November 6, 2015
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November 4, 2015
Ninja, Futuristic Robot Warrior, ET, a Green Beret and a Ranger.
These are all Halloween costumes I can remember wearing at some point.
I hated the ET costume. My mother got it from some other woman and it’s emasculating effects were dazzling. I felt like a little Halloween homo stuffed in that hot sack of humiliation. I won the best costume award at some event and other mothers took photos of me. Other children whispered filthy insults and pointed at me. Others gnashed teeth. The jealousy and politics surrounding best costume awards among eight year old children is pretty impressive.
The futuristic robot warrior was a costume from, oh Jesus, France. It sure looked like it too and by that I mean it looked like something you might see in a gay pride parade on some tranny, rapidly OD’ing on the dubious combination of poppers and mescaline. I sure thought that costume was hot shit, though. Oh boy, did I. In fact, I tried it on multiple times and went prancing around the room I shared with my little brother. Anyway, half way through the evening while trick-or-treating the elastic band on the flamboyantly colored mask snapped and after several failed attempts to re-tie it I just said “Fuck this French mask,” and continued on, noticeably receiving less candy than my peers from that point forward.
I hate the French. They continuously disappoint, as we have mentioned before.
Except for the cheese.
They make amazing cheese.
Later, as a teenager, I took responsibility for my own happiness and used Halloween as an occasion to throw raw eggs, and rocks, at people and steal candy from younger and easily manipulated pre-teens. I also made out with this girl named Lindsey on Halloween one time and I was just terrified our braces would get locked. I saw that on a show. It didn’t happen though.
Lindsey later told everyone we never kissed.
Duplicitous lying slut. Because we totally made out.
Another time, I lived in the desert. It was really hot all the time and there were rattle snakes and crazy desert hobos with HIV living all over the place. I spent that Halloween cleaning a bunch of disgusting toilets.
Thanks Marine Corps. I could have been in Palm Springs getting my drinks spiked by overly muscular homos and waking up with strange wads of cash in my pockets. But no…
…in the end I have spent Halloween in various locations. Some better than others. But this year, something bizarre has occurred.
Japan, I applaud you.
This is not something I say often. Not these days, anyway. After eleven plus years in Tokyo my grain of salt is more like a brick and the never ending chopstick compliments have lost their luster.
The jade is strong with this one.
I sneer and sneer often. You know; I’ve written about it at length.
But right when I was getting ready to really huff and puff and blow Tokyo’s house down, it decide to fight back.
And it fought back with the sweet black magic of a Japanized Shibuya Halloween.
Much has been said in Japanese media over the last few days condemning, actually ravenously attacking, October 31st, 2015. The outcry from the stuffy, over 30 talento ilk has been angst-filled and the intensity of the GET OFF MY LAWN, YOU DAMN KIDS has been hilarious. TV personality after useless TV personality have made the same comments and these have been force fed to a population which lives and dies by the gospel they are injected with in mega daily doses via mind numbing “Variety shows.”
These kids are out of control!
These people don’t have any idea about the origin or meaning of Halloween!
They are just going wild!
It’s all just nonsense! Nonsense I tell you! Nonsense grrrrrrrr!
Get off my fucking lawn you damn kids!
First of all, the powers that be in Japan couldn’t give a sloppy wet donkey shit about the Japanese people “understanding the origins” of any foreign custom or culture. Christmas in Japan is an absolute abortion. It’s so bad it sent me into a dark tail spin only to resurface three weeks into January sans long stretches of memory and with suspicious credit card debts and welts. Just like, welts. On my ass and inner thighs.
As a side note, if this is ringing any bells for you please message me privately because I would like to know.
Valentines in Japan has been carefully crafted to give zero fucks, about anything, and hence spawned another useless marketing demon in “White Day.”
Here, choke on these cheap cookies and die, whore. Now you know all about “White Day.”
Japanese English on shirts and in advertising and the never ending bastardization of western concepts goes on day to day completely unfettered while THE MAN keeps telling the Japanese how “difficult” English is yet how much they need it. Nobody here cares, at all, about how things are supposed to be.
So just like, spare me, man.
Secondly, these kids are not out of control. Rather, these kids were remarkably well behaved. Thousands and thousands of costume glad young drunks concentrated in a very small urban area and what happened in the end? Some people made out. Some people passed out. Some people fornicated and some people lost their ifucks. I saw some girl jerking a guy off next to the Stay-puff Marsh-mellow man. I saw a 20 year old sexy cop girl making out heavily with some guy wearing an “older English teacher” costume.
Imagine this any place else. I can do it easily.
This on the streets of London? Fires and pillage. This on the streets of Los Angeles? Riots and cops shooting people willy-nilly. This on the streets of New York? Murder and more riots.
