I’m something of an addict on Reddit. I enjoy the community and find it as a good place to check the pulse of popular culture in North America while living in the Land of The Rising Sun. A frequent observer in the /r/pics subreddit I try to check it everyday as it’s a good place to find article ideas. For the last year now I’ve been noticing something strange … well what I felt was strange,  Jurassic Park cars.

I get that  the 1993 Jurassic Park release was a huge movie and it ignited the imagination of millions of kids who are now adults. The logo is of course iconic but the cars in the movie? Really? Back To The Future, now that I understand. The DeLorean is not only a collectors car but it was the main plot device in the blockbuster Trilogy.

Back to the Future Delorean Time Machine s
The Jurassic cars though were just props, not much more than specially painted vehicles.  Check out these posts on Reddit:

WITH A RAPTOR YOU GUYS submitted 2 years ago by Waaaghette

Spotted a Jurassic park car on the freeway – submitted 1 year ago by sodiem


As a Jurassic Park nerd – submitted 2 years ago by KONY_The_Tiger


Jurassic Park Jeep seen outside of Ikea – submitted 9 months ago by CandySlawws


The boyfriend and I found a Jurassic Park car – submitted 1 year ago by hannathewise


Saw the Jurassic Park Jeep – submitted 1 year ago by djSlapNuts


I too have seen the jurassic park jeep – submitted 1 year ago by TBA-SOON


Saw this cool Jurassic Park jeep submitted 1 month ago by CarbonTorrent


These are just the ones that have “Jurassic Park” in the title making them easy to find. I’m sure there are endless others. So why so suspicious? Well what is coming up summer of 2015? Why the new Jurassic movie:

I’m thinking, starting a year ago, some viral marketing company had the brilliant idea of making a couple mock ups and just driving them around certain parts of America knowing that people would take pictures of them, post them on social media and create a buzz. Insidious but ingenious.


He’s real! Life, finds a way… submitted Feb 6 2015 by FrostyPoo

He's real! Life, finds a way...

Read more Insidious Ingenious from GaijinAss by Checking out:

marathon Chong Marines okinawa Cute vs Sexy
Hardest Endurance
7 Books for Warriors Enlisting The American Occupation of Okinawa Cute vs Sexy

The murky waters that cover most of our globe have always fascinated mankind. What lies under the surface hidden from view? Drought conditions, the advent of scuba diving, improvement of sonar technology has allowed us to peer into these watery depths. In Houston alone there are underwater car lots where cars have crashed, been abandoned and forgotten. Now with droughts causing water levels to drop, more and more cars are being discovered. Not only cars but cars with bodies still at the wheel, cold cases that have been unsolved for decades.



 10 – Not fed to the dogs

In 2005 German prosecutors presented to the court that Rudolf Rupp’s wife, children and a family friend killed Rudolf, hacked up his body and fed it to their dogs. Under intense police pressure the family confessed and pleaded guilty, that was until March of 2009 when a Mercedes that had tumbled down an embankment and into the river Danube was recovered. Inside was the still intact body of Rudolf Rupp, the family recanted their confessions and were given a new trial.

 77 Sunset Strip

9 – Gangster in the river 

Louis Emery Roger was a real “Acadiana character.” Connected with local organized crime Roger was said to control all known illicit activities in an area then known as the “77 Sunset strip”. For 25-years his disappearance was the source of myth and legend, that was until the discovery of a wrecked Cadillac that was pulled from the Vermilion River near Lafayette, Louisiana in 2008. The car was discovered after another car crashed into the river and by chance landed on top of the caddy. Police investigation determined that on October 25, 1983 an elderly Roger failed to make a turn and slammed into the river, much like the car that 25 years later that would lead to the discovery of Roger’s car-entombed body.


8 – Pulled from a canal

Police discovered a Buick Station Wagon in a quiet residential, Punta Gorda, canal in Eastern Florida. Inside were the remains of Frances Hendrickson and her purse with laminated ID inside. The car had sat silently at the bottom of the canal for 20-years. Last seen on July 1 Frances Hendrickson was leaving to go shopping in her Buick with the vanity plates “SNO BURD”. Initial police investigation point to Hendrickson taking a wrong turn and crashing her car into the water, and drowning. The police say that without any witnesses to the crash the car slowly sank and sat at the bottom of the canal until new sonar technology discovered it.


7 – Delano man found dead in trunk of submerged car

In September of 2013 a car was pulled from the Friant Kern canal, east of Delano, California. Inside the trunk was the body of 88-year-old beloved community barber, John Holguin Espinoza. Police were baffled at who would murder a pillar of the community and it took almost a year before they were able to arrest John Albay Galafate who was renting an apartment from Espinoza. Galafate and Espinoza had argued over unpaid rent before Galafate beat, strangled and tied up Espinoza. Further investigation would reveal that the 88-year old’s blood was found in Galafate’s apartment. After tying up the old man Galafate drove him in the trunk of his own car and dumped the car in the Friant Kern canal.


