Van's Ramblings, Encounters, and other Shaggy Dog Stories

The title says it all.

Instead of all your stories over nearly every thread, here is a place just for you. Post whatever story you want. Get liquored up and post whatever rambling memory you have. Talk about your dad, talk about your childhood, give lots and lots of unsolicited but sage advice. Bullshit as much as you want. This is your chance to go wild.

You see, this gives everybody a choice. If we want to read, which I'm sure many people will, we can. If we don't, then all is cool. And remember...no one is allowed to take the piss out of you. Why? Because this is your place...your house so to speak.

Go wild Van. Look forward to checking in, especially now that a new Korando is on the horizon in 2024.

Just a small edit. If you want a story from Van, just request your favorite one. I'm sure that he will be only too happy to oblige...again.

Personally, I haven't heard about the cats for some time. How are they Van?

Good idea, Rye. I'd like to request a story about Van's first bicycle. I recall him mentioning it once but I can't remember the particulars.

I don’t think he takes requests, but I am hungry and I remember in a thread titled “The best hamburgers in Seoul” Van dropping in to say the best hamburger in Seoul was hands down the one his dad used to make in Canada. He had never tried making it in Korea.

I am just wondering if in the years since that post Van had been able to replicate that hamburger seeing as Korea has gotten a lot better in regards to some foreign ingredients,  and could he share the recipe here?

There you go Van...3 people wanting to hear stories already, although mine is really more of an update. I'm very interested in reading Billy and August's requests. I'm a bit vague of memory (if I can say that). Although the hamburger story does ring a bell.

I think it’s darn considerate of you to create this safe space for Van, Jethro. I know I give him a hard time sometimes because his often amusing shaggy dog stories tend to be dropped into the wrong place.  No one who comes into this thread should feel they have the right to be perplexed, vexed and especially annoyed with Van’s contributions here.  Ok, perplexed will be difficult to avoid. I am sure there will be times when we question the accuracy of certain details, but a fun atmosphere should be maintained in here. 

Cheers August! For once I'm kind of being serious. Same as you man, way too much flack being delivered, usually for good reason but still...100% get what you are saying.
And yeah, that has to be a solid rule...no pissing on Van, here at least. If someone has a problem, start a new thread if something is in question. Or at least that's what I'm going to do.
Anyway, enough about what I think...it's all yours Van! Take it in the spirit it's intended.

I'm curious as to which Star Wars character is Van's favorite, and why it is Chief Chirpa.

Nah.

Nah.

Says "Nah" and then goes and fulfills my request for the hamburger story, but in a different thread.  Way to show who's boss, Van!

I, Cornelius Reyholme Blartling Jr., jolted awake around 4:00 am on a chilly November Tuesday. My dear and faithful feline companions, Cheddar, 28th of her name, and Alfredo, 31st of his name, daintily clawed out small portions of my handsome and chiseled face in what must have been affection. This was a nighttime tradition we liked to play when it was time for feeding and smooching. I stepped out of bed and plodded the endlessly long stretch of two and half steps to the mysteriously padlocked cupboard. The cupboard was in the kitchen section of the generous goshiwon my hagwon provided. I checked over my shoulder before pulling the hidden key out of my thick and wiry mutton chops. Cheddar rewarded my suspicion with a swift rake across my strikingly blue eye. I laughed, another nightly routine. I picked up some newspaper my friends use instead of a litter box, and quickly dabbed some of the blood from my face. A sudden hiss from Alfredo reminded me of why I journeyed to this distant part of my perfectly adequate living quarters. As I unlocked the cupboard, I heard a faint rumbling and tinkling sound from inside. Before I could open the swinging door, a deafening sound emerged followed by a sudden wave of small and heavy shapes which burst out and carried us all on a river of pain and disorientation. I was smashed against the corner of the room, stars swimming in my beautiful blue eyes. I couldn’t help but laugh, evidently I did some shopping the night before after the 3-stop (dinner, drinks, noraebang). What caused the commotion was approximately 100 glass bottles of soju and an insurmountable amount of canned tuna. I picked my healthy and very heavy body off the floor and stepped around some shattered glass to a couple of undamaged delights. I had to call my friends for their snack which was strange, they usually would be swatting and biting me by now in impatience. However, I scanned the floor and saw them crushed beneath the canned mountainous monstrosity which had formed in my living room, the square rug next to the bed. I howled to the moon in anguish, but soon after I picked my friends up by the tails and hurled them with all my strength to the ex-friend corner with all the rest. Certainly too tired for rest, I loaded up my coat with tuna for the potential friends outside, put on my yellow cap, and then hastily added seven or eight bottles of soju as well. I opened the door and meant to carefully go down the attic stairs when a bottle rolled out and I clumsily stepped directly on it. I crashed and flopped all the way down to the first floor of the hagwon. Luckily all the bottles survived, the same couldn’t be said for the tuna. Covered in brine, I pulled out a soju and seemed to inhale it, there’s nothing quite like the first of the night. I made the familiar walk to the local park, dropping opened cans of tuna like a trail of breadcrumbs in my wake. Smiling fondly at the suddenly empty green bottle, I was overtaken with a rage so red hot my vision blurred. I whipped the bottle at the nearest parked car, and howled once again at the full moon. How could I forget?! It had been less than an hour since I woke up, and not ONCE did I think of… of… my father. “Father!''I  cried to the sky. “I won’t be able to continue the line of Blartling, father… I can’t.” I football kicked a furry friend nosing around my tuna stained socks, his yowls getting fainter as he was launched in the distance. I polished off two more bottles in quick succession as I finally made my way to the park. A vagrant curiously gave me a nod of respect as he observed my bulging coat, stained breeches, and bloody shoes. It was only marred by the fact that he was aggressively urinating on the swingset. What the hell, I thought, when in Rome. We sang, we urinated, we drank the rest of my bottles while the undulating wail of cats seemed to close in around us. Once the tuna and soju supply was healthily exhausted, I snaked out my arms in rapid thrusts to each side. Two friends were caught in my vice grip, not yet familiar that they were safe and loved. “You are Cheddar the 29th”, I said. “And you, my sweet, are Alfredo the 32nd. Come, come, I have such sights to show you”. I threw my head back and let out one final howl to the moon, the ghost of my father was surely watching over me tonight. Speaking of my father, waygook.org would surely appreciate this story about…

Says "Nah" and then goes and fulfills my request for the hamburger story, but in a different thread.  Way to show who's boss, Van!

Hahahaha...for real! That was a big middle finger. Rotten sod doesn't appreciate having his own place to do as he sees fit. I wonder how he'll answer my enquiry about the cats into a family recipe thread.... I've got some ideas...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SbXiMHjT0Y