Christmas Cop

Posted on January 23, 2018 by sungmokoo

“Ho, ho, hold it right there. Please step out of the vehicle.”

Dusk was short; it was officially Christmas evening. He was late again today. In his book, that made him a re-tardy. Rest assured, this story occurred in less sensitive times, 1968; also, Christmas Cop is a dirty moist asswipe. If 1967 was the summer of love, 1968 was the year of regret and reconciliation. All this aside, Christmas Cop was late for a very special Christmas dinner.

Christmas jumped into his car, illegally parked in front of a fire hydrant. He put on his aviator shades, and sped off, sirens a-blaring, lights a-flashing. If white or yellow was green, there would have been a semblance of twinkling Christmas lights on crack. [FACT CHECK: Crack would not be invented for another twenty years.]

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Christmas With Aquaman®

Posted on January 22, 2018 by sungmokoo

As legitimate as a cry for help from a Prince of Nairobi.

Like some kind of organized clockwork, it was December 25^th again. Atlantis was quiet. It would be easy to assume that Atlanteans celebrate the birth of Christ the holy baby, and you would be completely wrong. In the same way you’d be wrong if you assume all Koreans eat watermelon, all Brazilians are good at math, and all Sudanese are always hungry. Atlantis sunk many years before the birth of Jesus on the surface land, making them unaware of the event as it happened, thus making it irrelevant to their culture. And who can blame them? Do they blame or shame us when we don’t acknowledge Mollusk March Day? FYI: they do.

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Christmas Purgatory

Posted on January 21, 2018 by sungmokoo

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You are at the top of the stairs. You are eight years old, maybe nine, maybe even ten. You still believe in Santa Claus. You are transfixed on the Christmas tree downstairs, bursting pregnant with presents. You smell stale cigarette smoke. That’s okay, it’s the 60s; everyone smoked. You perspire and it smells like grape soda and kinda urine. That’s okay, everyone urinates. You descend one step at a time. Your heart is filled with joy and anticipation of opening the presents, shredding and tearing the wrapping paper, and of course, saving the bows.

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Did I Say This Is A Pathetic Christmas?

Posted on January 20, 2018 by sungmokoo

Her eyes were red, moist crimson to be more exact, which by Deidrah Barker’s standards indicates at least twenty minutes of steady crying, or twenty minutes of recovering from tear gas. The skin around her nose was raw and freshly chaffed, pores exposed, on the precipice of premature gin blossoms. It’s worth the extra twenty to seventy cents to go Kleenex® or Puffs®, after all, YOLO.

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