily advanced land base for thousands of US soldiers to pour into the region coupled with perfect missile proximity to China. Four of China's six most populous cities, including Beijing and the large port city Tianjin, are within a thousand miles of South Korea and are easy targets for even the average American missile.
China, seeing the obvious ramifications of the situation, has taken the same approach to North Korea as the United States has toward the South, namely propping up the government with resources like food and electricity in exchange for a Treaty of Friendship. It should never be forgotten that China and North Korea have signed a Treaty of Friendship, the most likely reason why North Korean punishments are typically administered through UN channels rather than a direct confrontation between the United States and Kim Jong Il.
As a result the power in the region became balanced. The United States won't push too hard for reform for fear of provoking China and vice-versa. The two Korean states remain today what they have been since the end of Japanese colonial rule; puppet states of the major powers in the world in the event of a larger strategic need. Out of this stakemate, Kim Jong Il gets free reign. Playing the major powers against each other any rattling of the status quo results in North Korea giving up projects it can't possibly complete (nuclear reactors) in exchange for much needed items and technological equipment (food and US reactors from a saber rattling incident in the early nineties).
Further compounding the situation in the region is Russian economic issues. In order to further develop the Far Eastern regions of nation, have invested large quantities of money into railroads, highways and oil lines in the area. An instability in the region is a serious risk to progress in improving the lives of the citizens on the Pacific. Hence they came to the table, multiplying American and Chinese incentives not to push the issue and allow North Korea to pursue any policy it likes as long as it stays within its own borders.
So Mr. Cumings is idea that Kim Jong Il accidentally tripped into his position and is struggling nobly to keep North Korea together is completely false. He is caught between three nations who have a vested interest in North Korea doing exactly what North Korea does. Any case of human rights abuse, wretched poverty, or provacative actions can only and will only be met with slaps on the wrist. For example, after the infamous 2006 missile launch the UN, at the request of the United States, imposed sanctions upon the North. However these sanctions bar nothing more than the import of luxury goods to an agrarian society. So in effect the launch of the missile lead to a ban on iPods but neccessary items like food, medicine and electricity are still allowed in and are given over to the government who rations them out at its discretion.
For the record, I do not believe being manipulative is a bad thing for a Head of State. There is no righteousness in international politics. We pay our leaders to acquire and allocate resources. The job of a politician is merely to get his or her hands on as many resources as possible for the people who chose him to garner them.
However, the wrong-place-wrong-time label for Mr. Kim is completely inaccurate. It is precisely the time and place that allow The Dear Leader to hold onto his power and effectively run the North in whatever manner he sees fit.
The Korean peninsula is a strategic wet dream for the United States and a liability for China. In the event of war with China, South Korea would become the strategic center of a US campaign. A militarily advanced land base for thousands of US soldiers to pour into the region coupled with perfect missile proximity to China. Four of China's six most populous cities, including Beijing and the large port city Tianjin, are within a thousand miles of South Korea and are easy targets for even the average American missile.
China, seeing the obvious ramifications of the situation, has taken the same approach to North Korea as the United States has toward the South, namely propping up the government with resources like food and electricity in exchange for a Treaty of Friendship. It should never be forgotten that China and North Korea have signed a Treaty of Friendship, the most likely reason why North Korean punishments are typically administered through UN channels rather than a direct confrontation between the United States and Kim Jong Il.
As a result the power in the region became balanced. The United States won't push too hard for reform for fear of provoking China and vice-versa. The two Korean states remain today what they have been since the end of Japanese colonial rule; puppet states of the major powers in the world in the event of a larger strategic need. Out of this stakemate, Kim Jong Il gets free reign. Playing the major powers against each other any rattling of the status quo results in North Korea giving up projects it can't possibly complete (nuclear reactors) in exchange for much needed items and technological equipment (food and US reactors from a saber rattling incident in the early nineties).
Further compounding the situation in the region is Russian economic issues. In order to further develop the Far Eastern regions of nation, have invested large quantities of money into railroads, highways and oil lines in the area. An instability in the region is a serious risk to progress in improving the lives of the citizens on the Pacific. Hence they came to the table, multiplying American and Chinese incentives not to push the issue and allow North Korea to pursue any policy it likes as long as it stays within its own borders.
