The Mayans said that the world would end in the year 2012. Well…on a completely different calendar than we use now, but that’s beside the point. It is now 2012 and my lifelong dream of remaining alive may be coming to an end. I, of course, am referring to Catpocalypse 2012. For those of you who have not been following my pleas for help on various social tools, a major war is beginning. It all began last week on a Monday night. It was 11pm, my eyes were starting to get heavy from a long day of work, my mouth was full of spaghetti because that’s how I roll, and a sink full of dishes I had not gotten to yet. That’s when it began. It started slow, a single “ryeeeeoohw” outside my window. To me, it was nothing but a cat asking anyone it could find for food. I could not have been more wrong. That cry was a warhorn of a cat-scout that would bring down the horde upon us all. “Ryeeeeeeeooohw” the second horn-of-war bellowed, transforming itself into a siren that would last for the next 6 hours. The next day, I sleepily stuggled through work and made it home. Too tired to cook or think, I ordered a pizza and finished the previously mentioned sink-dishes. I laid down on my bed and then it happened…it was as if they knew…as if they were…were…watching. The second my head hit the pillow, “RYEEEEEEOOOOHW,” louder, closer than the previous night. It was only when I saw the stubby-malformed arm of the watch pointing to the 3 that I realized these were no scouts of the mighty feral cat army…these were assassins, and this was psychological warfare. The next day I barely made it through work, I may have even spelled my name incorrectly at one point. That evening when the catsassins arrived, I lost it. Either from my sleep-deprived rage, or because Korea is full of Gamma radiation, I hulked out. Barefoot and in pajama pants, I grabbed a Shakuhachi (Japanese flute) that my brother gave me and ran down to the street at 2am. I knew there had to be an alpha, and I was right. Normally, I would exaggerate a situation like this, but I need you as the reader to know that the following events are true and horrific. As I looked through the alley next to my apartment there were 11 cats looking through scraps of trash from people’s poorly closed trashbags. The alpha, no joke, stood on top of that pile. He was a large orange feral beast whose teeth were razer blades and whose piercing eyes shook you to your soul. It was then that I realized…this was no cat…the Chupacabra is real, it is in Korea, and it is leading the Catsassin Army. My heart was racing fast, but I knew I had to fight. I tightened my grip on the Shakuhachi and swung for the fences. Most of the cats scattered but the chupaca…the alpha stood and stared at me for just a split second, a single moment of defiance, before fading into the shadows. It was only in that moment that I looked up and saw two old drunk men on the corner staring at me. They must have thought my vigilantism absurd and possibly grotesque…but I hope that when they sobered up, they realized that I had saved their lives. That night I finally got rest. The next night there was also no disturbance. Friday night, “RYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHW,” they had returned, and their cries sounded more organized. I returned to the streets, fully-clothed and more prepared for battle. I violently swung at all the cats until they once again retreated into the darkness. Although I have had two nights of good rest now since the last attack, somewhere deep down I know that the war won’t be over until the Chupacatbra or myself is dead. So, the war continues. If anyone has had dealings with a chupacatbra or an army of catsassins and survived, please contact me immediately; I will pay handsomely for information.
In other news, I’ve been writing down topics for this blog and am quickly realizing that I won’t be able to accomplish what I would like in a weekly post. So, from here on out, this blog will be written twice a week. So, for that I will either say “you are welcome” or “I apologize.”
Adventures in Konglish:
There is a great deal of American history that Koreans are expected to learn through their Social Studies and Literature courses. I don’t believe anything is more important than knowing that Americans fought long and hard so that they could win their racism…no wait, I meant civil rights…wait…what were we fighting for? One of my students clearly understands the great plight of the African-American people. Don’t worry, for as much as this student doesn’t like (or understand) Black History, my other student gets it
COMPLETELY SORT OF:
Another student brought this notebook to class during the week. As you can tell, even though some of the students think people are fighting for their racism, other students in Korea clearly love Afro Kens.
This is a 9-yr-old’s homework from a co-worker’s class upstairs. You should give a high-five to a kid who knows the intricacies of Dung Beetles and their work, but you gotta give a gold award to a kid who knows howDung Beetles feel about it; dragging around other animals “cheap shit” all day, never getting paid, never getting a thank you card in the mail. Inconsiderate mammals.