6 –  Lake Carlton Arms apartment complex’s drunken driver

In november of 1993 in Hillsborough County, Florida an intoxicated Ryan Carl Kresin drove his 1987 Cadillac off to get more booze. After being denied a sale by an alarmed clerk, Kresin drove off never to be seen again. Finally in 2006 a car was spotted and fished out of a pond at the Lake Carlton Arms apartment not far from where Kresin lived. Dental records weren’t conclusive but DNA was able to prove that the remains found in the Cadillac were in fact Ryan Carl Kresin. Don’t drink and drive.


5 – Woman pulled from Texas Lake

In 2014 a passer-by came upon the partially exposed 1970s-model Chevy truck in Lake Granbury, North Texas. The lake’s water level has dropped dramatically due to an ongoing drought. Remains were discovered as well as the purse and ID of Helen Holladay. She had been missing almost 35 years ago after a domestic dispute between her and her husband. At the time her vanishing off the face of the earth was deemed suspicious. When she went missing in September 1979 Holladay was 45 years old. Her husband was investigated in her disappearance but was never charged, he died a few years later.


4 – 1978 Missing Teens

In October 7, 1978 two teens, Harry “Wade” Atchison, 19, and Dana Null, 15, were last seen driving away from a house party. That was the last anyone saw of them until 2015 when the car they went missing in, an orange 1969 Dodge Coronet, was discovered in the Sunrise canal, just north of State Road 84 in Florida. Further searches revealed human remains close to the submerged car. Dredgers working for South Florida Management found the car and notified police.


3 – Canadian lake gives up 38-year-old mystery

In November of 1972 20-year-old Betty Thomas was last seen driving home before she seemingly disappeared leaving behind a husband and an 18-month-old son. Then in 2010 as part of a cleanup program in Skaha Lake, located about 250 kilometres east of Vancouver, a early 1960’s model Chrysler New Yorker was pulled from the water. Inside horrified cleanup workers found human remains. A laminated ID found in the vehicle identified the body as Betty Thomas. It appears that Betty lost control of her car and drove off a cliff 100 metres into the lake where the car remained for 38 years waiting for someone anyone to come and get her.


2 – Four decade mystery of missing South Dakota women solved

A drought in South Dakota lowered the water levels enough so that a long submerged car that had flipped over was observed by a passing farmer. Pulling the 1960 Studebaker from the muck they discovered inside the remains of two girls with even their clothing remarkably still in tact. The two girls had disappeared without a trace in 1971. A convicted rapist who is presently in jail was originally thought to be responsible but after a lack of evidence the case was dropped. Only in 2013 when the car was discovered and DNA confirmed was the case closed, with the bodies being identified as the missing girls, Cheryl Miller and Pamela Jackson.


1 – Two cars on top of each other

In September of 2013 Oklahoma Highway Patrol troopers were doing a sonar training exercise for finding submerged cars. While scouring the water they came across two decades old vehicles that had somehow landed on top of each other. After almost a year of investigation and DNA testing on old bones they were able to close two sets of cold missing person cases.  The car on the bottom, a 1952 Chevrolet, contained the remains of three people 69-year-old John Alva; 42-year-old Cleburn Hammack, and 58-year-old Nora Duncan.  The trio had mysteriously disappeared in 1969. The next year another car, a 1969 Chevrolet Camaro, crashed into the water and settled on top of the ‘52 Chevy. In this car DNA was able to determine the identify of 16-year-old Jimmy Allen Williams and 18-year-olds Leah Gail Johnson and Thomas Michael Rios, 18. The teens had disappeared after heading off to a football game in 1970.

If you like this, you might like:

Elderly Costplay Sato Pekin Chinks thumb
10 Mark of the Beast Techs Biggest Threats to English Teachers Interview with Adult Model: Erika Satou Sports teams: That Time has deemed offensive Top 3 Tokyo Execution Grounds



I have been punched in the face and head more times than the average Joe.  I have also cracked a fairly long list of folks in the grill, face and head.  If one spends a couple decades fighting off and on both in the ring or at the bar the points start to add up; experience points and damage points.  Luckily, I have never been “seriously” injured.  This means I have never had to be hospitalized and I have never been actually knocked out.

The same cannot be said for Dan Henderson.

Daniel Jeffery Henderson, (born August 24, 1970) is an American mixed martial artist and former Olympicwrestler, who competes as a middleweight and light heavyweight in the Ultimate Fighting Championship. He was the last Strikeforce Light Heavyweight Champion and was the last Welterweight 183 lb (83 kg; 13.1 st) and Middleweight 205 lb (93 kg; 14.6 st) champion of Pride Fighting Championships. He was the only mixed martial artist to concurrently hold two titles in two different weight classes in a major MMA promotion. Henderson is also the UFC 17 Middleweight Tournament Winner, the 1997 Brazil Open Lightweight Tournament Champion, the RINGS King of Kings 1999 Tournament Winner, and the2005 PRIDE Welterweight Grand Prix Champion. As of September 29, 2014, Henderson is #8 in official UFC light heavyweight rankings.[3]


…yeah.  So, Dan Henderson is a walking talking facepunch legend.  Nobody, literally nobody, can dispute this.  The question everyone is now asking is more diffuse: Can Henderson continue to fight at an elite level and if not should he simply retire all together?

