~ Hey guys. We found the best store on Jeju Island. It’s a badminton shop. And it’s called “Love Cock Sports”:

I wonder if they have franchising opportunities. I could see myself going back to Canada and opening a bunch of “Love Cock Sports” outlets. I bet I would make a million dollars. And that would just be from the t-shirt sales.

~ I think my favourite place right now that I actually go into and buy stuff from would have to be Sukbong Toast. There are a pair of toast restaurants across the street from each other at Kwangyang Intersection but Sukbong is the only one who seems to realize that toast is a breakfast food; and thus they go to the trouble of opening up in the morning, when I need toast the most.

Along with such Korean favourites as squid toast, jellied acorn toast and pork spine toast Sukbong also has a little item tucked away on the menu called “Bay-kon Tos-eh-teu” that consists of scrambled egg, two slices of bacon and cheese tucked between two pieces of toast along with some pickles and some cabbagey-type stuff and a bunch of bacon sauce. This is the closest thing to a Western breakfast I can hope to get around here and it costs the equivalent of around two bucks.

Bacon sauce. Koreans suck at condiments, but after I discovered bacon sauce, I decided to forgive them for mixing ketchup and mayonnaise together and calling it “salad dressing.”

~ I’ve kept rock’n’roll hours my whole life. I’m not used to getting up in the morning and going to work every day like some shnook. Some weekday mornings my brain just rebels against being awake. Especially after a good weekend, I will be hung over with serious existential dread while I drag myself through the early morning mist up the sidewalk towards my school.

Sukbong Toast helps me out a lot, though. This morning I picked up a Bay-Kon Tos-eh-teu and got right into it. And right away I could feel the oxygen starting to flow back into my brain. My senses perked up. My eyes opened up wide. It felt as though I could look around and actually see things. I could hear. All the cars and buses and taxis and all the sounds of a city waking up.

By the time I finished half the sandwich, a warm feeling of euphoria was starting to pulse through my body.

My footsteps slowed as I raised half a Sukbong sandwich up above my head towards the morning sun. I was alive. A sense of well-being was rushing through me, flowing through my body in waves of joy.

Halfway across the crosswalk I had an urge to dance. So I threw down some breakdancing moves right there on the pavement in the middle of morning traffic. I tried a headspin with fourteen seconds left on the walk light. I can’t breakdance. I suck. I fell over on my back. I hit my head. I breathed hard.

I lay there in a daze for a moment on the pavement right in front of a line of cars. I gazed up at the sky and sucked on the sweetness of a slice of pickle.

Somehow I had managed to keep a loose hold on the sandwich, which spilled its guts of shredded cabbage out onto the asphalt. My fingers were stained brown with bacon sauce.

A young woman was standing over me. She bent over and looked down at me. She puffed her cheeks out like a blowfish.

Does every Korean girl have a spraycan in her closet labelled ‘Jeans’?

I measure out the alcohol when I make a mixed drink. But it’s a matter of relative measurement, as opposed to absolute. You feel me? I like a correct ratio.

Thanks to my old buddy Google [a href=http???;; google .com slash drunken hyperlink like you don’t know where the fuck google is] I just learned that there are 30 millilitres in an ounce. Honestly, I thought there were more… but what this means is, I have been serving myself sextuple White Russians all this time.

So I had this problem, I poured in the vodka and Kahlua… added some ice… And, as previously stated, I had this problem: there wasn’t much room in the glass for the milk. Maybe I should make weaker White Russians and just have more of them. Sometimes more is good. But no, there’s something I like about a sextuple White Russian. There’s something I like about the word “sextuple.” But at the time, I didn’t even know they were sextuples. I just thought of them as normal White Russians, with nothing kinky about them.

Anyway… I had this White Russian that was practically a Black Russian for the few drops of milk I’d managed to fit in, maybe it was sort of a Grey Russian, there’s no such thing, when it occurred to me that the glass I was mixing in was too small, and my drink could benefit from being housed in a slightly larger receptacle. Since I am a bachelor living alone, you will surely forgive my meagre choice of glassware, I have two glasses, mugs actually, and one fork and one spoon and one knife, and having every dish I own dirty in the sink no longer intimidates me like in the old days. But I do own a nice cereal bowl. And a light bulb went on over my head, and the idea was hatched for Uncle Philly’s latest recipe: White Russian Frosted Flakes.

Listen to me and I will tell you what to do.

First make a White Russian. A sextuple. A quadruple or quintuple is acceptable I suppose.

Get a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

Pour the White Russian over the Frosted Flakes.

Enjoy this delicious new taste sensation… at breakfast-time! Or anytime.

I’ve just finished a serving. I have tears in my eyes as I type this. Because deep down inside, I know for a fact that I do not deserve to enjoy anything this much.

There are fireworks going off over Sinjeju right now.