The point is simple: with thousands of drunk youth all converging on one area, nothing really bad happened. In fact, something genuinely cool and legit occurred. Halloween night in Shibuya this year was just a huge unplanned costume party and THAT is what is pissing off the establishment so much. Nobody had control. That fact alone is enough to get the boss hogs in a sweat. Lots of people came out, got together and had a good time without anyone’s permission. After a million people protesting TPP in the streets went utterly ignored by the fascist Abe government, the disenfranchised decided to do what they felt like and just had fun on their own terms. Obviously, the establishment isn’t keen on this.
But Gaijinass has a simple enough conclusion which he will now share.
Fuck Christmas illumination and giri-choco; Tokyo had a win on October 31st, 2015.
June 15, 2015
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Rionne drops in and talks about what’s new flying off the top rope, life as a pro-wreslter, shady Shibuya, gullible old ladies and movies. I swear too much and hilarity ensues.
December 19, 2011
Saturday in Shibuya
Guest Post by: Stewart Follow @gaijinass
I finish my second glass of Glenlivet single malt, 15 years, at Hobgoblin in Shibuya and then look at my watch and it’s twenty till four and I have almost an hour and a half to kill before I meet Aaron in Daikanyama to, hopefully, get drugs for tonight.
I swirl around what’s left of the drink, smell it a bit and enjoy the deep, robust aromas in my nose before I swallow it all down. The finish is long indeed and I appreciate it as I check out the girl behind the bar tending to the register. She’s exactly what you would expect to find in a place like this; one catering to expatriates and the people who want to rub shoulders with us. Top of her head coming right up to around my chest height, tanned, obviously Japanese, she still has jet black hair, a pretty common trait amongst the types that have gone abroad, they dye their hair less than J-girls that are still on the “native” side of the fence. She has tits and I stare at her, taking in the curves under her red polo-style work shirt which has a ridiculous looking emblem of a goblin on it, brandishing a dagger and smirking, right over her left tit. When she looks up and catches my gaze she smiles at me, so I flash a broad, genuine grin back at her and imagine my cock in her ass.
Outside on the street people flow by in the Saturday traffic. Its cold out but the wind is oddly warm, the remnants of a brutal Indian summer that didn’t end till a-couple-of weeks before.
I turn left into traffic and start walking to no place in particular. I cross under an overpass and across the street to my right I see Hachiko and the Hachiko exit to Shibuya station and the entire plaza near the exit is nothing but wall-to-wall people. Despite the warm wind flowing down the streets and alleys and up out of vents on the side walk people are still shivering and I flip the collar up on my overcoat and hunch my shoulders into it as I walk. At the stop light, I look across the street to the swarms of people waiting to cross onto my side. Where are you all going? What the hell do you think the point of your life is? How many of you have ever had sex with a blood relative? Can any of you speak English? Who’s not wearing panties under their skirts? What in god’s sweet name am I going to get Michiko for Christmas?
Inside Tsutaya I look through racks and racks of CD’s. I pick up and look at a special edition “Cold Play Christmas hits” and I get a bad taste in my mouth simply holding it so, as I turn around, almost without thinking at all I deftly drop the album into some girl’s shoulder bag who is standing next to me. As the CD disappears smoothly into her bag I notice this general, overall, pudginess about her which for some reason excites me then suddenly depresses and subsequently enrages me- all within a matter of a second or two. Inspecting closer without being too obvious about things I can see it’s clear that her over-ripe puffiness is made all the more obtrusive by the massive, ridiculous, Christmas sweater she has on. I sneer at her and mumble “Dopey bitch” under my breath. Then I turn and casually walk away from her.
Across the store, still on the first floor, my iphone vibrates and I absently reach into the pocket of my Burberry overcoat and pull it out. Aaron. I press the button.
“Tell me you have Drugs,” I say by way of greeting.
“Tell me you just didn’t say that on your cell,” Aaron sighs on his end of the, um, “line”?
“Oh, I’m sorry Agent Aaron. Is the uh, government or something, tapping your phone there?”
“If this was a movie, I would tell you to use a land line. Fucking Canadian.” He says into the phone, his voice somewhat muffled by back ground noise I can’t quite make out.
“Where are you anyway? Are we still on for four?” I ask realizing now how desperate I am for some kind of chemical adjustment. Ecstasy, Coke, a fucking bottle of Nightquil for god’s sake, anything to take the edge off.
I then spot the dumpy girl in the stupid Christmas sweater make her way to the register to check out, an arm full of CD’s with titles I cannot even begin to imagine. This makes me stop grinding my teeth and inside I start to smile.