MMA and boxing are radically different, but if we look at boxing, just for comparative analysis we see that elite boxers rarely go beyond 45 professional fights with many of them stopping around the 35 mark.  Henderson has a professional fighting record of 43.  I cannot even begin to fathom what his amateur record was as a wrestler.  To assume it was well beyond 200 is no stretch whatsoever.  This is a lot of action for anyone, even a legend, and it is a path littered with injuries.

It probably began further back but it became apparent in every outing we have seen Henderson in since Belfort put his shin on Dan’s skull.  His “win” against Rua was the personification of the saying “lucky punch” and a bout in which he absorbed a tremendous amount of damage.  He was absolutely man-handle by Cormier. I remember watching the fight and shaking my head in disbelief; “This man was a two-time Olympian?”

Watch it above.  Cormier dominates Henderson; wall-to-wall domination.

Why is THIS fight such a big deal? There are two reasons.

One, it is recent. This is Dan Henderson today.

Two, it shows, in a painfully clear manner, that the one thing Dan Henderson had in his corner is now gone, his total domination when the fight went to wrestling.


So,what’s left? The right hand?  A powerful right but increasingly ineffective against the top tier.  At that level being a one trick pony is a great way to become a tomato can, which sadly Henderson seems to be looking more and more like.  Is this simply an age issue? Not at all.  It is largely due to complacent and stagnant training and an unwillingness to learn new tricks so to speak.  But perhaps that is the age related caveat itself.

Regardless of the why, it is clear that Henderson should retire.  If nothing else simply for his humiliating performance in the Cormier bout.  His Olympic legacy is paying the price.

First of all folks, I must say that writing this is taking me back to places in my head that I really don’t want to be taken back to….

 Guest post by DEARHAM-SAMURAI

Back in 2008, I found myself at a bit of a crossroads. I was studying Japanese at a language school and was in the precarious position of deciding whether to place my priorities on studying or finding full-time employment. I was still teaching English (who isn’t?), but my actual working hours were circumscribed by both the visa laws and my actual attendance at my language school, who believe me, took a very dim view of anyone who sunk below the sacred 70 per cent attendance rate.

Of course, I had no qualms when it came to taking ‘left handers’ around the watchful glances of those lovely people at the immigration and I was more than happy to work ‘under the table’. However, the hours I was able to work at my teaching job were far too sporadic to satisfy the company or more importantly, enable me to earn enough to live on. The boss wanted me to work full-time, which I just couldn’t. After all, as a student you’re expected not only to devote yourself entirely to the cause, but also to have sufficient funds to support yourself for the duration of your studies. You also have to prove this requirement, which although isn’t exactly the most perplexing of tasks – fudging a bank balance – in the not too distant aftermath I was effectively reaping what I had sown. I was flat broke.

Obviously, it goes without saying that rent still needed to be paid. Also the bills were escalating and my main meal every day, if I was lucky, was marmalade on toast. And all that before even a drop of ale! In fact the biggest issue of all here, was that my Saturday night drinking fund was non-existent. Oh yes, those were barren times alright. Back home I’d have simply gambled my way out of poverty, but as that particular avenue of pleasure had been cut off to me here in Japan, I had to find other ways to fit square pegs into round holes.

If you can’t speak Japanese well enough, there aren’t many options other than English teaching. There are of course the financial ‘headhunter’ jobs being advertised left right and centre, enticing you in with promises of untold wealth and benefits. It is then you discover that 100 per cent of these easy-to-get jobs have an entire salary based on the dreaded C word – commission. So short of that, the only other option that is frequently seen advertised is McDonald’s. Very feasible in terms of the required language skills but I don’t think any self-respecting Westerner would lower themselves, and I’m certainly no exception. Sure, it might not have the same stigma attached to it in Far East Asia as it does in the West but it’s Maccy D’s! McDuck’s! I’d jump on a plane back home before even contemplating joining Ronald’s mob.

Simply, No.

Simply, No.

It was then that I remembered the girlfriend’s family business – running a hotel. I want to state here that she has long since been an ex girlfriend, and I will refer to her as the ex from now on. (haven’t heard a dickie bird from her since 2009, and long may it stay that way!) For my own intents and purposes this helps to clarify and reiterate the fact that she is indeed an ex. Anyway, this hotel was something she always seemed a bit hesitant to talk about. When the inevitable question about family occupations reared its head, she used to clam up. “Why?”, I thought. “What’s wrong with a hotel?”, I wondered. Nowt, obviously, but when I probed into it a bit more, it transpired that the hotel in question was a ‘love hotel’, and as we all know, in Japan, to talk about such things is considered a faux-pas.