So Mr. Cumings is idea that Kim Jong Il accidentally tripped into his position and is struggling nobly to keep North Korea together is completely false. He is caught between three nations who have a vested interest in North Korea doing exactly what North Korea does. Any case of human rights abuse, wretched poverty, or provacative actions can only and will only be met with slaps on the wrist. For example, after the infamous 2006 missile launch the UN, at the request of the United States, imposed sanctions upon the North. However these sanctions bar nothing more than the import of luxury goods to an agrarian society. So in effect the launch of the missile lead to a ban on iPods but neccessary items like food, medicine and electricity are still allowed in and are given over to the government who rations them out at its discretion.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Perhaps
The ultimate question everyone must confront is what makes life worth living?
I for one was never keen on labeling Christians or Muslims or Jews or Democrats or Republicans for their hard line beliefs. I personally found them both to be equally absurd and shrugged it off because if believing in Jesus or Muhammad or universal health care or a balanced budget make life worth living, making getting out of bed worth the effort, then go on with your bad self. I have geared many of my intellectual undertakings toward developing rational arguments for when these types of ideas go unchecked. I am a big believer in checks and balances.
What makes life worth living for me?
I don't mean to suggest that countering religious types or being a permanent Devil's Advocate makes life fun for me. Well, that's not 100% true, but there's more and it's simple.
I miss Lincoln with all my heart.
I spent a year of my life worried I would never escape and now I'm worried I will never come back. I love Lincoln because it is what it is. A dingy college town in the dullest state since North Dakota. And that situation created a vacuum filled with an underlying need to escape that formed the people I love and the situation comedy that made life fun.
Korea has no soul. These people enter life rushing through this imaginary pissing contest to muster up some kind of racial pride. The Napoleon complex of Asia. A child is born here, instantly rushed into school. Drilled in math, science, English, music, geography, spelling, and logic then forced into a university for the most realistic of professions. Once all the work to your superiors is paid off, just when it's time to live for yourself, you join the army. Putting the average Korean at 26 before he or she can start making adult decisions.
Few of my kids know the simple joys of creativity. Only numbers and hypothesis. Music is not an expression of longing or a call to rally. It is a mechanical, orderly process which is to be completed in a timely manner. When I give my kids free reign to be creative, they opt to fill in the blanks from a previous page over inserting words like "dung" or "ass".
There is no midday drunkenness. There is no underground marijuana trade. There is no hero of the anti-establishment. Where are your Sartre's, Piccasso's, Bukowski's and Nabakov's, Korea? This is why I truly cry for you. Where are your punks, goths, hippies, ravers, mods and indie kids? Where are your idols who would be considered a menace to society if not for the ability to sum up life in a sentence?
Where is your soul?
I for one was never keen on labeling Christians or Muslims or Jews or Democrats or Republicans for their hard line beliefs. I personally found them both to be equally absurd and shrugged it off because if believing in Jesus or Muhammad or universal health care or a balanced budget make life worth living, making getting out of bed worth the effort, then go on with your bad self. I have geared many of my intellectual undertakings toward developing rational arguments for when these types of ideas go unchecked. I am a big believer in checks and balances.
What makes life worth living for me?
I don't mean to suggest that countering religious types or being a permanent Devil's Advocate makes life fun for me. Well, that's not 100% true, but there's more and it's simple.
I miss Lincoln with all my heart.
I spent a year of my life worried I would never escape and now I'm worried I will never come back. I love Lincoln because it is what it is. A dingy college town in the dullest state since North Dakota. And that situation created a vacuum filled with an underlying need to escape that formed the people I love and the situation comedy that made life fun.
Korea has no soul. These people enter life rushing through this imaginary pissing contest to muster up some kind of racial pride. The Napoleon complex of Asia. A child is born here, instantly rushed into school. Drilled in math, science, English, music, geography, spelling, and logic then forced into a university for the most realistic of professions. Once all the work to your superiors is paid off, just when it's time to live for yourself, you join the army. Putting the average Korean at 26 before he or she can start making adult decisions.
