Killing Cats with World Vision, Red Cross and Plan Canada

In Vietnam the Ace of Spades was a symbol, crammed into the mouths of women children, young men and villagers, massacred in the millions by the American genocide of that nation. Now adorning the walls of this colourfully painted downtown apartment are a series of Ace of Spades, with the names and faces of this year’s top salesmen attached. They sit alongside pictures of young children in poor villages around the world. All the usual suspects are present, the African child with the bloated belly sitting by mud huts, the south American, pudgy faced kids running around nearly naked, World Vision, Red Cross, Plan Canada all the major charities have their plaques, awards and photos crammed alongside one another.

The apartment that sits atop a café in the Bathurst area of Toronto has been converted into office space for two separate marketing companies working under the DCF umbrella and competing with one another in singing up sponsors for various charities. When I first started there I was apprehensive as the interview room was clearly a rotating door, decorated with magazines and a flat screen TV playing Seinfeld episodes. Yet seeing as how I had been out of work for a month and needed to pay off some student debt I decided to give it a shot, after all I was assured that most of my day would consist of chatting up young women on the street. My team, who had a collective run at the organization consisting of about 13 months, had assured me of this on my first day over a pint of beer.

The pay was near minimum wage to start, 11$/hour but I was assured that good salesmen who could bring in two sponsors a day would be making near 20$/hr on a salary which changed week to week. Quickly enough I learned that, that was what it was all about and the strategies being used to peddle charity were no different that those one would employ for snake oil. These men would sell bath salts door to door if they found it profitable enough and this was not merely part of their character but built into the corporate training of the entire organization.

“There are so many ways to kill a cat.” These words were spoken out by Patience, the gorgeous African boss who started up our morning meeting in the training room. “You know I like to put a picture of the child up near my face, so that when they say no, they’re not saying no to me. They’re saying no to the child.” Just one way to kill a cat I supposed, that one had been Patience’s strategy. There were others of course, never give an open ended question was the first revelation I came across. Asking if anyone has a moment to talk usually came with a quick response… NO. Asking if they would consider a program like this, or be interested in helping garnered the same reaction. Instead I was coached to ask yes only questions.

“You agree that all children have a right to education right?” Not many people answer no to that question and it keeps the potential sponsor engaged in the conversation. That particular piece of advice had been passed on to me by Cat, short for Catalan. Come to think of it all of the real salesmen, the Ace of Spades, had short salesmen like nicknames, Cat, Cam and Chip were the team I worked under most often. Cat delivered another useful tip during one of our morning training sessions. Cam had begun by writing “Bouncing Negs Yo…” on the blackboard, to which I commented “that’s kind of racist isn’t it?” Nobody seemed to understand the joke and we moved onto the task to of handling objections; I’m out of work, I have kids of my own, I’m a student, I support *** already, we don’t do door to door, I need to consult my spouse, I’m a single mother, were all common objections and as a group we would talk about ways to push past these reasons.

Catalan had a suggestion, “You know, about that whole single mother thing, Josh is actually the master at this. When they tell him that, he just says he was also raised by a single mom, tosses the flyer of some kid with a single mom into her hands and she’s putty.” This got a few smiles, a few chuckles, a few surprised faces and no objection from any mangers, after all that cat has to get killed somehow.

At the core of being a salesman, as Cam had said it, “You gotta mind fuck people.” This energetic 20 year old who had quickly become one of the company’s quick risers, liked to pump us up with talk like that and at least he was being honest with someone, not the sponsors of course but us at least. There are no illusions amongst these men that they were striving to help children, they knew nothing more about the charities they were promoting than what their pamphlets told others and they didn’t care. Cam had another useful tip when I had given him my pitch. “You know your educated and you know a lot about what the charities are doing but you don’t need to tell people all that. They know we’re a charity and nobody really cares, what you’re selling is yourself.”