“I’m in Cohiba,” I hear Aaron say and confused I snarl into the phone, still staring at the girl “You want a… Cohiba? Fine, man. We can get you that. That is gettable. Jesus I will buy you a Behike if you can simply hook up some dope for this evening. Hell, I’ll buy you two.”
“What? No, dumbass, I’m in Chiba. On my way back now. Jesus, Stew you need to relax. And stop saying D-words on the fucking phone, yeah? Use that Finance Manager education and intellect you’ve got and be smart.”
I roll my eyes and cut him off. “Oh god, spare me Aaron, and don’t call me Stew. I hate that shit. You know that.” My eyes now closely track the dumpy shoplifter’s movements as she takes her change in one hand and her plastic bag full of shitty music, a Christmas tree emblazoned on the side of it, in the other hand and heads for the exit.
“Yeah, right. Look I’m getting on a train. La Hacienda in an hour. See you then.”
“OK. Hey do me a favor and don’t be late?” I say but the rude bastard has already hung up so I slip the phone back in my pocket, then have second thoughts, pull it back out and click the video option on and as subtly as possible hold it up to record my little victim right as she passes in between the magnetic sensors set up in front of the doors. She moves to walk through them and a blaring, high pitched alarm goes off and the entire, packed CD store freezes and looks directly toward the exit where the goofy moron has now frozen in place; a look of utter shock, embarrassment and distress plastered on her face in the most satisfying manner possible.
A skinny, pimply-faced employee in a blue polo Tsutaya t-shirt approaches her carefully and asks to see her plastic bag and checks it thoroughly, noting that all the magnetic security devices have been removed. He then asks her, ever so politely, to go through the sensors again and yet again the squeal pierces the air telling everyone that this little happy-holiday’s-munchkin is in fact, a criminal.
Awkwardly, with another customer service employee approaching, the zit faced skinny guy asks if there is “any chance” she might have “forgotten” some merchandise in her bag. The girl shakes her head “no”, and I gradually zoom my video in to capture both of them, chubby the shop-lifter and pizza-face, slowly turning their heads to gaze at her shoulder bag. They stare at it heavily, intently, like it’s going to jump off her arm and prance around the store doing a jig at any moment.
I move the camera from her round face with the deep red blush creepy up her neck, to his skinny, zitty face with the lock of greasy hair hanging over one eye and then to the bag. Then I zoom out slightly and wait, holding them both in the frame. A full, heavy, uncomfortable minute passes, and finally the girl hands her shopping bag to the guy and unslings her shoulder bag, glancing inside. Next, the look of abject horror that slams onto her mug is one of a kind. Obviously she sees the stolen album in her bag now, and I hold the video on her steadily, barely stifling a surprise giggle.
I zoom in on the bag slightly, and carefully film her trembling, chubby hand, as she pulls the album out and holds it up in front of her face. “Cold Play Christmas hits.” It no longer matters if she stole it or if some evil fuck slipped it into her tacky bag. In the eyes of the shop staff, both staring at her but not, in the eyes of the other customers all pretending not to look at her, in the eyes of the world, she is a dirty little thief. She knows this now. We all know it.
Tears. They start by pooling in her almond shaped eyes and sit their momentarily glistening, almost puppy-like before freefalling down her burning red apple cheeks. The video loses its focus as I aggressively attempt to zoom in to the maximum level to capture her emotional collapse and this technical problem upsets me and I curse under my breath.
It’s then, that I realize I am leaning forward, almost over a rack of Inca CD’s, camera out, breathing erratic and heavy-completely invested in my little project and that two girls, fairly hot looking early 20-somethings with dyed hair, in jean shorts and black tights and Ugg boots and mismatched “hip” scarves and sweaters, are both staring at me with uncomfortable, slightly disgusted expressions.
I look sideways at them, then quietly snarl “Go fuck yourselves, whores,” as I save the video on my iphone. Then, I walk straight up toward the exit with the Christmas criminal at it, actually smiling and winking at her as she looks toward me (For some kind of, what? Help?), stunned, her face wet, red and swollen and then I push by her rather roughly with my shoulder and walk back outside into the crowds of people as I aggressively hum “Deck the Halls” to myself and stride purposefully up Dogenzaka.
November 17, 2010
Pick up Girls using the CARVER Matrix
“If you want to increase your chances of success with women, create situations that lead to these situations.”
David DeAngelo quote
At some point starting during the end of the Vietnam war, the United States special forces began developing a Target Acquisition system that would later go on to be used in the post 9/11 world as a valuable and hyper effective Risk Assessment tool in the war on terror. This tool is the CARVER matrix.
