Monday, November 21, 2016

Wealthy White Male can't afford to give Burmese child a proper education

Image result for stuttgart waldorf schoolImage result for german currywurst school grossThen we traveled to the land of order and discipline: Germany. Popo spent a couple weeks with his family in Togo.     Dingbang has been getting pretty sassy lately. My extravagant, luxurious parenting style has gone to his head. My childhood was similar as I was the son of the wealthiest Jew in the world. Scott Sr. sent me to a Waldorf school in Stuttgart, Germany. This is where I learned most of my languages. At age 6, I spoke only english and hebrew, but I quickly learned French, Mandarin, Spanish and most importantly, German. German is my second favorite language because to truly be fluent, one must hold a state of constant anger. Waldorf schools now spread across the world, 881 worldwide, but my little brick prison was the very first. Founded in 1919 by Rudolf Steiner, it was made to be the first school to implement social justice in education. According to Boarding School Finder, a service of Internet Course Finders, “The anthroposophical approach guarantees that every child will get support depending on their individual development and maturity status.” I am not sure what Waldorf school they speak of, but in the 70s, Waldorf in Stuttgart was a cold, dark, godless place. We had electricity in our rooms, but we often lost the privilege of running water. Everyday for 8 years we ate Pork knuckles and currywurst. Pork knuckles are literally the joints of pigs, and currywurst is random old sausages covered in disgusting sauces. I took Dingbang to this place so that he may suffer, because I love him. When we arrived in Stuttgart, I was greatly disappointed. As a young, female teacher walked Dingbang and I around the facility, I was given a pamphlet. I read the pamphlet to find the horrifying reality of this place. I quote, “The curriculum is integrated, inter-disciplinary and artistic. Thus imagination and creativity which are most important for the individual as well as for society are awakened and developed.” end quote. Where is the justice? Where is the order? Where are the pork knuckles? I suppose a lot has changed in the waldorf world since last I attended in 1970something. Not to mention that for my income level the price of admission was astronomical, 60000 euros per semester (64000 USD approx). We met back up with Popo empty handed, we had gained no education.Image result for imagination spongebobImage result for german stuff

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Wealthy White Male Meets Kaboose, the Absolute Monarch

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Oh man, is Oman a place to visit. Tourism in Oman has blossomed in the last forty years. Oman’s capital in Muscat was named the number 2 place to visit in 2012. Thats pretty good!
It is for this reason I decided to go there with Popo and Dingbang. Popo was scared at first, the Arabic language gives him headaches, but many of the people involved in tourism spoke english. We went out to dinner at a very nice restaurant the first night and it only cost about 30 Omani rial (only about 75 USD for the three of us). I had a Mashuai, which is a whole roasted Kingfish. Dazzling, very delicious, particularly fancy in Omani culture. This traditional meal satiated our bellies, and we went back to the hotel. Our room cost 60 rial, or $150 USD. This price was well worth it, the service was exquisite. A man named Walood helped us to our room and I tipped him a hot 50 rial note. He was very a very personable lad. Muscat is a bustling city. The Sultan, or king of Oman is Qaboos bin Said al Said. He’s 76, but I’d say he looks pretty good for his age. He shall henceforth be referred to as “King Kaboose”.

I requested to meet him, and he agreed. We met up at the Al Alam Palace, the ceremonious palace of the Omani Sultanate. It is a very unique, somewhat small palace of bright colors and unorthodox architecture. It was interesting to have a meal with an absolute monarch. King Kaboose overthrew his father in 1970, and has since kept a perfect complexion and a very classy beard. His beard has turned white, his turban has become colorful, but his spirit of Omani pride has held steadfast. Kaboose refused to be swept into Saudi Arabia’s influence, as much of the region was. This idea of independence has made Oman the center of non-oil industry in the GCC area. Kaboose’s kitchen servants brought us delectable kebabs of beef, grilled to perfection. We also had Mashuai, a kingfish dish I found unappealing after one bite. I like most foods, but this was nasty. The Kaboose took no offense. Popo and Dingbang sat quietly whilst Kaboosey and I talked about economic sectors and such. What a good week.
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Thursday, November 10, 2016

Wealthy White Male opens a can of Whoop-Ass

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Image result for hagia sophia entranceNow me must travel to a land with the same name as my sixth favorite protein (Pork, Crustacean, Chicken, Beef, Venison, Turkey). I say we must because my whole life has led up to the moment I entered the land of Turkey. I met this woman online, her name is Berna. Berna is the most beautiful woman. I’ve never actually spoke to her but we’re friends on instagram. We connected and she told me to transfer 125000 Turkish Lira (35000 USD) to her and meet her at the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. 35k is a drop in the bucket and I didn’t think much of it. I met her at the entrance of Hagia Sophia.