Few of my kids know the simple joys of creativity. Only numbers and hypothesis. Music is not an expression of longing or a call to rally. It is a mechanical, orderly process which is to be completed in a timely manner. When I give my kids free reign to be creative, they opt to fill in the blanks from a previous page over inserting words like "dung" or "ass".
There is no midday drunkenness. There is no underground marijuana trade. There is no hero of the anti-establishment. Where are your Sartre's, Piccasso's, Bukowski's and Nabakov's, Korea? This is why I truly cry for you. Where are your punks, goths, hippies, ravers, mods and indie kids? Where are your idols who would be considered a menace to society if not for the ability to sum up life in a sentence?
Where is your soul?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Suggestions Welcome or How to Kill a Substantial Amount of Time
1- Develop obsessive, even pornographic, fixation on North Korea
2- Follow a baseball team with all my will
3- Escape into World of Warcraft when I am not teaching
4- Increase cigarette intake through a newfound devotion to Linux
5- Keep journal featuring the classic "I must ___________" theme
6- Invent backstory and personalities for all my furniture
7- Alcohol problem
8- Construct giant map of Lincoln using 8 x 10 sheets of paper printed on the company's dime
9- Analyze security risks to Northeast Asia and use said information to start fights in bars
10- Become competent at math
11- Watch DVD commentary to all 11 Star Trek movies
12- Rubix cube
13- Find a size 12 pair of shoes
14- Impose bizzare tricks upon my dog
15- Purchase firearm
16- Wander around city in stupor during socially unacceptable hours
17- Give self series of intricate tattoos
18- Do number seventeen to dog
19- Assume the identity of Clint Eastwood's character in Gran Torino
20- Break up side walk and grow weeds in cracks to alliviate homesickness
21- Concoct subtle ways to use racial slurs in everyday conversation
22- Break away from Catholic Church and form underground religious movement
23- Build structures out of random garbage strewn on street corners
24- Eat entire box of instant-coffee sleeves in one day
25- Break record for most days awake
26- Attempt 24 hours of only darkness
27- Watch all Ken Burns documentaries
28- Figure out the appeal of bright colors to the natives
29- Start religious franchise
30- Use Korea's garbage to form an underground art movement
2- Follow a baseball team with all my will
3- Escape into World of Warcraft when I am not teaching
4- Increase cigarette intake through a newfound devotion to Linux
5- Keep journal featuring the classic "I must ___________" theme
6- Invent backstory and personalities for all my furniture
7- Alcohol problem
8- Construct giant map of Lincoln using 8 x 10 sheets of paper printed on the company's dime
9- Analyze security risks to Northeast Asia and use said information to start fights in bars
10- Become competent at math
11- Watch DVD commentary to all 11 Star Trek movies
12- Rubix cube
13- Find a size 12 pair of shoes
14- Impose bizzare tricks upon my dog
15- Purchase firearm
16- Wander around city in stupor during socially unacceptable hours
17- Give self series of intricate tattoos
18- Do number seventeen to dog
19- Assume the identity of Clint Eastwood's character in Gran Torino
20- Break up side walk and grow weeds in cracks to alliviate homesickness
21- Concoct subtle ways to use racial slurs in everyday conversation
22- Break away from Catholic Church and form underground religious movement
23- Build structures out of random garbage strewn on street corners
24- Eat entire box of instant-coffee sleeves in one day
25- Break record for most days awake
26- Attempt 24 hours of only darkness
27- Watch all Ken Burns documentaries
28- Figure out the appeal of bright colors to the natives
29- Start religious franchise
30- Use Korea's garbage to form an underground art movement
Saturday, January 31, 2009
The PZO
How could I not derive comfort from remembering the pizza joint which I dedicated three years of my life to.
For that matter I have difficulty remembering my life before Piezano's. Classes, future plans, grades, girls, drugs, and college came and went but Piezano's stayed with me. From the day I turned on my application (written on a piece of scratch paper) to pilfering the picture of Pizza Mannnn which hung in the store for two decades I have seen just about everything a driver can.
So hard to believe that I will not drive a car for the next ten months.