As the ex’s parents owned a hotel, albeit a love hotel, it suddenly dawned upon me that hell, I COULD WORK THERE!! I thought that this could be an easy way into a Japanese job without all the added on bullshit of interviews and robotic hypocritical bowing to people who you’ll inevitably grow to resent. Not to mention having to comply with the Japanese notion of appearance based discrimination – that photograph at the top of a resume for example. And let’s not forget how one usually has to acquire such a photo – sitting in a train station photo booth with their legs on display, for every Tom Dick and Hirosaki to gawp at as they push and shove their way through the heaving masses. Nope, I couldn’t be arsed with any of that. And let’s face it, witnessing the full extent of the intricacies and hanky panky of a love hotel would satisfy even the most reluctant curiosity, yet alone a testosterone fuelled foreigner more or less still fresh off the boat. And, as I had decided, it would all be under the pretext of trying to “further my Japanese language ability, by working in a Japanese only environment”.

The thought of me working in a love hotel amused the ex no end and she wouldn’t even entertain the idea of asking her mother at first. I was adamant though – like a dog with a bone with it. I would constantly harp on about how in order to become proficient in the language, it was essential to be completely exposed to it – warts and all. So she pestered her mother on my behalf. The old devil took some convincing, but after a constant barrage of pleas from her daughter, she finally succumbed to letting me become one of her employees! The good fortune didn’t end there either, as my pay was immediately escalated to \1500 an hour, a full \500 more than any of the current incumbents. A pay rise before even setting foot in the joint! It’s ‘who you know’ in this world. Always has been.

It was the first time I had met the ex girlfriend’s mother, and she hated me from the off – nothing to do with me being a foreigner I hasten to add – probably more down to the fact of her being the proverbial shoulder to cry on in the aftermath of most of the ex girlfriend’s previously failed relationships. To put it quite simply, she was a seemingly overprotective ogre who would sit there imperiously – her eyes peering at me with disdain, piercing right into my soul. I don’t think a “you’re not good enough for my daughter” type demeanour has ever been more evident. Not to me anyway. She might have been the owner but it was the ex’s brother though, who was my superior. Everyone’s superior in fact. As is the case with many young guys, put them in authority far too early, especially presiding over people who have a lot more sleeps to their name than they have, and a bit of an issue will no doubt ensue. He would try and patronise everybody, by sitting there barking out orders in a cold condescending manner. Yup, he was a prick. He was slightly older than me I should add, and even though he was the ex’s brother I pretty much quashed any hopes of ‘bromance’ after about 30 seconds of meeting the douchebag.

There were four other staff on the pay roll.

Watanabe san – a pleasant enough old guy whose shift coincided with mine more than any of the others. Always referred to himself in the third person as some indeed do, but with the added “san” honorific for extra measure!

Goto san – middle-aged chain-smoking redhead, the type of woman who challenges your brain to try and fathom out if she was a catch 30 years previously. To be quite frank, as far as work was concerned she was about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike. Which of course would be quite apt.

Fujisaki san – a stalwart of the entire enterprise. In her seventies, and in her 40th year of cleaning for the hotel! Yep, the daft old bat had spent more than half her life here mopping up semen drenched tissues, when most of her fellow septuagenarian by now were no doubt travelling around clogging up various world heritage hot spots courtesy of their “bubble era” shaped nest eggs.

Semba san – a legend! An avuncular jolly old soul who took the act of ‘skiving’ to epic proportions! The only one who could speak English too. How often was my shift arranged to be on the same night as his? Nowhere near enough for my liking. Funny that.

The hotel itself was located in Koiwa, on the Sobu Line. Koiwa is a shithole, especially by Japanese standards. As for the hotel itself I wasn’t impressed at all. I’d been in a few love hotels as a customer and was used to the odd theme place of course but I was yet to come across (really, no pun intended) that Ferrari shaped bed that I once read about, or indeed anything resembling the inside of a planetarium where one can gaze, no doubt intoxicated, into far flung constellations while they’re hammering away. Maybe as an employee, having behind the scenes access to such an establishment, I might finally stumble upon one. Alas, any thoughts of embellishing one’s amusement were suddenly shot down in flames when I was given the tour. It was as basic as basic gets as far as the rooms were concerned. The only thing distinguishing this love hotel from a business hotel were all the various ornaments, junk and irregular tat that adorned the corridors. Stuffed owls that looked as though they’d been pilfered straight from the halls of Hogwarts, golden spray painted metal cats caked in dust and Samurai swords that would have looked less out of place in Tokyu Hands. Hell, there was even a menacing Siberian Tiger guarding the entrance! So to re-iterate, no, this wasn’t an extravagantly themed fantasy abode. It was more ‘Bed & Breakfast’ in Bognor Regis.

