Psychedelic Chuseok

It's Chuseok. Everyone's entitled to one good traffic jam.

-- Sheriff Lee Brackett

Pop quiz, hotshot: You have 5 days vacation and nothing planned. What do you do?

What. Do. You. Do?

Solution: call up a certain organ grinder's simian, suggest a hide-away (avec a pack of franks and a big bag of Frito-Lays, natch), and make like we always do 'bout this time.

Here's what transpired:

11:30AM, Saturday: Ivan calls.

"Ayo, Spark, I'm as afraid of holiday traffic as dogs are of their own farts. Could we change the meeting time from 3PM to 1:30?

"Aight. Bet."

1:30PM: Schopping for schnacks. Cheese balls, dig it!

2:22PM: Get your liquid propane gas-powered motor running, head out on the highway. Looking for the closest liquid propane gas-selling service station, or whatever comes our way. BORN to be economically safe and sound.

3-SomethingPM

Me: So this place is close to Incheon? That won't take long.

Ivan: Who said it was close to Incheon? It's 3 hours away on a good day. You think today is gonna be a good day? Look at a calendar, straight back.

4-SomethingPM

Ivan: You touch my iPod one more time, I will bite the fleshiest part of your back!

4:05-SomethingPM

Me: Yes, I shoulda gone before we left, but I prefer to always make things difficult whenever we take a trip. Just wait, in 4 hours we'll be on Mars with Dr. Manhattan and Sally Jupiter, and I'll complain about the atmosphere. I'm a wet blanket like that. Get used to it.

6:37PM

Ivan: I am literally going to scratch out my corneas. This tedious drive is killing me.

Me: Baby, it ain't all bad. I could think of a lot of people I'd rather not be stuck in traffic with.

Ivan: I can't. Have another cheese ball, asshole.

8:12PM

Ivan: OK, we're off the highway. Smooth sailing and all that.

Me: OK if I put on some Queen to commemorate this momentous occasion?

Ivan: OK if I crash this car into a ditch to commemorate your superlative bastardity?

9:01PM

Ivan: Touchdown!

Me: Time for some grub.

Ivan: Seafood stew suit you, Quint?

Me: I'll be the one making Jaws references from here on out, OK, Tiger?

9:51PM

Ivan: That was tight. If I'm lying, I'm dying.

Me: Word to Burt Bacharach, you got the look of love in your eyes.

Ivan: I certainly do.

*Intermission*

Sunday:

Pete Rock and CL Smooth

Monday:

Common (the watered-down Common who lacks the lyricism he possessed on Ressurection, and, to a lesser extent, One Day It'll All Make Sense)

Tuesday:

Who poisoned me? I've got diarrhea like my mind has changed my body's frame. But God I like it. As if I need a reason to stay at home and play DS all day.

Tuesday Evening:

Ivan's maternal instinct kicks into fifth gear. Bibimbap and fried fish are not, to my knowledge, holistic remedies for curing enteritis. Neither is [censored] and the best [censored] I've ever received, but, God, I like them both, and I'm feeling pretty goddam OK right about now.

Wednesday Morning:

In fact, I'm feeling so OK that I'm going to go shopping and buy about 3000 golf shirts.

(In the end, I buy 4. It's 3:03AM on Mars and I am thinking about buying a fifth.)

Wednesday Evening:

I'm writing paragraphs shorter than your attention span, and looking at the stars.


And that's what I have to say[Sky Blue Font], nearly one year after I became acquainted with lips more sublime than Rosario Dawson's or Angelina Jolie's, and found...

Wait for it...

Density.

I mean destiny.

Fuck.

[/Sky Blue Font]