Is an action good if it helps the poor but is derived by nothing more than greed? Do the ends justify the means? Does anyone really care? I don’t know but it seems worth asking the question, I quite my job after a week, having never once pressured someone into making a commitment they couldn’t afford, I helped no children and I’m okay with that.

The Pulse Of A Revolution

In March 2011 Quebec’s federal government proposed hiking student tuition by 75% over the course of five years. This resulted in massive student protests over the course of the following year. Highlights included:

February 2012

The beginning of the student’s strike has as many as 36 000 students walk out on classes – CBC. This ultimately results in an end to classes for 310 000 students – Radio Canada.

April 2012

Up to 151 students are arrested in Gatineau Qc, adding to what is a current total over 1000 by even conservative estimates. – CBC

April 2012

Charest, the Premier, offers the student union the option of stretching the years over which the tuition increase is applied from 5 to 7, headlines in the English media however tend to overlook the increase in tuition with the new deal from 75% to 82%.

May 2012

The Manufestations take place, “manifestation” being the word for protest and “nue” being the word for naked.- http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=manufestation

The Premier opts to suspend the school year until August.

Montreal being my own birth city and a place very near to my heart I felt obliged to head on over and take a feel of the city’s pulse for myself, so on the Friday, June the 22nd I got the fuck out of the dreary, financial Toronto and headed over to a city where people actually talk to you… sure most of the time they’re asking for a cigarette but still.

Upon my landing I went for a stroll around the city to snap of a few shots. After an hour or so I settled into the park and was flagged down by a pair of Cree cousins. They asked me if I could spare some smokes and within a minute the three of us were downing vodka shots. Gabriel and Mario had come down from the north, where Gabriel worked as a miner making up to 150 000$ a year. Their mother/ aunt was in the hospital and that had been what brought them down to the city. We chatted about this and that, weed is apparently 40$/g up north, I discovered that when I offered him a toke and he declined, as he’s drug tested to work with heavy machinery. We talked briefly about native affairs, Attawapiskat and Hydro Quebec running electric corridors through their land without permission but moving the conversation onto Montreal’s Maple Spring seemed a lost cause, for one thing the cousins seemed acutely disconnected from politics local and otherwise and when Gabriel repeated to me for the second time within five minutes that he was a miner without the slightest indication that he had any memory of our stillborn conversation it became clear just how trashed they were. So I said my polite goodbye and asked them in passing what they would like to like to see the government do to move forward with native communities, “Just make peace.” Gabriel said, and I was on my way.

Luckily for me I came across a group of protest ready students, faces painted with red lines for war and their signs in hand. I followed the mob into the subway and towards the demonstration. While waiting for the train the announcement rang out “Alert code 60″, for a moment I expected that the station would explode into a cacophony of vandalism and smoke bombs with the heavy police presence sent scrambling for back up but nothing, barely anyone even reacted.

Upon arriving at the protest march the police made their presence know the minute we stepped off the train. There were police in the subway (a sight I had only seen in Beijing up to that point) and a heavy presence by the exit.

The march lasted about an hour and had an extremely family friendly atmosphere.

Of course there were also the typical punk chicks handing out condoms (a reasonable action at all times by the way), men wearing Guy Fox masks (The New Che Guevara, for corporate stooges to profit off of), semi-circus performers, costumed heroes etc.

I was fortunate enough to climb up to the roof of a few shops during the march and get a real sense of the scale of the event.

Traffic was shut down and businesses that weren’t feeding the mob ground to a halt, as office workers made their way over to the windows. At the end of the march people splintered off in search of water, soda, beer or a spot in the park but it seems the true success of these events is that they force social consciousness upon the city and onto the dinner table.

The following night I met Jesus.

His new name is Charles Aimé and he roams Mount Royal, talking to and comforting the homeless. I’m not sure if he is Jesus but he was the only person to strike up a random conversation with me without requesting a smoke so he’s pretty high up there. My friend had asked him directly upon coming to meet me at the subway station if he was indeed the son of god, he stopped to ponder for a moment (Above is pictured his pondering face) and finally concluded that according to his memories he was indeed Jesus and that Montreal was the end of the world, where things would all come to a head.