I quickly made a decision that as Koiwa wasn’t exactly known for its local gaikokujin, I absolutely under no circumstances could become known as “that gaijin who cleans in a love hotel”. I had to make sure that if I happened to see any ‘guest’ while meandering around the corridors, I had to be almost in complete disguise. I bought a cheap hat – one that I could quickly pull down over my eyes if the opportunity arose. And as the law of averages dictates, it would indeed arise, and short of donning full-on Ghostbusters get-up, this was as good as I could muster by way of a virtual cloak of anonymity.

Two of the floors had a store room, which were effectively the hubs from which all cleaning operations were dictated. Little lights on a metal panel indicated which rooms were occupied or needed cleaning. Fujisaki san was my trainer, as I was told she was the most efficient. She had better bloody be, after 40 years of it! She should be able to replenish condoms in her sleep! My biggest obstacle actually was understanding any small talk – anticipating whether anything said was an attempt at humour, making sure I showed the appropriate respect and so forth. The actual work didn’t need much explaining as let’s be honest, a chimpanzee could do it.

My main role in this establishment was pretty straightforward. I was to clean the bathroom, stock the amenities and help fold the sheets. As for the bathroom I presume I was given this particular honour due to a unanimous belief amongst the veterans that this would probably be the area least likely to be contaminated by bodily fluids and thus contravene any health and safety issues. Yep, I had to wash the bath, floor and walls with detergent before rinsing it away. Drying it could be a bit of a ball ache mind you, making sure to eradicate every last droplet. Then it was a case of tidying up, replacing the soaps, combs and hair nets and systematically aligning the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and shower gel. A ‘piece of piss’, as we say back in England. Quite therapeutic in fact. Mentally switch off! Think about the weekend’s forthcoming football! Japanese love their baths too. The Western notion of throwing your jeans on and legging it ‘out the door’ after bedding a ten ton munter seems to be lost on the Japanese. Indeed, no matter the caliber of the conquest, more often than not they’ll plump for a leisurely soak as opposed to bolting for the exit. So all in all, the bathroom always needed cleaning – a chore which I could drag out as long as was necessary.

The first task upon entering a recently vacated room was to get the windows open. The smell of sex whacked you full on in the face immediately. I’m embarrassed to admit it but my excitement was actually at its peak at this stage, especially if I’d already seen who the recently checked out occupants were on the CCTV or on reception. “What ‘goodies’ had the amorous couple left behind?”, I wondered, curiosity rocketing. As you can imagine, there’d often be soiled knickers, ripped fishnet stockings, dildos – you name it. I should point out though, not that it needed pointing out, that I was under strict orders never to touch any of this garb for ‘health and safety’ reasons. Cleaning up after the prostitutes was the worst, as not only was the mess at its most abhorrent, it would be accompanied by the pungent odour of that sickly vomit inducing sweet perfume that ladies of the night seem to insist on drowning themselves in. Also whilst standing in there, if you were really lucky, you could sometimes hear the various screams from neighbouring couples. However as the bedroom was for the more experienced employee and not my assigned responsibility, I shuffled towards the bathroom after my initial and one could say “perverted” inspection.

My favourite role was to sort out the amenities and drinks. The endless supply of beers, coffees, pocari sweat and rubber johnnies were available in each of the two main stock rooms. It should come as no surprise that a good proportion of these ended up in my rucksack. Perks of the job, some might say. Goodness knows how much I managed to save on teas and coffees that month. And as for the condoms, it’d be tantamount to a year’s supply! I could justify tea-leafing the johnnies, as I was using them with the ex girlfriend. “Robbing from Peter to pay Peter”, was the way I looked at it.


As mentioned somewhere above, if time permitted I was also required to help change the bed sheets. Remember when your mother used to ask you to help her with this ever so child-friendly household chore? Well, same chore, different end of the spectrum. And it was during one of these chores that provided the best moment of this entire month-long escapade:

One night, around 10pm I was on the late shift with Fujisaki san. As I had just finished helping her fold the sheets, I noticed a small minibus pull up at the traffic lights next to the hotel. We were both right next to the window – an open window. Being 10pm, the hotel was lit up like a Christmas tree, in full view of this minibus. Now obviously you all know the facts at this point, but imagine if you were in that minibus. Here was this young blonde foreigner, with a Japanese old lady, in a love hotel. A young foreigner would surely NOT be working in a love hotel would he??? I doubt it’s ever happened in history. So God only knows what sudden graphic images were manifesting themselves in the minds of these innocent gawpers, but I guarantee that they were putting two and two together, and getting the answer very, very wrong….

