Aaaaand I’m back. In a way. After not checking in on the site for a good 8 freaking months, I’ve noticed I’m STILL getting just as many visitors now as when I was updating everyday. Which just goes to show I really shouldn’t have tried so hard to begin with. Apparently no work is just as good as half-assed work.
Which works for me! And provides a fantastic moral for my future grandchildren.
But now that I’m finally settled into a new rythm in a foreign land (the exotic and erotically dangerous Japan. Or as the natives call it, “Bukkake”) I figured I have nothing better to do in my free time, other then crying and being lonely, so why not start this entire enterprise up again? This soul saddeningly unprofitable enterprise.
I can’t guarantee the same standards as before but I assure everyone tha…who am I kidding? There weren’t any fucking standards to begin with. So, to get the ball rolling, here’s five facts I’ve learned about my new home, Bukkake. But I’ll use Japan for my fellow gaijins out there.
1. Being awesome, made easy!
Apparently everything will impress a Japanese person. I use chopsticks and everyone goes, “sugoi!” Which means, “bear my children.” Or something similar. I say “arigatou” and everyone swoons over my mastery of their language. I later learned “arigatou” actually means “thank you” and not “where are your cheapest prostitutes”, but that’s neither here nor there.
I tell of my magical homeland of Canada and our great, umm, trees and flat land and stuff and I’m practically made the new Ambassador of Awesome. Hell, I took a dump at a public restroom and they made a TV show called Tokyo Dogs out of it. And trust me, they painstakingly recreated my shit through that show. Man, it’s shitty.
So I’m telling you, go to Japan and just do whatever the hell you want. Want to smack that homeless dude? Do it! Rob a sushi cart? Right on. Take candy from a baby? Go…well, not a lot of babies in Japan anymore, but I’m willing to bet you could. Not only will you not be arrested and deported, stories of your awesomeness will be told of through their oral tradition for centuries to come. I’m telling you!
2. To there and back again. Eventually.
Japanese roads are messed up. For all the wonders that Japan has given the world, from Nintendo to octopus pornography, they still don’t understand the concept of city planning. The roads are, for lack of a wittier analogy, like Amy Winehouse’s face – you don’t know what the fuck is up with it. I’m about 250 km away from Tokyo, and if this were any other country, that’s a 20 minute drive. Probably.
Here? I left in December and I’m still on the road. Hell, I think I made a wrong turn back in Narnia and now I’m somewhere called “New Jersey” and it’s fucking horrible. All I wanted was to go to a maid cafe, where I can be treated like a real man (you know, by average looking girls dressed in bright frilly costumes pretending to like you. As nature intended).
Instead, I got this:
3. English, motherfucker. Do you speak it?
Apparently my Anglo-centric worldview was a tad off kilter. Apparently not everywhere in the world speaks perfect Canadian English, the most stoic of all Englishes (Englii?). Apparently Japan in particular speaks something called “Japanese”. At first I called the person who told me this, my fellow coworker Obata-san, a dirty Satan fucking liar. But then I realized everyone around me WAS speaking non-English. It was like I got sent into the Twilight Zone and ended up in a land of humanoid llamas. Or something. Also apparent was the fact that I was here to be an English teacher. How the hell did that happen? The only English I’ve ever taught in my life was to get my little brothers and sister to say “cunt”.
Life works in mysterious ways, eh?
After discovering the existence of this new language, I claimed it as Bukkakanese outside of Japan’s borders. That’s copyrighted by the way, so step the fuck off Carlos Mencia. Then I discovered most everyone doesn’t know what the hell I’m saying when I’m screaming into a crying clerks face for ten minutes. All I wanted to know was where the celery sticks were. I even tried the universally accepted method of speaking English loudly, slowly and more patronizingly. No go. I think she may have had downs syndrome or something.
She then commited harakiri in shame. That was awkward. And I didn’t find out where the celery was.
4. Can I have a side of stroke with that?
In a land of such petite inhabitants, you’d think they’d also eat petite, pussified food. Well, you’d be right. I ‘medium’ drink here is about a midget American small, AKA how much little Donny sweats walking nine and a half feet down hill. Everything’s exceedingly small except when it comes to fast food burgers, which they love. If ever you thought Americans were the only people gorging themselves to a greasy, acne masked early death, you haven’t seen these Japanese exclusive burgers yet:
5. Who needs LSD when you’re shooting up pure Japan?
Have you ever heard the stereotype that Japan is a weird and colorful land of strangeness? Well, it’s all true. Every single last word of it is true. Absolutely so. It’s just like you imagined. In fact, the real thing is so depravedly sordid that your imagination had a hernia picturing it. I hardened myself before arriving at the onslaught of geekdom that would surely fuck my face once I step foot on Japanese soil. Like a facehugger from Aliens. Only kawaii.
My preparations failed.