Chapter 33
I love vuvuzelas. Beyond just rupturing eardrums, they're versatile tools with plenty of uses.
"The vuvuzela's viciousness became infamous during the South African World Cup over a decade ago. They say if angels have a horn of ruin to fuck up the world, humans have the vuvuzela."
Aje aje↗ bara aje↘ bara seung aje↗ moji svaha↗
I'd tied down Seonyeong, the one possessed by the lust ghost, nice and tight to the bed. To keep her filthy, fluid-smeared body from clinging to me, I'd queued up a YouTube remix of the Heart Sutra to dull her movements.
"A vuvuzela isn't some grand instrument, really. More like a tactical eardrum destroyer. The key is the massive mental blow it delivers. If humans have minds, you think ghosts or demons don't?"
Maha Prajna Paramita Heart Sutra↑
Maha Prajna Paramita Heart Sutra↑
"No need to worry too much. The one I got from Daiso is a joke compared to the real South African ones—maybe a quarter of the power. Internet reviews say the plastic build mutes that deep, resonant tone. Yeah, no burst eardrums, but deafness is still on the table."
Observing the forms of the Tathagata↗
Deep in Prajna Paramita↗ sees the five skandhas all empty↘ transcends all suffering↗
"Keep squirming and I'm in trouble too. This coat's my only one—if it gets dirty, it's back to the coin laundry. So let's keep it clean, end this without the mess. Like a girlfriend texting her army-boyfriend it's over."
Shariputra form is not different from emptiness↑
emptiness not different from form form is precisely emptiness↗ emptiness precisely form↘
feeling perception impulses consciousness likewise↑
"Let's see... how to handle a female lust ghost stuck to a guy's body..."
Suddenly, the sealed grimoire unfurled with a rustle, flipping open to the exact page detailing lust ghost exorcism.
Lust ghosts are humans who, in past lives, were obsessed with lust—indecent, lascivious souls who fucked countless men or women. Even in death, they can't let go, wandering the nine heavens.
Or the opposite: virgins who died without ever tasting it, total virgins seething with unfulfilled craving.
Two types, two methods. The obsessed kind lack self-control, so the exorcist grabs 'em by the hair and forces it—destroy the lust conduit or hit 'em with shock therapy till sex is the last thing on their mind.
The deprived kind? More resentment than craving. Counsel 'em gently, hear their story, fulfill the wish. Wandering grudge-holders just want someone to listen and grant their desires.
"That's what it says."
Shariputra all dharmas have the mark of emptiness↗ unborn undying↗
unstained undefiled not increasing not decreasing therefore in emptiness no form↘
"You? Total lust-crazed bitch vibes—no counseling needed. I'm no psych major anyway."
What I'm holding's a vuvuzela, not a psych textbook.
"Love SM play? Me too! Tie me tighter, yank harder! Fuck me rougher, spank me harder!"
"Nothing wrong with that."
Your turn, vuvuzela. Show 'em South Africa's mighty spirit!
BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
I shoved the vuvuzela into her fake pussy—the lust conduit—and it belched out a thunderous roar.
"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
That's when the knock came: tap tap tap.
Pizza delivery, right on time.
"One regular potato bacon pizza and a hundred-pack of chili hot sauce... that it?"
"Yep."
The delivery guy, sweating bullets, handed over the pizza and sauce bundle. Must've freaked at the screams piercing the motel's soundproofing and echoing down the hall. I shoved 20,000 won in his hand, sent him packing, then approached the still-blaring vuvuzela.
"Destroy the lust conduit or shock her so hard she forgets sex exists."
No feeling no perception no impulses no consciousness
no eye no ear no nose no tongue no body no mind↑ no form no sound no smell no taste no touch no objects no eye realm down to no mind realm↓
I poured the 500ml Coke that came with the pizza down S-man's throat. What a drained sex victim needs is sugar supreme—Pepsi, right?
As expected, S-man reacted fast.
"Ugh! Kek! Not... enough fizz!"
"Your Pepsi choice. Tough it out."
"Grrrk... hack! Sweeter... gimme Coke!"
"Korea's economy's in the shitter and you're whining for pricey Coke. That's why you S-man types suck."
I finally force-fed him the whole bottle of under-fizzy Pepsi, then slapped his cheeks smack smack. Barely conscious, he clocked his nakedness and scrambled for his clothes. Looked like a cheating drunk housewife.
"Fuck... what the hell happened... I swear I..."
"Got hooked by a shit ghost, fucked up bad, nearly died. Calm down, replenish your yang first. Pizza's here."
S-man, shriveled from essence drain, dove into the hearty potato bacon pizza without hesitation. Half-dead and revived, life's grip must be fierce—even I'd cram anything down an empty gut.
"Listen while you eat. You fucked a transgender today."
As I squeezed chili sauce packs into the empty Coke bottle one by one, S-man turned from his pizza binge.
"What the... ugh! That bitch! No, that's a dude all the way!"
"Looks female. But post-op trans, been railing guys like you. Check the ID. Resident number ends with 1."
S-man checked the ID I tossed him, face twisting like he might puke, but hunger won—he chewed and swallowed.
"Th-this fucking bitch... no! Fucking dude!"
"Your rage is justified. But technically, she's a victim too. Female lust ghost latched on, turned her that way."
"So... you knew from the street, that's why you tailed us?"
"Why else would I lay out a mat like some beggar? Wasn't hunting Jesus freaks for heaven when you popped up."
"Kkh! I even suspected you at the café!"
S-man bowed, snot streaming. I patted his shoulder, doing Jesus's job.
"Own your sin, beg forgiveness—that's it. Jesus forgives cock-brained strays like you. But not gays."
"Wait, I fucked a guy... you mean?!"
"Knew it was a dude? Gay, hell-bound. Didn't? Barely repent and saved. I'll witness—believe in Jesus, heaven-bound?"
"Heaven, yes!"
"Swear never to fuck dudes again?"
"I swear!"
"Heaven it is."
I crossed him as he knelt, head-banging the floor, then offered the remaining chili packs.
"Now empty these into the Coke bottle."
"This is...?"
"Jesus forgives, gives heaven shots—but your will matters. Think final trial."
BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Show that uncontrollable lust bitch reality's spicy side from behind."
"...I'll help."
"From now, full exorcism starts. Here, you're my acolyte."
"Are you... a priest?"
"Nah. But their subcontractor."
Exorcist priests tie one possessed for days, months, barely send one to heaven. Me? Rocket-delivery to paradise, like Coupang man.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
We crammed a hundred chili packs into the empty Coke bottle and faced the bitch shaking the motel with noise pollution via vuvuzela. I blessed S-man's forehead.
"Believe in Jesus, your S-penis won't turn L-penis. Believe?"
"I believe. Amen."
All set, we shook the bottles solemnly in the grim mood.
Chaka chaka chaka chaka!
The dark red chili sauce mix inside was Korea's masochist special: Buldak sauce, called "chili" hot sauce with zero actual chilies—pure evil.
Did the lust ghost sense her doom? She lashed her tongue long and screw-like, twisting to seduce. But we weren't gay for dudes—blood rushed to our fists, not dicks.
"Acolyte, she's rampaging clueless—sprinkle holy water."
"Yes."
S-man popped the sealed Coke cap and lightly splashed chili sauce on the lust ghost's face. Thinking it bukkake play? Eyes wide, mouth gaping hippo-style.
Thick chili sauce hit nose, mouth, eyes, every mucosa—exactly one second later.
"KIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Effect confirmed, S-man and I grooved to the Heart Sutra remixed woodfish beat, dousing her madly with holy water.