My Wife Returns From China
My wife returned from China last night, somewhat the worse for wear, having been slightly damaged by machinegun fire while trying to escape from slavery in a Chinese brick kiln.
She escaped in the company of 300 North Korean slave laborers imported from Pyong Yang. All but 3 of the Northerners died during the escape. Some got shot dead as they writhed on the electrified barbed wire. Others died in the unmarked minefield just beyond the wire.
As for the three who escaped, when they finally arrived in Shanghai my wife sold them to a gourmet restaurant which caters for upmarket dogs. In the West, there is a canard that people in Shanghai sometimes eat dogs. In today's increasingly affluent Shanghai, it is more likely to be the other way around.
My wife arrived at 0337 and spent the next hour on the phone, trying to find a beauty salon which was open at that time. She finally located one in the annexe of a private mental hospital. It was 50 kilometers away, but she phoned a taxi and set off immediately. I had no idea how she was going to pay for this because, after her departure for the People's Republic of China, I had taken the precaution of phoning the bank and canceling her credit card. However, it turned out that she was able to pay the taxi driver using counterfeit Japanese currency which she had bought cheaply from a North Korean street vendor on the streets of Shanghai.
In my wife's absence, I successfully got myself to Meijin Hospital for my latest post-cancer checkup. Friday 26 October the key thing was the blood tests, which checked out fine ... the dreaded magnesium deficiency is, it seems, a thing of the past.
My other challenge has been to be home alone with three-year-old Cornucopia. On this challenge, I give myself a B-minus.
On the good side, the house did not burn down, Cornucopia did not become road kill, and we were not attacked by any of the components of Imperial America's war machine which are based in our neighborhood.
Additionally, on the Thursday night, as per my wife's prior instructions, got Corny to sit in a warm bath so her "private spot" could benefit from the all-dissolving powers of water.
On the downside, toward the end of my time alone with Corny, the whole thing degenerated into a three-year-old kid's idea of orgy heaven, with bananas, videos and bowls of ice cream (BOTH the chocolate and vanilla, thank you very much) following one another in a kind of Triumph for the Baby Emperor.
Well, we did survive, and I didn't set fire to the house, and I guess that's what's really important.
Regarding the American war machine, a chunk of this is just down the coast from us, at a place called Yokosuka. Amongst other things, the bloody Yanks insist on bringing their nuclear-powered aircraft carriers all the way into our nuclear-free backyard. And, of course, these atomic crates, on arrival, leak radioactivity into the water, in total disregard of any theory which says that they shouldn't.
My wife has benefited greatly from her trip to China, and is now ready to face the prospect of doing what she can to resolve Japan's pension system mess. A brief stint in the brick kiln has filled her with zeal for the comparatively sybaritic life of the tax department bureaucrat.
Pity about all the dental work she now needs: the brick kiln manager saw fit to put a shovel into her face, and the damage will take anything from six months to two years to fix. Well, worse things happen at sea. And in Blackwater's playground, Iraq.