Pele

I'm going to tell you a short tale, Constant Retard, and this time I'll try to skip the esoteric in favor of pure realism; but for all intents and purposes, this story is fiction. See, I'm a cautious man -- to the point of paranoia, some might say -- and I've already been threatened once today. Once, I've found, is my threshold. By proxy.

This tale concerns a youthful-looking 30-year-old named Edgar. Aside from a few white lies and a lot of white-stained bedsheets, Edgar grew up an honest man. Hell, he even feels guilty jay walking across a deserted boulevard at four in the morning. What Edgar is not, however, is a patsy. He has a strong belief in justice, and he sticks up for what is right, at least as far as it pertains to himself. Like there's any other way.

Now, our boy Edgar, who I must mention in passing has alluring blue bombardier's eyes
and an eight-inch cock, was once married to a lunatic hellcat; and while in the end he prevailed over that dirty she-bitch, some wounds never heal. For example, Edgar remains bitter to this day that his ex-wife made off with his 42-inch plasma screen and DVD collection, not to mention (although I just did) his vast library of literature and music CDs. To Edgar, that isn't only unfair, it's criminally unfair. But the South Korean courts didn't see it that way. Edgar supposes they didn't particularly care -- and, to him, that is perhaps the biggest injustice of them all.

But I digress, for this is not another story/psychoanalysis session about Edgar's former marriage. I'm just trying to lay a little groundwork here, let you know how worked up our dear friend Edgar can get over such matters. See, Edgar, who I must also mention is one hell of a three-point shooter, worked for a company last year. Not your run-of-the-mill Korean cram school, mind you, although the shit they tried to pull isn't a new song for more than a few who've had to deal with some of their shadier institutions. (Perhaps ironically, Edgar worked that circuit for a few years and had nothing but positive experiences.)

It all started out nice and rosy for Eddie, and save a few bumps along the way, it was a pretty smooth ride. The work was easy and interesting, and while the pay was far from great, he was content, and that's a very rare thing.

In the end, though, it turned out to be a smooth ride over a waterfall. On Edgar's last day at work, he was informed he wouldn't receive his severance pay. This, as you might expect, pissed Edgar off to no end. Word to Lo Pan.

But Mama Ford didn't raise no pushovers. Edgar was determined to fight back, and fight back he did. He took the matter to the labor board, despite his former boss' ludicrous claim that he was simply a "freelancer"; despite his former boss' claim that he wasn't entitled to severance pay because his first three months on the job was a "probationary period"; despite Edgar asking again and again for medical insurance (lawfully his right) and not receiving it until eight months into his contract, and then being told that that was when he became a full-time worker and no longer a "freelancer."

Edgar, of course, saw through the bullshit. These excuses weren't paper thin, they were rice paper thin, he mused. Edgar knew the law, and the law stated that if someone works more than fifteen hours a week for the same employer for at least 365 days, that person is entitled to roughly ten percent of his annual salary.

Edgar worked forty-five hours a week (although, to be fair, not all of that time was spent working), and he'd be damned before he'd lie down and take a won less of what he rightfully deserved. Not when he initially protested and was offered half that sum, not ever*.

This was a matter of principle, you see. And money.

(Mostly, it was money.)

So, one fateful day, a particularly cold one for early spring -- a day much like today, in fact -- Edgar marched down to the labor office, contract and bank statements in hand, to claim his right.

And now it occurs to me that, as appealing (and handsome, and well-dressed) as the character of Edgar Ford is, every good tale needs a good villain. A good, despicable villain. And while Edgar's boss, in what was ostensibly a face-saving measure, didn't show up on that fateful day and doesn't appear in this story (word to Sauron), his minion, whom we'll call The Cocksucker for descriptive clarity's sake, did. And he did not disappoint.

Have you ever seen a lopsided victory; I mean one in which there's absolutely no way the other side can win? This was one of those. It was like that 100-0 girls' basketball game that got all the media attention a few months ago, the one where a team from Texas drubbed the snot out of a team of borderline retarded kids. Only THIS was the exact opposite of THAT.

Sweet, sweet justice. More than a feeling. Please, Mommy Fortuna, let my dreams come true. Show me what I want to see. (I want to see the manticore!) Shine a little light. Will you?

But, Edgar knew, Koreans rarely went down without a fight. It was dually their most admirable and most annoying character trait. The Cocksucker, telling lies upon lies, soiled Edgar's name and tried to paint him as your run-of-the-mill...and now I find I have the will to type no more, for, if Edgar is anything like me, he cannot stand slander; he won't have his honor smeared. It's better to shut up and err on the side of

(righteousness?)

the law than to throw one's arms up in protest, especially when One is just, the Other a fucking crying baby. He didn't attend company get-togethers or dinners? Oh, really? I wish I could rewrite history the same way, and in my version assholes, liars, men who cheat on their wives and ask me to do the same, are purged in favor of honest men. You snakes. You petty, writhing serpents.

And here is where our paths, that of writer (Sparkles) and of character (Edgar Ford), diverge. And here is where I find my exit.

April 3, sucka. Ray Liotta in Goodfellas.

Fuck you, pay me.

Understand?

오캐이?

Win.

Capitals: WIN.

당. 연. 하. 지.

Ah...justice.

!!!





Denouement: "He's the first guy who ever asked for severance...he only worked to get severance...he has no ethics..."

No ethics. Me.

Damn you.






* death by italics