What's PK?

A very good question, that. I sometimes aloofly claim -- when I'm having espresso and biscotti with Wolfes Tom and Thomas -- that Psychedelic Kimchi is the alpha and omega of nothing, to make myself sound profound in a self-depracatingly ironic way. No one ever gets the joke. Or they pretend they don't. Myself included.

However, the truth is that when I started this hallowed blog back in the halcyon year of double-oh-five, I drew up a manifesto, at the end of which was my goal to, in 2009, interview and bed a recognizable Korean starlet. Sometimes life has other plans, though, and so it was that, when my ultimate goal was reached three years earlier than I initially hoped, I had to revise that shit, like George Lucas pretending the original Star Wars was part four of a six-part saga.

In these, the waning days of the year 2007, I fear I may have to return to the lab yet again to rework my master plan. Because scarce time remains for me to play pool against -- then bed -- Shanelle Loraine. Four days left, and I try to stay optimistic, but I am only fooling myself.

Still, one particular section of the PK Handbook (Dungeon Master's Guide) stands unblemished by time or time-travelling device. For you, Constant Retard, I present* it now as a belated Christmas present**, in all its heavenly glory, as it was originally conceived.

April 9, 2005:

PK is...

PK is Humpty Hump and Shock G together, without the use of editing or trick photography...PK is an army, nigga, a navy, nigga...PK is fall down seven times, get up seven and a half...PK is your first erection quickly followed by your first gaming experince, then your first birthday IN THAT ORDER...PK is fire up this funk, fire symbolizing rebellious youth, funk it sucks to grow old (no Hunter S. Thompson)...PK is inside baseball, outside basketball, and, in some nations, within volleyball. Word to the Pink Spiders...PK is indellible. Costanza!...PK is I drove all the way to Sokcho on foot and all I got was this crappy T-shirt...PK is television, the drug of a nation, breeding ignorance and feeding radiation (and beefaroni!)...PK is Memph Bleek is...PK is every smile you have when you catch an obscure reference: 50 points...PK is secretly controlling the world's finance in Switzerland with the help of 12 Tall Israelis who suck at backgammon...PK is Charlie Rose vs. Larry King at Wrestlemania, no holds barred...PK is a cheese sandwich. A banana bread and cottage cheese sandwich...PK is that anonymous fear thing, sitting in traffic, thinking, ''I'm sure I'm supposed to be doing something else"...PK is a product of its environment, although it wishes its environment were a product of it...PK is that time you were comfortable settling down, only PK couldn't settle down, so you and PK parted ways, and you still hate yourself for it, because PK was huge amongst the avid readers of your cavernous novel, and these days you receive little fanfare...PK is trial by fire. Because there's no such thing as half-way crooks who are both scared to death and scared to look. It's ride or die, dun. But if you want me to circle around the block a few times, I'll keep the car running, waiting. Because YOU ARE THAT GOOD...PK is a breath of fresh air after a sigh of toxic cloud...PK is indulgence, better yet, hedonism. And then some...PK is all the things I wish I could say but don't have the time to...PK is K-Hot's reluctance to peep The Departed, and mine to make sense any longer...PK is "what have you done for me lately?" and "didn't I blow your mind this time? Didn't I?"...PK is Q-Tip circa 1991-1993...PK is an unlockable level unless you finish it on EASY, NORMAL, and HARD modes...PK is Bundang, and it has the tattoo to verify. A washable one, however...PK wants to suck your soul, lick your funky emotion, and take some time getting to know you better...PK is cyanide pills in the form of good ideas...PK is typing "busty japanese hot" on YouTube and staying home all day to bask in the glory of its results...PK is that warm feeling you get when all in the world is right for you, everything seems perfect, and then some asshole doctor tells you your ghetto pass has been revoked because you have rectal cancer. Like Contra 4, some things in life are not only unfair, they're downright criminal...PK fucks your head up like getting corn rows put in by blind giants.

_______

That's PK, I guess. Truthfully, I made up half that shit as I went along (micro managment to my dungeon master's macro), deleting only the faggy stuff.. But if you're still here, I'll fill you in on a little secret:


PK, at its core, broken down to its purest form:




* stress on the second syllable

**stress on the first