Chapter 11

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Yesterday, I woke up at ten a.m. and drank a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Then I read the paper while taking a nasty shit. Seven foreigners got busted by the Korean police for selling and smoking hashish. Getting nabbed for hash is a big deal here on the peninsula. In Asia, marijuana is definitely not viewed as a harmless recreational drug. It's seen as a serious threat to society. So those unfortunate bastards are looking at jail time and deportation—especially the dealers.

I wiped my ass and washed my hands. The Dragon Lady yelled at me as I stepped into the living room.

She said, "You da disgusting man. Now da bathroom stinky."

I said, "What's it supposed to smell like? Cotton candy? It's a fucking toilet."

She said, "I crean all day. What you do? You do nothing."

Actually, what she said is false. Even though I'm on vacation until February, I help my wife with her job. She drives around the city of Pusan delivering primitive English lessons to little Korean rugrats. I'm used as an English-speaking prop who tells jokes and reads kiddie books to her students.

The English language is a billion dollar industry here in Asia. Many Korean mothers dream that their children will one day live in America, go to Harvard Medical School, and drive Cadillacs around the island of Manhattan. The kids can't satisfy the ambitions of their overbearing parents if they don't speak English.

I said, "Why are you yelling at me? I help you every day."

She said, "You not help me. You never crean. You da pig man."

My wife is a very tidy person. She vacuums our little apartment three times a day. Sometimes more. She also washes the restroom with bleach at least once a day. She can't help herself. She's fighting a losing war against dirt and grime.

I said, "Medicine would really help you with your demons."

She said, "Medicine? I not clazy. You da one who take da clazy pill."

The Dragon Lady is correct. I'm currently on Lexapro. I'm not ashamed. My magic pills make me feel better. I have a problem with anxiety. Lexapro is a miracle drug for nervous basket cases like me.

We drove our eight-year-old Hyundai Santa Fe to her classes. Rice-Boy Larry came with us. He's also an English-speaking prop.

At one of the apartment complexes, the Dragon Lady parked in a handicapped spot. That's the kind of person she is. She doesn't give a fuck about people in wheelchairs. Let them take the fucking stairs.

I said, "Really? You're going to park here?"

She said, "You such da chicken. I park here all da time. Nobody care."

I didn't argue. I've got enough fish to fry without taking on the cause of the blind and the lame.

We took the elevator up to the 26th floor. I met two little boys who kept screaming the word shit over and over again. Then they laughed uproariously.

The Dragon Lady said, "Ask Mista Buffaro questions in Engrish."

One said, "Do you rike poop?"

I said, "Yes."

Big laughs.

The other said, "Do you rike pee?"

I said, "Yes."

Big laughs.

One said, "Is your poop beeeg?"

I said, "Yes."

Big laughs.

The other said, "Do you eat your poop?"

I said, "Yes."

Big laughs.

You get the idea.

We got home at nine p.m. I prayed to God. Even though I'm a filthy beast, I want Jesus to know that I'm on his team.

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