In any event I left the most convincing Jesus I have ever met behind and went to celebrate La Saint Jean by getting drunk in a park, like all proud French Canadians. It seems that the overwhelming attitude towards the protests were simple, we’ll vote late, we’ll protest later but today the pools are open, the police are taking their vacation after stacking up far too much overtime and the kids are partying. If things seem to simmer down don’t let it deceive you, the main act is still ahead.

Dear Korean Cops, What Do You Have to Do To Get Arrested Around Here?

While sharing a few drinks in front of yet another convenience store in Seoul, South Korea, my friends and I noticed that someone had placed a most wanted poster onto the window. This listed South Korea‘s 25 most notorious offenders and within moments my friend George, who speaks Korean fluently was making his way down the list.

# 1: Wanted for the murder of one person

# 2: Wanted for the murder of one person

# 3: Wanted for the rape of one woman

# 4 to # 25: Wanted for fraud…

This list is as close as I have ever come to an explanation for the sheer incompetence and security guard type nature of the Korean police force. Actually come to think of it, security guards actually chase you, so scratch that, taxi drivers are probably a more apt comparison for Seoul’s police department. My working theory is that a lack of actual crime since the dissolution of military dictatorships in the early 90s has resulted in an inability to breed crime fighters. It’s also possible that they just leave white people alone because they know we don’t speak Korean.

I first took notice of this problem while I was drying my clothes in the laundromat around the corner from my apartment one early morning. While I sat down listening to my mp3 player and waiting to put on a respectable pair of pants, I spotted two cops sitting across from me, playing with their new I pad. I was a bit curious why an otherwise empty laundromat in a dead part of town at two in the morning required police protection but I soon realized these men weren’t here to serve and protect my colours or whites, they were just looking for somewhere warm to escape to while on “patrol”, because really, what the fuck else were they gonna do with their time in a country where the top criminals were stealing debit cards?

On a side note, Korean debit cards do NOT require a pin or code of any kind to purchase goods and services, in fact all it requires is that someone “signs” an electronic keypad which usually amounts to little more then scratching it to make a line. Call me crazy but maybe fucking PIN codes would put an end to all that fraud but hey what the fuck do I know.

In any event, to drive home this point I’ve decided to compile my own list of the 3 most ridiculous police interventions that I either witnessed or heard of, during my stay in the city of Seoul.

# 3 we got a fighter! someone get the massage table!

While in the hospital for a sex change drug testing job I came across another foreigner who was all too happy to swap stories with me about the Seoul police. In fact everyone there were foreigners, we were all getting paid to try a new acid reflux drug which was being developed as a result of their competitors having had their patent run out. Oddly enough the American FDA required that all drugs tested for a US market be tested on Caucasians specifically (this has fuck all to do with the police but it seems weird enough to be worth mentioning). So over dinner my new roommate mentioned that he had once spotted two Ajumas (elder Korea women) arguing in the road. When a young police officer approached and attempted to diffuse the situation one of the women apparently slapped him and garnered no reaction. This did not surprise me too much considering the incredibly high degree of importance that age plays in Korean culture but his next tale certainly did. Apparently he had also witnessed a drunk Korea man (this is somewhat redundant considering that they’re all severe alcoholics) who had been trying to take a swing at the cops. Their solution was to sit his ass down and have one officer hold his wrists while another gave him a gentle back rub to calm him down.

# 2 A German, a Frenchman and an American walk into a bar.

So my German, French and American friends walk into an abandoned bar (sandwiched between another bar below and an abandoned bar above). Nearly a week prior to that Yannis and Maxime, my German and French friends respectively, had smashed their way into an abandoned bar, above the abandoned bar they were currently standing in, and destroyed everything. Television sets, lights, tables and chairs were all trashed beyond recognition and bolstered by this success and a night of alcohol buckets the three amigos decided to try their chances yet again, now having brought along Alex, a tall Alabaman to join in the party

After breaking in they began going to town on the usual targets, lights, chairs etc. but unfortunately for them, unlike the previous bar, they were now within earshot of the patrons and workers at the bar below them and consequently the police were called in.