I can say with great confidence (no hay dudo que) I left it better than I found it. I didn't do it alone. I didn't do it all. I did make a contribution that lasted.
The week I left the dining room was in disarray. I walked down the stair I'd walked down a thousand times before. The dead leaves and spiderwebs exactly where I left them. The carpet still bunching up by the door and the handrail pulling away from the wall as I used it to stabilize my flight. Everything seemed muted. Quieter. The ringing of the freezers and refrigerators dulled by the news. In five days I'd be off to a foreign land to learn a professional trade without anyone familiar.
First to find me, which meant first to know, was Kylie. The little blonde girl with aspirations of superstardom. She reacted with a mixture of excitement and loss. "What will we do without you?" she said. Half out of congratulatory teasing, half as an eleventh hour attempt to convince me otherwise.
The news spread like Jenna Haze from there. Some reacted with sarcasm, such a classic defense mechanism. Telling me I'd be back before my contract ended or I'd be caned within hours of my arrival or (my personal favorite) I'd be deported for saying "something stupid about Communism." The year is young.
A group of young 'uns were chatting by the destroyed dining room before they found out. I walked up to them to give the news, which they already knew. Drop clothes on the floor, a drill on the table, a paint roller running over the exposed walls which once held an odd paneled mirrors which reflected me in so many mindsets and moods. The plans on the way, new paint, new art, new ceiling tiles, new chairs, new tables.
I remember the rickety chair that collapsed under my weight two years ago. I remember the day the "Weasel Jungle Gym" (a lattice octagon reaching from floor to ceiling completed by the vines of a long dead house plant creeping up the side before expiring) was thrown in the garbage. The ancient wood cracked and flaking at the screws which barely held it together. The checkered table clothes stained with the oil of a decade's use. The New carpet to be installed after my departure was the most crippling part.
"When do you leave?"
"Five days."
Perhaps the real Piezano's came to me that day. This was really happening. This was the end of an old life. The florescent lights did no reflect well off the dried pizza sauce and drain cover oozing the orange grease I identified with so many late nights and freshly awake afternoons. But it was never about the job. It was about the people.
Driver's Wanted:
Local restaurant is looking for car owners to stand in raw sewage for five to nine hours a day for minimum wage. Must have middle school education or equivalency degree. Pot smoker preferred. Benefits include gas compensation, free uniform, unrestricted smoking on deliveries, and all the refuse of the elite you can eat.
What will become of you, my first occupational love?
For that matter I have difficulty remembering my life before Piezano's. Classes, future plans, grades, girls, drugs, and college came and went but Piezano's stayed with me. From the day I turned on my application (written on a piece of scratch paper) to pilfering the picture of Pizza Mannnn which hung in the store for two decades I have seen just about everything a driver can.
So hard to believe that I will not drive a car for the next ten months.
I can say with great confidence (no hay dudo que) I left it better than I found it. I didn't do it alone. I didn't do it all. I did make a contribution that lasted.
The week I left the dining room was in disarray. I walked down the stair I'd walked down a thousand times before. The dead leaves and spiderwebs exactly where I left them. The carpet still bunching up by the door and the handrail pulling away from the wall as I used it to stabilize my flight. Everything seemed muted. Quieter. The ringing of the freezers and refrigerators dulled by the news. In five days I'd be off to a foreign land to learn a professional trade without anyone familiar.
First to find me, which meant first to know, was Kylie. The little blonde girl with aspirations of superstardom. She reacted with a mixture of excitement and loss. "What will we do without you?" she said. Half out of congratulatory teasing, half as an eleventh hour attempt to convince me otherwise.
The news spread like Jenna Haze from there. Some reacted with sarcasm, such a classic defense mechanism. Telling me I'd be back before my contract ended or I'd be caned within hours of my arrival or (my personal favorite) I'd be deported for saying "something stupid about Communism." The year is young.
A group of young 'uns were chatting by the destroyed dining room before they found out. I walked up to them to give the news, which they already knew. Drop clothes on the floor, a drill on the table, a paint roller running over the exposed walls which once held an odd paneled mirrors which reflected me in so many mindsets and moods. The plans on the way, new paint, new art, new ceiling tiles, new chairs, new tables.