One of the most prestigious jobs while working here was sitting on reception. Obviously you don’t have to be Einstein to figure out why. For anyone who is as prone to extreme bouts of bone idleness as yours truly, this was a cushy number indeed. Sitting there, not having to lift a bloody finger! All I had to do was man the switchboard and take the money from the guests. In fact the only time the phone ever rang was when the ex’s mother called in. Oh yeah, and the Yakuza. Yup, quite often actually, there’d be an irate pimp on the other end of the blower demanding that his protegé was showered, covered in perfume and bra and knickers put back on ready for the next client, as it was “TIME UP!” I’d simply put them through…

I’ll be honest, it was pretty interesting at times, me being Johnny Foreigner and having to deal with guests who constantly had to do a ‘double take’ to see who it was who’d just given or taken room keys from them. I didn’t feel the need for any disguise whilst sat perched on reception however, as for all they knew I might well have owned the place! Haha! I am pretty sure the natural authoritarian aura that I (possibly deludedly) presumed I exuded whilst taking their money would cloud any other sudden preconceptions. A gaijin sitting there like he’s ‘King of the castle’ projects a very different image to one being caught on the landing with a mop and bucket. All of it a pretty surreal experience.

Nearly all Japanese love hotels (or at least those that don’t come blessed with automatic room selection systems) have a very small window for the receptionist. This is in order to keep all interactions with the public to a minimum. The windows are situated at around waist height for the guests, so there’s no face-to-face communication. This way, the environment is kept as conducive as possible to any extra-marital activity, a fact further enhanced by a radio channel available in the rooms by the name of “Alibi FM”!! Yeah I’m seriously not making this shit up, ALIBI FM!! This hardly innocuous channel would provide a perfect backdrop to any late night calls back to the wife wouldn’t it? The sound of a busy train station and all its cacophony being one of quite a few examples that might go some way towards adding a certain gloss to the fib!!

Of all the types that came through the doors folks, middle-aged salarymen, waiting for their “derihera” girls were always my favourite. The awkward feeling of shame that they’d exude as they explained that their ‘companion’ would be arriving a little while later always amused me. They certainly weren’t trying to practice their English on me on this occasion! Haha! Without even saying anything it was a chance for me to take the moral high ground – moral being the operative word considering my eye line was level with their belt buckle. Whenever a single bloke checked in, we had to make a note of it. There was a red and green ‘naughts & crosses’ type apparatus for this very purpose. Single customers were to be given a red peg, and under no circumstances were two men allowed to check into the same room. (Two women entering together, on the other hand, was considered perfectly acceptable) Then we’d replace the red peg with a green one, when the girl arrived. Then there were the prostitutes themselves. Always, they had a clearly miserable disposition about them. Who wouldn’t, if they knew what chipolata-endowed bespectacled white shirted specimen lie in wait for them upstairs? On one occasion, one of the working girls came in showing off her cleavage in a Union Jack dress. I didn’t know whether to be completely disgusted or break into a rendition of “God save the Queen”!

The novelty soon wore off and it wasn’t long before working here really started to grate. I was there pretty much every day for a whole month and even though it was piss easy work, I very quickly got fed up of the same rooms, the same smells and the same meaningless chatter. Not to mention all the unnecessary preamble rituals before and after with the ex’s idiotic brother. Skiving with Semba san was fun mind you. We would even watch the TV to stave off the boredom! A guy after my own heart he was. Incidentally, it was Semba san that showed me the enormous stash of porn videos located in the cellar – VHS videos that these days are neither use nor ornament, except for two bored workers that want to kill time. I would also be lying if I said that none of them made their way back to my house either…

Overall I am pleased I had the experience of working here. My English teaching school were eventually able to assign me with more hours and therefore put me back into the gaijin rat race. However working at the love hotel was certainly more interesting than the average job, and it certainly served the purpose of providing me with ample beer tokens along with an inside glimpse into the seedy world of illicit debauchery that goes on, bubbling away just out of the watchful gaze of Joe Public. And to think that there are people who are filling in application forms for the Golden Arches…

...this time...

…this time…

Have your own insane Love Hotel story? I’m betting you do.  Leave it in the comments and you could win and all expense paid trip (paid for by you) to some dump in Tokyo to have drinks with us!  Irresistible!

Oh and If you like this, you might like:

Gaysians heist Sato death-penalty marathon
Gaysians 7 Awesome Heist movies and Why
they Rock
Seagal vs Van Damme Death Penalty Survivor Hardest Endurance


A love hotel is a type of short-stay hotel found around the world operated primarily for the purpose of allowing couples privacy for sexual activities.

Love hotels are everywhere in Japan.  A lot of people continue to live with family well into their thirties and people need a place to get their freak on.  Love Hotels provide such a place and this is not a new story.  However, in my travels on foot around Ikebukuro I have made some interesting discoveries and there are mysteries I am trying to figure out in order to write about them.  Some include the Yakuza, some the Triads, some the Cops, legions of homo-erotic loving female teenagers, some bizarre “ghost” properties and the connections these have with the aforementioned groups.  One thing I have found without a doubt, Ikebukuro is a strange and unique place.  The tour is starting here:


This is about half way down “Heiwai dori” or “Peace Street” just north of the north exit at Ikebukuro station. It’s peaceful in that the street is laid in red brick and I have never seen any of the prostitutes, who lurk in every corner, beating each other up. Peaceful. This might have something to do with the police presence in the Koban at the southern and northern ends of the street.   Aside from a tolerable little bakery, a curry shop and a couple of bars there isn’t much more on this  street except for  “working hotels” and by that I mean hotels the pros take johns to.

