Howling Horrors a Distant Rumor by the Sea

Linh Dinh

[Vung Tau, 10/25/22]

Life is so laid back and pleasant in Vung Tau, Vietnam’s 10th largest city. Unlike in Saigon or Hanoi, there are no traffic jams here, and most sidewalks are uncluttered enough for ambling. Though rarely hired, pedicabs still roll.

When I was a kid in Saigon half a century ago, parents would scold their lazy kids, “If you don’t study, you’ll become a pedicab driver.” With so few left, that warning no longer bites, so lottery ticket sellers are the new threat.

If you don’t shoehorn that trigonometry into your cranium already jammed with biophysics, advanced chemistry and babbling English, you’ll end up pushing losing chances on strangers all day long, with many not even bothering to look up as you pester.

Trying to sell lottery tickets to a young woman having lunch on the sidewalk, an old woman notices a full bowl of soup, so she asks, “Why don’t you eat that?”

“It’s too salty.”

“My father used to waste food when he was young.” After pausing to let this sink in, her face turns severe. “As an old man, he didn’t have enough to eat.”

The young woman says nothing. Old woman walks away.

Walking out, the eatery owner asks me, “What was that?”

“The old woman just told her she shouldn’t waste her food.”

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Giving life lessons while selling lottery tickets! If you were so smart, why are you selling lottery tickets?”

On another morning, his wife goes berserk because he has apparently splattered a drop or two of water into boiling oil in the wok, “Stop denying it! Of course you did it! Nobody else is here?!”

To his mumbling protest that he’s sick of all this yelling, she screams even louder, “So you’re sick, eh?! If you leave me, 80 guys will jump in!”

Why 80 and not 8 or 90? A dozen strangers within earshot ignore this sustained outburst, and so does the husband, for he’s clearly outmatched, a Pee Wee Herman vs. Mike Tyson atrocity. She’d scream until he’s deaf.

When I see her later that day, she’s smiling and bubbly, as usual. She’s so chubby and chirpy, it’s easy to assume she’s just soft all over.

“More rice vermicelli?” she invites.

“Tomorrow,” I smile.

Tucked in the dark out back, her husband toils. From 5AM to 11PM each day, they work, making good cheap food.

On morning, some dark, gnarly man plops himself across the street behind a basket of snails. When a prospective customer shouts, “Do you have giant black snails?” mouthy broad has to add, “How about giant yellow snails?”

Yellow snails are crop ruining pests no one eats. As snail man shoots her a death stare, she beams with mirth, delighted by her own witticism. Life loving bitch just won’t shut up! How can you not love her?

Give us this day our normality, boredom included, even tedium, for we don’t need any more Schwab, Gates, Harari, Zuckerberg, Wallensky and Soros schemed surprises, and no more bullshitty explanations from the likes of Chomsky, Goodman and Unz, etc.

I hope you realize we’re being played. As you struggle to pay your bills, if not living in a car or under a bridge, your “democratically elected leaders” have sent billions of your tax dollars to a super corrupt clown who once played the piano on TV with his dick. Before being lauded as the new Churchill, that was Zelensky’s greatest legacy. At least Volodymyr didn’t win the 2022 Nobel Peace Prize, though if he succeeds in vaporizing all of Ukraine, maybe they’ll give it to him next year.

Penis on keyboard was so brilliant, transgender comedian Jordan Gray has just performed it again, this time hidden by nothing. On 10/21/22, “she” promised to “make history” before appearing on BBC Four to sing:

I look out in the faces in this room, and wish that I could crawl back in the womb.

And start again, against God’s plans, with different glands and smaller hands.

I wish the world could finally understand: I’m more than just a female Russell Brand.

To start again against God’s plans sounds an awful lot like The Great Reset so heartily endorsed by Jews and “progressives.” This chick with dick then dramatically peeled off “her” pink suit to reveal pretty nice boobs and a tiny pecker, not that the audience asked for any of it. That’s today’s Great Britain.

What do you expect, though, from a decapitated and castrated country that’s shedding prime ministers like piss-drenched underwear. Too many pints on an aging prostate, mate.

Pressed by a journalist to define “woman” seven months ago, Rishi Sunak ducked and dodged, “Like I said, I would agree completely with what the prime minister said at the prime minister’s question time. I thought he answered that question very well.” Repeating the above in a panicky voice, Sunak refused to define “woman” as “an adult human female.”

As the UK’s new prime minister, perhaps Sunak can burp up a few words of his own, but that’s asking a lot, considering cants, cliches, slogans, bromides and mumbled nonsense are all we can expect from Western “leaders” these days. For contrast, read Putin’s speeches.

Tonight in Vung Tau, I have a cafe to myself. Newly opened, it hasn’t gained a loyal clientele. Across the street is Nail Beauty. Dying at home, English still encroaches, and so does sick or twisted American culture. The Woman King is showing.

From my perch by the sea, the tsunami of howling horrors from the West is a distant rumor, but it will hit me too. Still basking in normality, I offer you trivia, for everything that’s ordinary is not just beautiful, but sacred.

The US now has 100,000 soldiers in the European “theater,” with the 101st Airborne snugly deployed at Romania’s border with Ukraine, to send “a very clear message to Russia.” Constantly smiling, Charlie D’Agata of CBS can’t hide his glee at this escalation. “They’re ready to roll at any minute.” Tragic, this adolescent language.

YouTube’s closed captions explain that this is one of America’s “most elite aerosol divisions,” and that’s absolutely correct. Before they can do much air assaulting, these Screaming Eagles will be turned into pink mist.

Back in Midtown, D’Agata will choke with laughter, for nothing’s more cheerful than to be spared a spectacular death. Fixated on screens, we’ll all watch.

[Vung Tau, 10/26/22]

[Vung Tau, 10/25/22]

[Vung Tau, 10/25/22]

[Vung Tau, 10/23/22]

Source: Postcards From The End