I remember the rickety chair that collapsed under my weight two years ago. I remember the day the "Weasel Jungle Gym" (a lattice octagon reaching from floor to ceiling completed by the vines of a long dead house plant creeping up the side before expiring) was thrown in the garbage. The ancient wood cracked and flaking at the screws which barely held it together. The checkered table clothes stained with the oil of a decade's use. The New carpet to be installed after my departure was the most crippling part.
"When do you leave?"
"Five days."
Perhaps the real Piezano's came to me that day. This was really happening. This was the end of an old life. The florescent lights did no reflect well off the dried pizza sauce and drain cover oozing the orange grease I identified with so many late nights and freshly awake afternoons. But it was never about the job. It was about the people.
Driver's Wanted:
Local restaurant is looking for car owners to stand in raw sewage for five to nine hours a day for minimum wage. Must have middle school education or equivalency degree. Pot smoker preferred. Benefits include gas compensation, free uniform, unrestricted smoking on deliveries, and all the refuse of the elite you can eat.
What will become of you, my first occupational love?
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Fog
What happened to my homeland? It seemed so clear yesterday.
It seemed so eternal. It seemed so mine. Where is my homeland? It must be here, somewhere.
The art of losing isn't hard to master, I'm told. My homeland, my native soil is dimmer and dimmer. The maze of memory dead ends for you for now, my country of origin.
Where is Able Hall and Air Park's gossamer twilight, oh nation of mine?
Those landscapes and portraits that once belonged to me in such vibrant colors and compelling hues. First they turn sepia, then grey before fading to black. My sweet, sweet homeland.
I left you on such natural terms. We'd seen so much. You're five dollar packs of cigarettes and one dollar coffees couldn't keep me for long. A year of aimless degree went so fast, my homeland. And then I knew I had to go.
I had a friend named Levi. He hung around the gas station. A good guy and a quiet guy. He liked car. No shame in that. He joined the marines, to defend my homeland, where is he now? I had a friend named Travis who I called Lurch. He went off to Boston, is he still there, my homeland? You have a new President soon, my homeland, how will you handle this change, can I believe in you now, my homeland?
I left you behind weary and unpopular. Too powerful for your own good, I suppose. Wishing for something new, but perhaps to blindly. But I love you, my homeland. You'll always be beautiful to me and will always perform my duty to you. Do what you will.
I walked into the dining room for the hundredth, thousandths, millionth time. The restaurant I loved. The Mexican gentlemen carting carpet out the door. The faded, bunched up red and blue rolled up and hauled off. The dining room closed for the day as new paint and ceiling tiles took the place of the mirrored panels and yellowed skylight which stood there for twenty years without shame or repair. I didn't get to say good bye. My little pizza joint grew up. The time went too fast.
My homeland, my pizza you're on your own now, but you always were. I watched you change these years with only minimal impact. An impact none the less which I can take pride in.
"What will I come home to?" is the question hanging over 2009. Who will still be there? Where will the others go? Who will be in school? Who will drop out, vomit, smoke or die? As I sit halfway around the world I hope I did the right thing and I know I didn't do the wrong thing.
It seemed so eternal. It seemed so mine. Where is my homeland? It must be here, somewhere.
The art of losing isn't hard to master, I'm told. My homeland, my native soil is dimmer and dimmer. The maze of memory dead ends for you for now, my country of origin.
Where is Able Hall and Air Park's gossamer twilight, oh nation of mine?
Those landscapes and portraits that once belonged to me in such vibrant colors and compelling hues. First they turn sepia, then grey before fading to black. My sweet, sweet homeland.
I left you on such natural terms. We'd seen so much. You're five dollar packs of cigarettes and one dollar coffees couldn't keep me for long. A year of aimless degree went so fast, my homeland. And then I knew I had to go.
I had a friend named Levi. He hung around the gas station. A good guy and a quiet guy. He liked car. No shame in that. He joined the marines, to defend my homeland, where is he now? I had a friend named Travis who I called Lurch. He went off to Boston, is he still there, my homeland? You have a new President soon, my homeland, how will you handle this change, can I believe in you now, my homeland?