Let me explain, being snarky, I had planned to title this “7 great spots to take hookers to in Ikebukuro”.  But due to my uh, journalistic integrity, I could not in all good conscience do this.  Why?  Most pros don’t meet clients in the Love Hotels I will show you on here. You can see them going into and leaving the very bland and often shabby establishments that don’t even offer a “Stay” rate.  It’s always a uniquely Japanese sight to see some hooker bowing to the gentleman she has just finished with and them both exchanging the same language Salary men and Office workers use when finishing a meeting or the work day.

I am not here writing a step by step on finding hookers in Ikebukuro.  You can find info on that here or here.  But I take this route a couple of times a week to and from the gym located on the East side and it’s never a boring walk.  It also ties in well with some other things I will post about in the near future.  Consider this a warm up.

So if you are coming south up Heiwa Dori from Ikebukuro’s north exit take a right onto a smaller black asphalt street where the map indicates.  Walk to the second right and turn again.  This is what you will see.


We can start by taking a look at “Hotel Room.”



Reasonable rates for the young couple.  I doubt much “resting” transpires, however. Nice VIP room.


Little tacky Las Vegas creeping in here but one will not miss “Hotel Casablanca”. Of this I am sure.  Rates? Amenities?


But of course.  Not sure what that blender like object is there for.

Next we have “Xavier’s School for gifted Youngsters…”


“…and people who just want to have sex a lot.”


There are many smaller hotels on the strip but these are the exclamation points visually.  At the end of the strip there is a run down no frills type joint used by the professionals and to the left, the tunnel under the road, which looks like a secondary location for a scene out of IRREVERSIBLE.


I have tipped my hat and bid a good evening to several ladies of the night waiting for someone on my way home from the gym passing along this little street of dreams.

Now, why would someone purposefully take this filthy walk several times a week?  Other than this being the fastest way from door to door, home to gym, once we pass through this alley and turn left going up the steps, the view regularly has me standing and staring again, even after ten years, inspired.


Check back for the tour will continue. And it just gets weirder.

If you like this try these:

donut heads Cute vs Sexy The best Star Wars behind the scenes yet Making friends in Japan yoji watanabe building
Japanese Donut Heads Cute vs Sexy The best Star Wars behind the scenes yet Making Friends in Japan The architectural greatness of Watanabe-San

gaijinassbannerThis man is just so disgusting-

What a completely narcissistic, arrogant piece of shit!-

Just looking at his face makes me nauseous.-

He seriously believes he’s God’s gift to women.-


Is This the Most Hated Man in the World?-

Julien Blanc

If you have not heard about this guy and just want the index card notes here they are:

  • Julien Blanc was a relative nobody two months ago.
  • Now he has been on CNN, in TIME, on Buzzfeed, the Independent, the Mirror, the Guardian etc.
  • He got this attention by pushing polarizing content which offends some yet attracts just as many others (sad but true).
  • This was all by design.
  • His haters drove him into the limelight where he wanted to be.
  • Someplace, Julien Blanc is laughing his Swiss ass off.

Julien Blanc is a pick up coach for RSD.  These guys have for years worked on one thing and one thing alone: How to sleep with more women (Hint: talk to more women).

That’s it. All the talk about self-improvement and lifestyle development and “inner game” etc are all secondary and tertiary elements developed to help whoever sleep with more women.  The “gurus”  make videos and host conferences. They also travel extensively conducting “boot camps” at which the “instructors” basically take men out into “the field” and do their level best to force these clients to talk to more women than they normally would. They charge a lot for this “service”.

Hey, why not?  The game is a big issue for lots and lots of men and in our world, the developed western world anyway, the power lies heavily on the side of the females.  The conventional image of dating is largely humiliating for the man and incredibly self affirming for the woman. This coupled with the continued dismantling of masculinity throughout the west makes for an uncomfortable cocktail once the inevitable male hormones are tossed in.  In short:

We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.

So, I don’t think there is anything wrong with guys getting together in an attempt to help each other clear what for some is a massive obstacle and go get laid.  Do I agree with RSD and it’s model? No.  A lot of what is being pushed there has much more to do with creating addicted consumers and loyal followers as opposed to any kind of “self-improvement” hype .  But I think they should be allowed to do it.

Now, onto Julien.

Julien has made a lot of videos and has produced some pretty polarizing content.

Look, this stuff probably works.  It’s a tired old turn of phrase but still holds some water: Girls like Bad Boys.