When they came strolling up the stairs the American simply stood there, confident that he would no doubt walk away unscathed, the Frenchman threw up his hands and surrendered and the German fled to the washroom to hide… funny thing about traveling, it tends to reinforce stereotypes more then break them down.

They wrote down the three men’s names in Hangeul, Korean script, and took down their phone numbers as well. This was of course incredibly pointless considering that there’s no register in which foreign names would be recorded in Korean script but in any even the police seemed unfazed by the situation as a whole. They provided my friends with a stern warning not to do that again or…. well I guess then they’d give them another stern warning, and then, their job clearly completed, they were off.

# 1 Merry Christmas?

While the typical westerner celebrates their Christmas with family, meals and presents, the holiday has taken on a more kitsch value in Korea. Young men and women head to the clubs and bars, dressed in their best slutty Santa costumes and proceed to get completely shitfaced. On this particular Christmas eve, Dieuke, a Dutch exchange student and arguably Yonsei University 2010′s hottest mess, decided that she had grown tired of acting sane and instead opted to get hammered and spit and kick at her friends in the bar. Quickly enough someone called the fuzz and myself and her other male friends took turns restraining her, mostly for the protection of our own balls, which she seemed to enjoy kicking.

Upon the police’s arrival they offered to drive her back to the dorms and myself being the only man whose balls hadn’t been assaulted, I offered to go with her for the five-minute ride and make sure she made it in alright. So my friends and I tossed her into the back of the cop car and I hopped in with her. Now you may be asking yourself, what kind of police let random civilians handle their back door. This, while it is no doubt a legitimate question, pales in comparison to the question I was asking myself. “Where the fuck is the cage?”

Not only was there absolutely no obstruction of any kind between the back seat and front (other than the seats of course) after paying careful attention to all police vehicles over the following months I would come to learn that none of the typical Korean police vehicles had cages, even their vans just use the extra space to install a coffee table for paperwork. Now if you ever wondered what those cages are for, part of the reason is that so when you and your drunk ass friend are in the back of a cop car you won’t have to keep grabbing her wrists to keep her from swinging towards the front seat.

She kept trying to punch the cops and I was sure that at any moment the pigs would lose their shit, but they just kept smoking away and laughing at the crazy bitch in the back. When they finally pulled up to the dorms, Dieuke threw her door open and took off. I, still in a Canadian mindset thought that I should probably catch her before the police did and took her to jail, so while the cops kept smoking and laughing I took off running. Once I caught her she spun around, kicked me and fell on her ass.

“That’s it! Take this crazy bitch to jail!” I screamed over to the Police who were now leaning on the hood of their car, still smoking and laughing. I took off in one direction while Dieuke approached the cops and took off yet again, now in another direction. Within minutes we had crossed paths again and while she slowly ran down the road in her heels, crying all the way, the cops followed behind slowly in their car, having the time of their life and enjoying the show.

Ultimately the cops abandoned their 3km/hr pursuit and Dieuke ran all the way back to the bar, leaving a trail of clothes behind her but it was nice to know that if ever I ran out of cab fair there would be the trusty Seoul police to give me a ride.

Ultimately I’m not quite sure what exactly my opinion is on the Korean police, on the one hand they offer little to no incentive for not acting like a fool and yet if I were Rodney King, moving my ass to Seoul would probably seem like a good fucking idea… you know before he was found floating dead in his pool that is. Ultimately they do appear to often be genuinely decent people, which cannot be said for all Police Departments, so I suppose that’ll do pigs, that’ll do.

Unwasted Land

The growth of the Urban garden is not a new trend but I found myself intrigued by the new garden community within the electrical corridor near my apartment, which has recently sprouted in North York, a roughly five minute walk from the York University campus.

