Wednesday, June 02, 2004

the thing in my pants only wants freedom

...and from 10AM to about 2PM today, it had a small taste, as my zipper was down that entire time.

I didn't realize this until I was sitting down to lunch at SWU. I happened to take a loving look crotchward and saw my crotch staring back at me with equally loving intent. My students said nothing, but I'm sure it's all over campus now:

I saw his underwear, Mi-gyung. And something... something was MOVING in there! I think I'm going blind.

Wooj, I hope you're happy. You've cursed me twice now, once in public and once in private, and it looks like the hexes worked.

I also hope my dong had fun greeting the ladies of SWU. It's got quite a sense of humor. I can imagine it slapping a turban onto itself, popping out of my pants and shouting, "Greetings, lovely ones! I am Testik al-Falus, Arabian lover and poet! May I explore your valley? Check your rain forest for evidence of slash-and-burn? Offer a veiny cigar to your vertical smile?"

At least my haircut went well today. I was starting to look like a combination of Meat Loaf and Neil Diamond (i.e., Wayne Newton). Now I'm back to a more Paul Rodriguez-like mode of chubbaliciousness. The girls cutting my hair (I didn't get the sexual shampoo treatment, alas) asked me whether they'd seen me on TV. I told them about the Buddhism conference interview, but they said they hadn't seen that. Maybe I look a lot like some other meaty Westerner on TV these days.

Centipede update: GUESS WHO MOULTED?

Yes, this means my beast is growing. I'd better not walk around with my zipper undone while I'm in the same room as the centipede. It might chew my Gentiles off in the middle of the night. I don't want to wake up and find I now have two testicles and a crater. I don't want to be known as Madame Caldera for the rest of my life. So let us make a solemn pact: centipede and penis must never meet. For the good of us all.

No, I take that back. If we could pull a Jeff Goldblum and somehow genetically fuse my growing centipede with my dong to produce a ferocious centipenis, that might be neat. I'm not sure how I'd care for it, though: centipedes are all about ingestion, and dongs are all about ejection. Would a centipenis act like a bulimic, alternately bingeing and purging? Given my centipede's usual diet of fruit and bread, will women have to stuff their yonis with apple pies to tempt my member inside? And once inside, how will the centipenis behave? Can you trust a centipenis? I expect not. It would confirm everything a militant feminist believes about men. It would be the apotheosis of unrepentant, un-PC maleness. I can't predict the future, but I know for a fact that a centipenis would be naughty.

Tomorrow is my last class at SWU. Some of my students told me they were re-enrolling, which is encouraging, though I'm still bothered by end-of-semester absenteeism. I don't know whether ULS will ask me to teach the Level 2 course next; as far as I know, my current gig is only until June 3rd, then I'm free. Or freeballing, as Andi might say. But I wouldn't mind teaching at SWU again. It took some getting used to (I've never taught an all-women class before), and there are some improvements I'd like to make should I teach this course, or something similar, a second time.

There's a thought-- I should send an application to SWU directly. Maybe they'd hire me.

Speaking of balls: I've been seeing ads for paintball games on the big screens in subway stations. I want to try this. Badly. My buddy Jang-woong had the chance to do this with co-workers two weekends ago; sounded magnificent. Jang-woong died several times, but thoroughly enjoyed himself. The most embarrassing incident involved team members who dropped all their weapons when a single member of the opposing team stormed their position and shouted, "Drop your guns!" Jang-woong's team did win a few games, though. Jang-woong's wife doesn't like paintball; she made a face when I asked her whether she'd like to try it. I think she's too ladylike for such amusements.

I'm sitting in a PC-bahng I haven't visited in over a year. Lots of changes, but I think I inadvertently insulted the manager, who remembered me and greeted me with a smile. I told him something like, "Everything looks so much better," and he gave that chuckle that indicates non-amusement. "Everything looks better?" he repeated, obviously demanding clarification. I fumbled and said something about the new computers, the new floor (he said it was the same old floor as before), and the new snack stand. He's not talking to me right now.

The fact is (and I feel like a shit for writing this right under the manager's nose; he's behind me and to my left, about ten feet away), the place used to be a smoky, grungy shithole. There have been some major improvements here; I thought I was on solid ground to note this. But I probably should have phrased my compliment differently, so I don't blame him for being unamused.

I'm going to go and call Min-sung's family in a bit, then do some more unpacking. The room's improving, little by little. Peef, yo.

UPDATE: The PC-bahng manager just walked over and gave me two pieces of candy. So maybe he's not offended by my ungraciousness after all. Thank God. There've been enough major mistakes today.


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