The Hagia Sophia was quite beautiful, I visited the museum which cost 40 Lira. Dingbang would've recieved free access, as he is only 9. The Byzantine architecture was astonishing. Constructed in 537, it has a rich history as a basilica, a mosque, a basilica again, a mosque again, then a museum. It is currently a museum. While I was waiting, I got some Uzbek Pilaf, a traditional rice and lamb dish. Simply exquisite. The Turks know how to cook, lemme tell ya.

 I waited for about an hour, but she never came. As I walked back to the hotel I heard a gunshot and a basket just near me exploded, so I ran. More gunshots followed and I found Popo and Dingbang tied to chairs in our hotel room. A man creeped out from the bathroom with a gun in hand. He introduced himself as Berna Vago, a hitman from Izmir tasked with killing me after stealing much of my fortune. That’s all he got out before I pulled out my emergency knife and stabbed him. I stabbed him quickly in chest whilst I grabbed the gun from his hand, expelled the magazine and and hit Berna swiftly upside the head with it. He was very surprised at my speed and agility when threatened with death. Berna was not the most beautiful woman, he was just a hitman who wasn’t very good at his job. I suspect he thought I would be an easy mark, but my lack of emotional stress gave me the distinct advantage of being in full control of my body and mind. Stabbing that man felt real good. Unfortunately, there were more incompetent hitmen running up the stairs to the 4th floor where we were. Dingbang fashioned a rope from Popos quilt collection while Popo and I defended the doorway with knife and gun, tooth and nail. We held the door shut tightly but one bullet managed to split the grain of the hardwood, penetrating the skin of my ankle. It hurt like a mother trucker, but the pain only fueled my strength. I tore the granite counter from the kitchen cupboards and ordered Popester to open the door on three. He obliged and he flung the door open and I hurled the massive chunk at the men. I suspect they were crushed. The silence didn’t last long and the pounding soon returned. Dingbang tied the quilted rope to window AC unit and informed us of his completion. I told Dingbang to slowly exit the building and wait for us in our van in the east lot. As I spoke, the hitmen overpowered us for a moment, allowing time to toss a pipe bomb into the room and run. (cue the slow motion) Popo and I immediately ran to the open window, arms flailing, gunshots poured through the now open door, as the hitmen backed up to the stairs at the end of the corridor. Popo’s fear of heights almost got the best of him, but I got him to leave the window sill as the time bomb ticked at 15 seconds. Popo wept as he slowly crept down the fabric like a spider. He wasn’t going fast enough for me to follow him. The bomb was at 5 seconds, a bead of sweat fell from my brow, I had noticed an awning to the right of me, just one floor down. Without hesitation I lept like a squirrel and clung to the side of the awning. The bomb set a blaze of glory flying through the window behind me. My level of mass was too much for the Turkish awning, and one side snapped, and I was left dangling from a swinging awning three stories up. I clambered onto the window sill of a third floor room. I elbowed the glass and shattered both the window and my bone. I bloodily slithered into the dark room to find a German couple scoodlypooping. I asked the naked man “Hast du eine pistole?” He did have a gun. I rushed into the lobby a mess, the front desk flooded with guests asking about the loud noise on the 4th floor. I spotted one of Bernas henchmen and popped him square in the tushy, incapacitating him. I joined my friends in the van and we drove to the airport. We didn’t want to risk spending any extra time in a Turkish hospital. Image result for van

Wealthy White Male is a Jew

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In the past, we have visited both Popo and Dingbangs hometowns. That’s where I found them. But now, on this glorious November day, we shall travel to my origin. I was born in the small town of Metula, Israel to a very Jewish mother and a very wealthy father. Metula is on the Israel Lebanon border, 135 miles from Jerusalem. It’s population is a mighty 2500. In Israel, it is seen as a wealthy community which draws Israeli tourists from around the country, especially schoolchildren. Metula has a rich history dating back to the Roman-Byzantine era. But who cares about that, the 14th richest man in the world was born there. I started out with only a small loan of 4 million shekels (1 million USD), which is nothing compared to what I’ve built. I say that not in a bragging way but because that is the way we need to think. Israel is a beautiful land with beautiful people. My family greeted me as I entered my childhood home. We shook hands and I went to my childhood bedroom to cry. I cried about my loss of innocence, I cried about being a 40-something year old virgin, and I cried about the rush of emotion I felt looking at my star of david bedspread. This poster I made hung above the head of my bed. This was and is my vision of God. I have never been artistically or creatively or intellectually talented, but when I was 8, my mother bought me some paint. I closed my eyes, and this was the end result. This is the coming messiah. Image result for jewImage result for israel mansions