Underneath the towering power lines over 130 plots of varying sizes are marked off by makeshift fences and adorned with hanging boots and shoes. Some of the spaces have constructed ramshackle huts for escaping the Sun or cleaning up, one woman even had a mirror.

The land costs 76$ to rent for a year and in exchange the city provides spartan water lines and… well, nothing. Yet that’s the beauty of the entire project, Kumar, one of the local gardeners doesn’t need the government to provide fertilizer, fences, hoses or skill, he has all that, land and water is all it takes and in this massively sprawling, otherwise unused setting, land is abundant.

Kumar currently has green onions, tomatoes, chilies and green beans all growing on his small lot and of course this garden fails to cover all of his family’s food needs but it does supplement their diet with healthy, naturally grown produce and in a world where GMOs and pesticides are indistinguishable from corn that doesn’t contain “acceptable” levels of poison that will explode root worms’ stomachs, this seems like a good thing.The only remaining question is why it is, in this unused corridor of arable land 10.4 km long, that we are only instituting this program along 15 400 square meters, when the cost to the taxpayer is no more then setting up a drinking fountain?

Korea’s Sexual Whack-A-Mole

As Yannis, my German friend and I looked over the gallery of black and white photos depicting various sex positions at Love Land, in Jeju South Korea we began playing a game, “Done it, done it, need it, done it, need it” etc…

Around the corner strolled a gang of young Korean men, they stopped dead in their tracks, their jaws dropped wide and to this day despite my shit poor grasp of the Korean language I’m nearly positive one of the men exclaimed “Wow there’s more than one position!”

Love Land is the modestly sized South Korean amusement park dedicated to teaching Koreans about sex and what better way to do that then to cover a park in statues of turtles fucking, dogs fucking, old women chasing down skinny young men, the Terminator’s penis… you get the point.

Parks like these in Korean society are not an anomaly and represent a type of whack-a-mole effect, while their sexuality is clearly oppressed in very conspicuous ways it emerges in strange incarnations like the former. Haesindang Park or as it is more commonly called, Penis Park, is another example of this trend. As the official tale goes a young virgin had been awaiting the return of her man along the shoreline only to discover he had died at sea and in her grief she plunged herself into the ocean. The locals decided to erect hundreds of Penis totems to appease her soul and keep the waters calm, although oddly enough all the statues are clearly new or at the very least, fairly new.

So who visits these parks? Well why not take the whole family, a trip to the Penis Park will yield not only a forest of cock but also showcase young children playing and frolicking while their grandparents reminisce. And if your trip to the country hasn’t satiated your craving for wooden dildos you can stroll into any number of bars in Seoul casually adored with them…. everywhere.

So what does all this say about Koreans and their approach to sex? Well I can only provided the perspective of an outsider looking in and as such any opinion I express is inherently lacking but certain clues do emerge. One fact that every foreign man is quickly bludgeoned with upon entering Korea is that all the young women, whether they’re wearing sneakers and a sweater or heels and a miniskirt (most of them are wearing the later, winter be damned) swear up and down that they’re virgins, even twenty-three year old women who have had a series of rotating foreign boyfriends will lie their ass off.

This has given way to even more disturbing trends such as voluntary molestation. When I say voluntary molestation what I’m referring to is a behaviour by which Korean women will purposely act far more shitfaced than they really are. They then collapse in a very unladylike manor onto their men and these guys use the small windows as opportunities to grope their girl as they sometimes quite literally carry them home.

Ultimately this short article neglects to factor in major sociological factors, such as the role sexuality plays in women’s social position in the country and how Korean history plays into these bizarre dynamics but in any event like in every country we can all find common ground. While drinking at one of Jeju’s hostels I struck up a conversation with the young bartender/ owner who had mentioned that she had been dragged by her friends to Love Land a few days before. “Its weird having to see a big penis that early in the morning”, she said to which I responded ” Well I have to see a big penis every morning”. That got me a free Jack & Coke, it seems our cultures have at least a little in common.

