Godzilla!!! Run!!!

        It really is the “Land of The Rising Sun”. I verified this with bloodshot eyes at the end of a long night in Tokyo. A friend and I were in the “Rappongi” district where “gaigen” (definition: foreigner) are known to mass in herds to pursue the elusive Japanese single young female. I spotted one or two through my heavily glazed goggles, but they were talking with Japanese men, therefore in my opinion unapproachable. “Excuse me gentlemen, but I wanted to say hello to these two fine ladies…” – insert scene of dishonored seething Japanese boyfriend ripping my spine through the hole in my chest recently created from the impact with his fist, while yelling words indiscernible to me, then bowing to the generally approving crowd and girlfriend weeping with pride.

        And after paying what we did for drinks at these fine establishments, I don’t feel so bad about the many of thousands of dollars I have piddled away at bars in the US during my lifetime. But the drinks were tasty – Asahi Super Dry, good – Kirin, good – Suntory whisky, good – sake, good – weird Korean liquor, good – hangover, crippling death.

        A night out in Tokyo is somewhat similar to a night out in any huge Western metropolis, but venture too far away and you will have entered an entirely different world. For those male readers who have not had the pleasure of a night “on the town” in the lesser populated cities of Japan, allow me to enlighten you on the freakish conservatism that seems to reign in the countryside, oddly similar to the “Bible Belt” region of the US where the efforts of the righteous population to eliminate encounters of any sort between the sexes has produced and perpetuated many perverse establishments which become ‘invisible’ to the community (i.e. ignored and, no doubt, frequented by the aforementioned righteous). I personally felt that to gain a truly full experience of Japan, I would have to submerge myself in one of these select establishments.

        They are essentially strip bars where the lap dance is extended for a length of time determined by the amount of money you pay at the door. But there is a protocol that must be followed. Subtlety is the name of the game here where you are forced to socialize with the girl for a customary amount of time before you get the “lap dance”. In this environment, typical US candidness will not win the day, such as my associate learned when about two minutes after we entered the establishment and were approached by a few cautious ladies, he demanded to “see that ass” – a statement that was not well received by the ladies, or the other men that were now staring a hole through our heads. However, my associate was obviously undaunted by sudden and increasing frigidity in the room and proceeded to make additional direct remarks. I still don’t understand why the Yakuza sitting in the back decided not to execute us in the street after we were finally shown the door. 

        After this experience, I felt I needed to visit some Buddha’s. If you like Buddha, you like Japan ‘cause everyone in Japan digs that guy. I visited a recently constructed bronze Buddha statue 100 meters in height – that’s 2 ½ times the height of the Statue of Liberty! What in the hell! The US has the most powerful economy of any country in the entire world, but somehow we’ve allowed our precious Statue of Liberty to be dwarfed? Of course, the damn French are to blame, giving us such a pathetically tiny monument. That’s why we had to build a 40 meter stand to place it on so as to give it some prominence. I say we melt it down and sell for scrap metal, all $5 of it.

        This giant Buddha has a multi-floor museum inside with artifacts associated with (guess) Buddhism. I was gazing on the elaborately enshrined remains of some revered ancient monk, when all of a sudden I saw a bright flash. For a brief second, I thought I was having an episode of enlightenment and fully expected the cremated remains to rise in the air, form a crude smiley face and start giving me instruction on how to stop my endless cycle of reincarnation. Then I realized the flash came from my associate’s camera as she  snapped a photograph of the shrine, which according to the gigantic signs posted everywhere (and oddly enough, only in English) was very much not allowed. I now huddle in the corner of my room in a tank top and loin cloth awaiting whatever disaster I must endure to cure by diseased karma.

        Which may have come shortly after the Buddha experience in the form of a severe flu that forced me to become very intimate with the various styled Japanese toilets and paper textures. I’ll have to admit, the toilet in the lobby of the hotel I was staying in was incredible. This thing had a control board on it with more buttons than the elevator of the Empire State Building - all labels only in Japanese of course. I regret to say I didn’t have the nerve to try them. I was positive there was a hidden camera somewhere recording the event for a Japanese TV show called “Watch The Gaigen Push The Colon Probe Button And Die”. The toilet tissue roughly resembles 240 grit sandpaper. If you happen to be in Tokyo Tower when nature calls, I hope you happen to have an extra pint of blood for the transfusion you will need after removing several layers of ass with their especially fine paper.

        All in all, I really enjoyed Japan. I was probably “saved” by someone 3 to 4 times each day. My American tourist maps didn’t quite have the detail I needed about 90% of the time so I frequently got lost. I love approaching someone who obviously does not speak any English and ignore the panicked look on his face and ask for directions. After about 15 minutes of frenzied conversation, you learn the five or six words of English that he knows, then proceed to try and communicate using only those few words and a lot of hand gestures – look like a retard Gaigen attempting a Kung Fu mugging. 

        And I felt sorry that the US advanced in the World Cup beyond the Japanese team. These guys celebrated more after they were defeated than we would have celebrated if we had won the damn cup. I couldn’t understand why the British “Hooligans” had not tried to riot until I saw the police force gathered at a huge soccer street celebration in downtown Tokyo. It was evident the Japanese police force did not uphold the supreme Krispy Kreme standards of the US police force. These guys were large, fit, and trained in Judo. Just before I left for the airport, I talked to two Brits who assured me they would give the Japanese police a show if their team lost a Cup match. I really hope they got their opportunity.