The Bodyguards

The hair is back to normal this month.

Speaking of month, next week I plan to lock myself in my room. Yes, they are synched.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

What can I tell you about my summer vacation last month? I almost got killed, but a good time was had by all, so the saying goes. I was kicking back and chilling at my remote villa on Mount Paekdu, reflecting on the day to commemorate the 1950 invasion of aggression launched by the imperialist Americans and their southern lapdog puppets. I was reflecting with a bottle of Gaston de Casteljac cognac, three Indonesian gymnasts, and a cassette of bootlegged (is that right?) Barry Manilow concerts.

My reverie was interrupted by a panicked phone call from the villa defense command post. Several sentries has failed to check in on time and three security cameras had gone out. What to expect from cheap webcams I can not say, but the trick chief was quiet exercised about it. Results turned out he was right, but tell his widow that. Airborne assault? Assassins? An raid of elite SEAL commandos? Seems it was one "G.I" determined to make his most recent turn to occupy south Korea his last. The after action report declares this barbarian killed an entire platoon of light infantry with his bare hands one at a time and dispatched four watch tower sentries with thrown playing cards. I was incredulous at that last, but they say MythBusters proved that one. This lone juggernaut was halted only by my female Bodyguard Bureau, who had all dyed their hair red this month (Special Red Star Order 6.15 Number 13467). Seems he has a thing for Asian Redheaded Girls... at least that was his story under interrogation.

No' torture or pentathol required... I resolved to question this killing machine myself; I could learn a thing or two of the art and science from the intruder who was by now pinned to my shag carpeting by a squad of hard-bodied (B-cup minimum, however) unfreckled Korean Ginger Girls dressed in skimpy white Wilma Deeringesque costumes. (Do not ask me why... I prefer them in the Amazon moon maiden outfits, but they do not always ask me.

I did not expect to break him so easily, but I fancy myself a persuasive intelligence; plus I noted his eyes shifted between my bodyguard and the beer cooler beneath the giant picture of my Departed Daddy. After a short dozen droughts of assorted barley pop from the furthest reaches of the world, he began pouring out his life's story. I offered the finest of Korean cuisine, but he insisted on a burger from my gourmet chef. I must admit to have met a fine character. It would have been a shame to "terminate" or imprison him. He made it a moot point -- after regaling me with an incredulous tale to match the interestingly titled batch of Kiltlifter Scottish ale we tried great frothy mugsful at a time (this man really should blog!) , he kicked my prized lava lamp into the fireplace, creating a flash fire and pall of smoke. My bodyguard must have shamefully been grooving on or pacified by this beast, because they were slow to shield me with their bodies... and completely missed this character acrobatically cartwheeling through the open window with a prized bottle of VSOP in one hand and a rapidly emptying Skorpion machine-pistol in the other. Shit. My anal sphincter inhaled a swatch of rich Corinthian leather from my couch before it was all over. I am too old for this.

If this character shows up anywhere in south Korea again, I am farging nuking the place, so help me Daddy.