Zombies & Zimmerman

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1IpDiYlfm0

It’s happened, Florida’s cultural zeitgeist has become so massive and entangled that it’s begun to collide in odd ways. Inspired by the states recent facial gourmand,Rudy Eugene, Vitaly Zdorovetskiy, a 20 year old prankster, has taken to Florida’s streets in an attempt to ride that beautiful comedy wave of fake zombie attacks over panic stricken black people.

[Rudy Eugene, 31,  was shot and killed by police as he chewed the face of Ronald Poppo, 65, May 26]

On a side note Rudy Eugene’s autopsy showed no sing of human flesh having been digested, there was also no toxicology report or documentation in anyway linked to bath salts, or even any hearsay that he had been linked to the drug but there’s no need to let facts get in the way of a good headline. Although perhaps New York Daily News’ article Bath salts: Officials say the synthetic drug in disguise was behind recent ‘cannibal’ attack” could have more apply been title “Bath salts: Officials say sometimes bad things that happen might or might not have absolutely anything to do with completely unexplained face chewing”

In the video, featured in the link above,Vitaly Zdorovetskiy dawns an impressive zombie costume with an even more impressive growl, he lurches and jogs towards local black people, mostly young men and all who watch laugh hysterically as they run the fuck away. In an interview with Tosh.0, when asked if he had chosen to attack black people specifically, he stated that he had tried going after white people but they “didn’t give me any reactions, they were just standing around laughing”. On more then one occasion however the prank came dangerously close to going wrong and he even found a gun pulled on him at one point. Luckily cooler heads prevailed and even in the worst situation when he had been chased by a gang of young men at a basketball court he explained the prank and they all had a good laugh, according to Vitaly they even offered him a crack rock afterwards, and people say there’s no community spirit anymore.

This story did not go unreported but what did not get asked was what would have happened had those young men not had the calm and possibly good nature that they did. Had he been gunned down on the concrete would his assailant have been standing his ground? With the Trayvon Martin/ George Zimmerman case hanging in Florida’s ether I can’t help but wonder if a black gangster gunned down a white 20 year old in the street, only to tell police that he had been standing his ground against the encroaching zombie, would it have gone over quite as well as George’s excuse? Perhaps, perhaps not but more importantly it makes me think of the role that panic plays in our actions.

The thing about the Zimmerman case is that whatever the result, the law itself will remain unscathed, simply because if Zimmerman is convicted it will simply serve as proof that the law did not apply to his case. It will be nothing more then an acceptance of the fact that following children with a gun in your pocket can hardly be dubbed self protection but the interesting thing about the zombie scenario is that it is, for all intents and purposes an example of self defense, ridiculous as fuck but self defense.

What the stand your ground law does is turn crimes of passion or panic into justifiable homicide. It allows us to forgive people by accepting the notion that in times of crises men and women must be forgiven for acts of weakness or acts that were poorly calculated but what this does not take into account is that this would all be a none-issue without guns. So everybody you have my word, the Rudy Eugenes of the world aside, no one is going to try and eat your face, leave your guns at home (locked if you have kids please).

The Seoul’s Dictionary

Fishing for Fuck Ups

When thinking about writing a post on my 10 months spent “studying” at Yonsei University in South Korea the task seems daunting to say the least. Take a city of 25 million Koreans, all plugged into the StarCraft zeitgeist and filled with cheap liquor, add a few million foreigners with a penchant for smashing things and an equal affinity for 20% booze at a 1.50$ a bottle, stir in with cops who behave more like taxi drivers and taxi drivers that behave more like gangsters and you have Seoul, the bright, claustrophobic, neon clad metropolis of every alcoholic’s dreams. Understandably stories abound and so the question becomes, where to begin?

I thought I would take my first bite of this monster by laying out a bit of vocabulary to help the reader better understand the region’s local slangs and idioms.

