It was a brusk wintry day as I shuffled my way through the various crowds clogging the dingy Seoul streets. I had traveled alone, deciding that bringing my wilted old mother all the way across the world for such a classy event would be a setback. Clutching my belongings, I powered through the clumps of strangers speaking the language I only wished I could understand. At one point in my treacherous journey, the smack of a patent leather purse against my face startled me to a halt. However, I was too excited for what was to come to give a damn about such an insolent stranger’s offense. I hastily brushed the glistening blonde strands of my mane away from my white starchy mayonnaise hued face and continued to glide along toward my point of interest. Today was a very special—…no—… historical day. I would be meeting my ultimate K-POP bias: Park Yoochun, in the flesh. No words could be used to describe the sheer excitement that rattled my bones that morning as I hurried my way over to the fan meet location. I bore many gifts, which I had carefully and thoughtfully prepared in the months leading up to this holy occasion. First was an expensive red wine, Cabernet Sauvignon. (If I got oppa drunk…maybe he’d marry me in his confusion.) Second was a rather expansive selection of bath salts and body lotions which I thought would particularly be of good use for Yoochun, who I imagine on most days smells like some of my favorite scents: Rainkissed leaves, Wild Honeysuckle, Mahogany Woods, Bow Ties & Bourbon, and lastly, Dark Kiss. I could imagine it now… the tantalizing scent of his cologne…I couldn’t wait to get close enough to sniff his neck like a well- trained hound. Anyway, back to the gifts. I had also prepared some hand knit rainbow boxer briefs of the finest cashmere wool, and lastly a framed picture of my own face poorly photoshopped onto the other members of JYJ. I’m only a Yoochun fan, so I don’t really give a damn about Jaffit and Jakeem. I transported these gifts in a sliver rhinestoned victoria’s secret bag that I had gotten free for buying $500 dollar's worth of thongs and g-strings in-store. 

When the fan meet had finally commenced I was overcome with abundant joy. Waiting in line with a bunch of ugly es seemed a small punishment for the prize I would soon behold. But first I had to get through the 2 stooges. As I walked up to Jaffit I could see the bones popping out of his cheeks. Even the 80 layers of cakey BB cream couldn’t hide the scars from that jaw shaving. I wondered to myself whether he had gotten the main antagonist of Texas Chainsaw Massacre to perform the deed. He greeted me with an excessive smile and I thought in that moment that I was meeting Kim Chi from Ru Paul’s drag race. Maybe my bootleg circle lenses were starting to mess with my vision. I didn’t really want Jaffit’s signature but he was too quick for me to stop him so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sell it on eBay later and make a quick buck. After Jaffit I had to power through Jakeem, who was wearing more eyeliner than all the rabid fangirls in the room combined—maybe even more than Jaffit. I didn’t want his soggy signature. The powder from his foundation had sprinkled itself all around the collar of his excessively plunging v-neck t-shirt. The inky blobs on his chest said something like “Always eat the cake” or something and the other one was some sort of mutant beetle I think. I couldn’t tell because I passed by him so quickly. He seemed a little disappointed when he went to sign my album, but was met with my pasty white hand instead, signaling for him to cease all contact with me. 

Finally the moment had come. It was time for me and Yoochun to meet face to face. My legs were shaking uncontrollably as I inched my way over to his section of the table. “Hi..” a voice remarked in a grandfatherly mumble. I opened my eyes and was now met with a grungy spectacle. “Who’re You?” I asked, not really sure what this office janitor was doing in Yoochun’s seat. “Park Yoochun Imnida…” replied the stranger. I was ready to negate this stranger’s bold claim except I realized he was in fact wearing the same wrinkled teal librarian sweater that he had worn years before. On top of that, he was still sporting the same harry potter rip off glasses he had been photographed in since the beginning of mankind. I looked the supposed idol up and down. His face was bloated like an uncle’s stomach after a large thanksgiving meal, yet it had the consistency of a latex medical glove that would snap back against the wrist when pulled. His smile revealed a green chunk of spinach, wedged between his two front teeth, which were themselves comparable to that of a woodchuck. Wiry black hairs with a consistency not so unlike a brillo pad lined his gaping nostrils, which I wondered at the moment if those black tunnels could be used as a portal of escape from this mess. Upon further inspection I noticed the beach sand filling up the inside corners of his bloodshot eyes, which were half shut from exhaustion. The bags underneath were that of a panda and I mumbled under my breath about wishing I had gone to a Seungri fan meet instead. Before I could contemplate anything further, the specimen inhaled a large wheezy breath before letting out a cough that rattled the earth beneath me like an earthquake, and you could almost feel the pain of the crusty blackened lungs that lie beneath the surface of his now sweater covered chest. His sausage fingers gripped the pen tightly as he signed in chicken scratch what I supposed to be his name. Watching the process was unbearable, because his dirt packed stubby nails were visible the whole time he moved the pen spastically over the album cover. Finally I did something I still have a sound regret for to this day, I leaned in and took a whiff of the man’s scent. More like stench. Immediately repulsed by the noxiouss gas that met my snooter, I recoiled in fear. This stink was no ‘Rainkissed leaves’ or ‘wild honey le’, this was more like ‘gargoyle’s ’ or ‘Troll’s toenails.’ By this point the bodyguards were pulling me away so the fans behind me could have access, but I was more confused as to why we fans were not the ones being provided with bodyguards against this foul existence. In a traumatized state, I left the fan meet, contemplating the treachery that had just overcome me. I flew home the next day, and when my mother asked me how the fan meet went, I simply retreated to my room, where I participated in a ritual burning of all my Yoochun memorabilia.  

END