Or more accurately girls are attracted to, on a subconscious level, aggressive, assertive, motivated and physically dominant men.  This is surely not what Hollywood has been pushing and these are not necessarily who women are short listing for making a happy home with but on a sexual attraction level it’s true.  Disgustingly enough.  Hey, perhaps you women need to do some soul-searching and get congruent?  But then again maybe this is all bullshit.

Right or Wrong though, what is not the point?

The point is, JULIEN BLANC HAS WON.  Yes, he has won and you all helped him on his meteoric rise to the top of the shit mountain.

Julien is not the first RSD instructor to be lambasted in the press. One of his mentors, Jeff Allen, has had his share of fun in the limelight as well and according to sources inside RSD Julien has consistently pushed the edgy-ness of his content specifically to facilitate bad press.  Because in the obtuse and laregly ignored world of the pick-up guru, any press is good press.


So what IS THE POINT?  Julien Blanc is now famous. Infamous but famous none the less.  Julien Blanc has not been fired from RSD.  RSD by extension, is getting more traffic than ever as other “gurus” release expensive new products.  In the end, all that has happened is a massive grass-roots advertising campaign which will ultimately benefit Julien Blanc and RSD as a whole.

Well done keyboard heroes; Julien Blanc says danke.

If this wasn’t good enough for you, try these:

Chong Dominatrix in Japan white hostess Groper Train Sato
Advancing Feminism via Porn Interview with a Japanese Dominatrix White woman Japanese sex Groper Train Search for the Black Pearl Interview with Adult Model: Erika Satou


What was this about?

How did this make it to the big screen ?

Worst Movie Ever!

Horrible, it does not get any better

Yes!! Hallelujah! That’s It! The Worst Film this Year!!

God awful

Oh, Nick…

I want my money back

Cage Left Behind by good movies

Soul Sucking

Can this be the worst movie of all time?

-Review titles on IMDB

Left behind is a movie starring Nicholas Cage and aside from the Ebola pandemic and possibly ISIS or Hillary Clinton, it’s the worst thing to happen to mankind in 2014.  But, you should turn back now. Stop reading this. I mean it.  I lost an hour and forty-five minutes of my life on this steaming pile of AIDS and I don’t want you to suffer the same fate.  Stop now. Go workout or read some Tony Robbins or paint a self-portrait; Just get as far away from Left Behind as you possibly can.

I know however, that some of you, the hard-wired closet case masochists out there will ignore my advice. Fine.  But you have been warned.leftbehind1

Plot summary:  The Holy Rapture occurs whilst Cage’s amazingly named character, Rayford Steele, pilots a commercial airliner from New York to London and he cleverly deduces, with cleverness and bible knowledge, that the passengers who have simply vanished into thin air have all gone to heaven and the rest of them left on the plane are essentially shit out of Jesus luck.




There are no words to describe how incredibly bad this “movie” is but I will give it a try.


For a long time, the worst movie I had encountered was G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra.  Noah gave it a run for its money but Channing Tatum’s absolutely horrific performance allowed G.I. Joe to hold onto the title.  Not anymore.  Everything about Left Behind is bad. In fact, it’s SO bad, in every single category, it’s as if this was the point. It is as if the entire cast got to together to consciously make the worst movie of all time.




I have to admit, I laughed a lot while watching this movie which is possibly, the worst incarnation of Christian propaganda to have ever been made.  In fact, I cannot conceive of a vehicle more unattractive and insulting with which to so blatantly force feed the central message so many Christian fundamentalists whack off to: I am going to heaven and you will burn in hell because I believe in fairy tales.  When I watch something like this, it occurs to me how much Islamic jihadis and hardcore for-the rapture-Christians really have in  common. As someone raised culturally Christian, it makes me feel physically sick.  But still, the lol’s were had in abundance.  The dialogue, the characters, I mean literally every single one of them are incredibly hilarious: a rich Southern guy, a smart Asian guy, a busty blonde with a coke problem, a distrusted Middle Eastern man, a yelling black woman, an angry little person, a confused old lady and a slutty flight attendant.  With editing that reminded me of home videos from the early 90’s and a soundtrack compiled from various Nintendo games, the entire experience is about as productive as the Obama-care website.  In other words it’s a complete and utter disaster. A disaster of laughs!

Look, this could go on and on, and it probably will in my nightmares.  But we are going to wrap this up with the following query:  What the fuck is Nicholas Cage thinking? 

I have to go.  I can’t invest anymore precious life energy on this abortion.  My final warning: Forget about this “movie”.  Do not watch it. And if you do, don’t blame me. I told you to head for the hills at the beginning of all this.

P:S: Nicholas Cage, you are the most frustrating actor to be a fan of.

If you like this try these:

donut heads Cute vs Sexy The best Star Wars behind the scenes yet Making friends in Japan yoji watanabe building
Japanese Donut Heads Cute vs Sexy The best Star Wars behind the scenes yet Making Friends in Japan The architectural greatness of Watanabe-San


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,154 other followers