Soju:

The traditional Korean rice wine is actually nothing more than cheap paint thinner sold for 1.50$ a bottle at 20%. It tastes like I imagine a homeless man’s taint does but somehow it mixes better than anything I’ve ever drank.

Somek (etymology: Soju + Mekju [Beer] = Somek):

Somek is beer and Soju mixed into the same glass, its excellent for those times when you don’t feel like standing up anymore.

The Chinese Philosophy Drink:

To make the Chinese Philosophy drink take two shot glasses, fill the first with Coke and the second with Soju. Rest the Soju shot on top of the Coke shot and place both into a beer glass. Fill the glass with beer and chug, the shot glasses should slide towards your gullet and once the Somek is all gone there should be a shot of Coke at the end to cleanse the pallet. As the philosophy was explained to me, you have to go through the bitter to get to the sweet, which is a really deep way of saying this gets you fucked up.

Bed:

The traditional meaning of a bed still applies in the city, however it has now grown as a term to encompass all areas where Koreans are used to sleeping; bushes, sidewalks, subway floors, the middle of the fucking street and of course the hood of our stopped cab. Be warned though, when a passing Korean passes out on the hood of your cab excercise caution in how they are awakened. As for us, our cabbie honked the horn, our winno woke up and looking quite indignant, kicked the bumper, unfortunately for him he was wearing sandals.

He started up on the seat but stop by stop tipped his way off the side until he fell over, although it didn’t seem to bother him

미국 (Pronounced: Mee – Gook):

This translates literally to American but has taken on an entirely different interpretation. As no one likes to embarrass their nation and I myself am Canadian, I took to shouting out “Mee-Gook!!” whenever I was drunk enough to be getting myself in trouble or irritating the locals. Soon enough the French and Germans caught on and eventually the term came to be yelled out every time a westerner fucked up. Broken glasses and smashed bottles would soon come accompanied with cries of ” America! America! We’re American!!!!”, all in Korean of course. The way I see it this is just Karma for Americans who sewed the Canadian flags on their back, damn hoser posers!

DVD Bang:

The proper Korean term is a DVD Bong, a room which can be reserved by whomever to lay on a bed and “watch a movie” for a few hours. Don’t let the quotation marks fool you, there really is a movie, the only thing is that you’ll be seeing clips of it at best, as you should be using the time to fuck.

Putting Money In The Bank:

If you ever find yourself in Seoul and you happen to be in Sinchon (my old district), stop by Echo Bar. From 2010-2011 they had a running deal that for roughly 10$ you can drink unlimited MGD, Smirnoff and Heineken from whenever you get there to 1am, we usually got there about 6pm. After beer #5 we came to the realization we were starting to drink  more than we paid for, around beer #20 I’d banked about 30$, the more beer, the more money in bank, with logic like that who needs a job?

Pulling an Abby Road:

In Seoul one often finds one self drinking on a street corner or the deck of a convenience store only to come to an impasse. Where in this maze of alleyways can a man find a little privacy to take a piss? Luckily while hanging out in front of one of our favorite Family Marts my friends and I spotted an oasis. Over the door of the abandoned stairwell were written the words, Abbey Road and so…. Pissing down an abandoned stairwell was henceforth known as pulling an Abbey Road, we later amended the abandoned part to be more inclusive. On a side note you always wanna keep close attention to which stairwell you happen to be pissing down, otherwise you may get disoriented and find yourself fleeing a bar tender who wishes to stick his piss covered loafers up your ass.

The Upside Down Abbey Road:

Why just piss down a stairwell when you could piss up the stairwell and race yourself, trying to shake off the last of your piss before the stream reaches your feet, brilliant.

막걸리 MAN!/ Makgeolliman:

This super hero is said to drive a Ferrari and be a secret millionaire but rumors persist of him being homeless. In any event he wanders the streets of Sinchon & Hongdae clanging his town bell and calling all lovers of cheep Makgeolli, Korean milk booze. He greets his beloved clients with high pitched cries of, “I love you!!!” and offers free samples in small paper cups… then he asks for the cups back.