I left you behind weary and unpopular. Too powerful for your own good, I suppose. Wishing for something new, but perhaps to blindly. But I love you, my homeland. You'll always be beautiful to me and will always perform my duty to you. Do what you will.
I walked into the dining room for the hundredth, thousandths, millionth time. The restaurant I loved. The Mexican gentlemen carting carpet out the door. The faded, bunched up red and blue rolled up and hauled off. The dining room closed for the day as new paint and ceiling tiles took the place of the mirrored panels and yellowed skylight which stood there for twenty years without shame or repair. I didn't get to say good bye. My little pizza joint grew up. The time went too fast.
My homeland, my pizza you're on your own now, but you always were. I watched you change these years with only minimal impact. An impact none the less which I can take pride in.
"What will I come home to?" is the question hanging over 2009. Who will still be there? Where will the others go? Who will be in school? Who will drop out, vomit, smoke or die? As I sit halfway around the world I hope I did the right thing and I know I didn't do the wrong thing.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The Food Here
Some time ago I decided it was a good idea to gain some weight before Peace Corps.
My goal was to gain twenty pounds before being shipped off to Russia based on the assumption I would be in mortal peril if my current frame became any leaner. So I ate and I ate. Even when I didn't want to. When stressed or lethargic I crammed something down my throat.
Slowly but surely over the course of a month I added an extra five pounds. I was quite elated by this. I was on the road to filling out six years after puberty. I kept on eating until the Avalon offer came on the table.
Within a week of my arrival I lost those five pounds.
Things were leaking out of me for days. If I can expel a liquid I have done it in this nation. First it was the cold. Snot coming out of my nose, snorted up and spit out. On my bed, on my floor, on my clothes. Then it was the diarrhea. The food initially reacted poorly with my Americanized digestive track. Every time I took a shit there was some bizarre concoction in the toilet. More a kin to fireworks than human waste. I still have yet to make a completely solid deposit over here.
But my favorite was the food poisoning. Some subway green peppers incapacitated me for a day. After a night of drinking and drunk food I expelled the contents of my stomach in too desperate bursts. The pink slime of the former Southwest Sauce burns. More than the vodka, the sandwich sauce expulsion was pure, unadulterated agony. When it was all said and done I think I threw up about seven thousand calories.
My precious bodily fluids have been affected profoundly by the food even in this very westernized country. Me, the man who ate four packages of pesticide-coated morning glory seeds and didn't vomit.
I leave you with the words of the prophet:
"If we have learned anything in this life it's that the more drugs you do, the better time you have."
-The Hon. Matt Moore
My goal was to gain twenty pounds before being shipped off to Russia based on the assumption I would be in mortal peril if my current frame became any leaner. So I ate and I ate. Even when I didn't want to. When stressed or lethargic I crammed something down my throat.
Slowly but surely over the course of a month I added an extra five pounds. I was quite elated by this. I was on the road to filling out six years after puberty. I kept on eating until the Avalon offer came on the table.
Within a week of my arrival I lost those five pounds.
Things were leaking out of me for days. If I can expel a liquid I have done it in this nation. First it was the cold. Snot coming out of my nose, snorted up and spit out. On my bed, on my floor, on my clothes. Then it was the diarrhea. The food initially reacted poorly with my Americanized digestive track. Every time I took a shit there was some bizarre concoction in the toilet. More a kin to fireworks than human waste. I still have yet to make a completely solid deposit over here.
But my favorite was the food poisoning. Some subway green peppers incapacitated me for a day. After a night of drinking and drunk food I expelled the contents of my stomach in too desperate bursts. The pink slime of the former Southwest Sauce burns. More than the vodka, the sandwich sauce expulsion was pure, unadulterated agony. When it was all said and done I think I threw up about seven thousand calories.
My precious bodily fluids have been affected profoundly by the food even in this very westernized country. Me, the man who ate four packages of pesticide-coated morning glory seeds and didn't vomit.
I leave you with the words of the prophet:
"If we have learned anything in this life it's that the more drugs you do, the better time you have."
-The Hon. Matt Moore
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