Nice to hear from you Kang. Quite a surprise. What’s paying for your bibimbap nowadays? Sentimental for old times? That’s not allowed until you have killed all your enemies, stolen the kingdom, and retreated with twenty concubines into luxurious degeneration.
Me? I’m in critter shock, trying to work out where a place called Australia went. Yeah, I know, you want to say that it never existed except in my imagination… Whatever. Stuff around here in Australia is strange. In the twelve years that I was away something has happened to my head, or to the natives, or both. Members of the species under 30, male or female, are now mostly covered from head to toe (and apparently on more private parts too) with amazingly ugly tattoos. To harmonize with this, uh, branding, every orifice in their body is punctured with silver studs, punched through the skin, and no doubt receiving coded messages from another planet. Today I saw one of these beings with a bar-code tattooed on her arm. I suppose that makes it easier at the cosmic checkout where they are bought as pets. Meanwhile the elders of the original tribe, fed on a pure diet of sugar and pain killers, drift about like enormous balloons, and make grunting sounds that sound for all the world like swamp frogs. I speak here of my ethnic forebears, the Anglos.
The streets are now also populated with huge numbers of celestial citizens pretending to be Chinese students, while the government, apparently in fear that they will wake up one morning to find Beijing’s blood red banner flying on the Prime Minister’s limousine, has now admitted an equal number of Indians (almost invisible here twelve years ago) to work in the 7/11 shops when they are not coding math to keep the country running, Original Australians of course all gave up maths in junior high school, when they had learned enough to fill out a lotto ticket. I guess the devious hidden master plan is that the Chinese and the Indians can fight each other to the death while the Anglo Aussies get on with drinking beer.