Anyway, I showed my son my home and introduced Popo and Dingbang to my many manservants. I told Lucille to make her finest Shakshouka for my boy. It takes a few days for a full tour of the house, so I decided our time would be best spent here if Popo and Dingbang didn’t see the whole facility. Most people don’t know of my Jewish heritage, but my Grandfather paid the Nazis to let his family go to the Holy land for the holocaust. In 1956, construction began on the largest private home in Israel to date. Our biggest regret is when a Scot married the only daughter of the last Horowitz of our bloodline in 1694. This is why our name is Henderson, but we’re super Jewish. Dingbang has epilepsy, and our extravagance was too much for the poor boy. So we left with bellies full of Falafel and heads full of Yamaka.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

Wealthy White Male Takes Second Place In Mongolian Wrestlemania

So now Im in mongolia, right? And Im just minding my own business with my new son and best friend, eating my traditional boortsog (I love animal fat, it cost 12500 Tugrik, or $5.50 USD) and this old man walks up to me speaking mongolian, so I thought he was asking me to participate in a mongolian festival, Naadam. I had heard of it briefly, it seemed quite interesting.Mongolian-wrestler-6485125.jpgImage result for mongolian food

What I had not heard of was the art of mongolian wrestling. I had just signed up to be in a tournament with 1000 other chubby guys who compete to throw each other on the ground. Literally, you can punch, kick, spit, bite, headbutt, whatever, you just can’t let anything touch the ground but your cowboy boots. Apparently this competition is a big deal in Mongolia. Anyway, Popo signed up as well, also not knowing what he was signing up for. After it was explained to us, we both vomited. We would wear cowboy boots, a diaper, a v neck crop top and a hat that looked like Mulan when she was pretending to be Ping.

300px-Naadamceremony2006.jpg Due to our sheer size, Popo and I did very well in the early stages of competition. It wasn’t until the round of 64 we ran into trouble. We both came out with narrow victories. Our matches became more public, and the Mongolians became upset that 2 foreigners were still in the ring. By the time there were only 8 left, people were furious. Our opponents fought for their hon or, and the honor of their country. I slaughtered the tiny ninja set before me, as did Popo to his short, flabby opponent. With only 4 left, I now faced the predestined winner of the Wrestling tournament, Batbayar, or “Strong-Joy”. A lumbering mass of muscle, I had to use my endurance, quickness, and strength to overpower the beast. I did overpower him, as did Popo his enemy. Popo and I now had two choices: Fight each other, equally matched in every way, until we literally die, or pull a Hunger Games, and threaten to kill ourselves. Naturally, we chose option 1. We donned our mongolian silk, stood before the Nadaam crowd, waved, they booed, and I let Popo win. I couldn’t watch my friend suffer in the eternal torment of an infinite wrestling match with me. It was the right thing to do, he was awarded 45000000 Tugrik, and we went on our merry way. Dingbang enjoyed all of this immensely, to watch his new papa crush all those men, it filled him with joy.Mongolia_JoelSantos_19.jpg

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

Wealthy White Male adopts a boy he found in a Burmese Garbage pile

Image result for myanmar povertyFollowing Popo’s brilliant experiences in Tokyo, he felt the need to do something nice for others. We travelled to Myanmar to help build houses for impoverished communities along the Yangon River. To gain full access to resources in the area, we used Myanmar’s corruption against them. We gave them money which they “promised to give to the poor”. We knew they wouldn’t, but we needed access in order to give money and food directly. I busted out my australian work boots, my long white socks and my visor. I was ready to pretend to be a good person. We were working just outside a village our second day when a young boy named Phyu approached us and and gave us some bread. Such a little cho, that boy. He looked to be around 8, I gave him 641 million Myanmar Kyat, or a half a million dollars. I later found out that that boy opened a classy restaurant in the city which employed only those from his village. Phyu revitalised a whole community with my help. I felt only pride at my accomplishment. We continued along that river, bringing a caravan of bread and pulled pork. Burmese people love pulled pork, especially the ones who haven’t a real meal in days. Seeing the adoration of the peasants in Myanmar gave Popo a real sense of fulfillment. The picture here is of a boy named Dingbang, which means “protect the country”. He is an orphan. On our final day, a family invited us for a traditional Burmese meal. It consisted of a bowl of soup, flavorful rice, and several meat curries, along with various vegetables and dips. While we enjoyed this delightful meal, Dingbang, the boy from before, snuck into our plane with the rest of the pulled pork caravan. That evening, when I found the crying boy, I was greatly troubled. I have never been very in touch with my emotions. I am unfit to raise a child. Fortunately, Dingbang was 13, and when you turn 13, you’re a young man. I think I can handle a young man. Dingbang had 15 kyat in his pocket, no shirt, no shoes, a few warts on his feet, but he was a handsome lad. He will fit nicely with Popo and I. His favorite food is Palata, a Burmese flatbread which is quite good. His favorite color is green, and he speaks Burmese, a Mandarin dialect which I speak, and limited English. Dingbang Choru Henderson, heir to the throne of Henderson Enterprises.Image result for burmese language