Dear Senator Grassley

Posted on October 2, 2018 by sungmokoo

Sad, yet true, Senator Chuck Grassley from Iowa thinks he’s secretly giving you the middle finger, or cleaning his ear. In other words, he’s old and senile. Image Source.

Grassley,

Thank you for making it easier to sleep at night. With good strong people like you at the helm, I am no longer worried about a country unfit for old men like us. I assume you’re a man of so much work there is no time left for play, so I will fill in the reference. There is a Coen Brothers film called No Country For Old Men based on a novel of the same title, written by Cormac McCarthy. It was a frightening fictional world, which you are in the process of preventing from becoming a reality. Thank you again.

Continue reading →

Alternative Hangover

Posted on September 24, 2018 by sungmokoo

Believe it or not, this is better than the alternative, swirling irrational fears concluded by a senseless bullet in the head.

Little did Morton Saltzberg realize, overnight, in a deep sleep, he transformed and woke up as an anomaly. If he had been conscious of the metamorphosis, he would have been ecstatic. He had long desired to deviate from what his peers deemed standard.

Continue reading →

Laughter In The Rain

Posted on September 20, 2018 by sungmokoo

There are only three things you can truly rely on in this post-truth world: The Chinese straw hat, oxen, and the rain.

Donna Porcellino was pissed and then some. If she were a cartoon character, a steady flow of steam would spew from her ears, causing her hair to rise three to five inches above her scalp. Alas, she was just a mortal composed of flesh and blood, so she was merely drenched to the bone, her shoulders hunched, her nerves tightly wound and knotted, barely containing the angst from within. Her facial expression clearly said, leave me alone or I will chew your head off.

Continue reading →

Fraught With Ambiguity

Posted on September 18, 2018 by sungmokoo

THIS IMAGE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS STORY! This is just my way of saying Rachel Maddow with a mustache is not a bad thing.

Ezekiel Hammett, sometimes known as Zeke, Zekey, E-Z, or Hambone, put his Cleveland Indians cap on backwards, slapped on too much cologne, and checked his phone. As expected, nothing; but it doesn’t kill you to check, right? He was moving slower than usual. He was still recovering from the constant drain that comes from losing a life-long friend.

Continue reading →