The dynamics of this system have allowed numerous governments and agency to pre-empt attacks and identify weaknesses in their own systems. It is helping stop terrorism…
…and that’s just great.
….that is not going to help you get in the panties. So, with that thought in mind, we here at Gaijinass have decided to turn our laser like intellects and the power of the CARVER matrix to the task that matters most to the people likely reading past this sentence.
Model based decision-making such as the CARVER matrix is awesome because it eliminates something that invariably screws decisions up and that’s your emotions. It removes them from the situation. You might think you’re smooth and have all the answers but the reality is that you don’t. In fact, what little information you do have is likely counter productive, your “intuition” or “Spidy sense” as you like to call it didn’t help you with that case of herpes now did it? Your defunct inner compass is why you’re still booty calling that fat chick you met at the Indian Curry buffet from last Easter…and she STILL smells like curry. And that’s fine because we all agree; Indian curry is awesome.
But it’s time to crawl out of your gutter though and let that little light of yours shine.
Go ahead, Hold it high for all to see.
Now, for the purpose of this simulation, we are going to make a few assumptions to keep things streamlined.
- You are not 50-cent. You’re not Mystery. Nor are you Orlando Bloom. Conversely, you’re not Carrot Top either. You are an average or slightly above average looking normal guy. You have average to slightly above average game.
- You are not a crippled beggar on a skateboard. However, you’re not having your Ferrari shipped over here either. You are financially middle class or near that area.
- You have an average to well below average wang (except for all writers and contributors to this Blog, in which case “diabolically small” might be more appropriate), that is connected to a ferocious sexual appetite with the destructive consumption ability of “The Nothing” from The Never-ending story. Which, by the way, FUCKING ENDED!
Location Location Location.
It’s true, this is important. Sure, you can just go wander around the grocery store and if you’re there long enough at some point you will meet a sad “divorcy” buying microwave dinners and you might have a shot at a hand job in a filthy Piggly-Wiggly toilet. But if you’re serious about meeting women that DON’T have a plastic appendage or HAVEN’T ever been penetrated by their “sweet lord Satan” then you need to stop hanging out on the sidewalk in front of that mental hospital waiting for someone that doesn’t wear diapers.
Gaijinass currently runs operations out of Tokyo “WTF” Japan so the locations I am going to name and run through the omniscient CARVER Matrix are places an aspiring gentleman or persuasive scumbag might go to make time with a nubile young J-girl. The following locations are:
|Target Rich Locations||C||A||R||V||E||R||TOTAL|
Based on the Matrix above (sounds fucking cool right? MATRIX) , Roppongi has been awarded the highest points for location. Let us briefly discuss why this is and the considerations made for each component within the system. And I mean briefly. For a long explanation on each component go here kids.
Roppongi is well-known as a foreign culture center in Tokyo and attracts many ex-pats nightly. This in turns attracts the Japanese women intent on meeting them. Locations to drink, socialize and drink more abound. So, for total Criticality, Roppongi received the maximum amount of possible points. It received the same for Accessibility because you could go any night of the week and there will be women drinking there that will immediately have an interest in you because you are not Japanese. Recuperability (return) scored slightly lower due to the fact that because it has this magnet like quality of foreign guys you will have competition. Although, a scimitar wielding monkey wearing a dead baby for a hat could get phone numbers, the number of women left to drag home at 4 AM will be limited. Have no fear though, by comparison, you have a much higher chance of whisking home some drunk skank there than in the other locations.
Vulnerability received fewer points, in fact the same amount as Shibuya because the level of difficulty will likely be the same and the amount of time needed to insure your one night stand will also likely be about equal. However it should be less difficult than for example Ikebukuro where you would have to go to 2 or 3 bars and then all night karaoke forcing her to miss her last train insuring she will vomit in your home toilet before passing out so you can -ahem- “pleasure” her at your drunken convenience.
Effect was high yet again because just the act of you making your sorry way to Roppongi will drastically increase your chances of mission accomplishment i.e. “Panty Droppage”. Recognizability got high points because you have to be a fool to not see where you should go to talk to women in Roppongi. Unlike Ebisu for example, the girls in Roppongi are there to PARTY. They want to drink, have men buy them drinks and then probably chug some cock. The signs are easily Recognizable.
Again in this case, Model Based decision-making and its results run against many a seasoned J-girl hunters instincts. Many men here, very driven PUA (pick up artist) avoid Roppongi like the plague but most of these motivations come from emotional responses or personal biases. If those are fairly well removed its clear Roppongi is the place to go.
If you like this, you might like:
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|Seagal vs Van Damme||Death Penalty Survivor||Hardest Endurance
November 6, 2009
It was all basically an accident.
I arrived in Japan with the intention of living here in 2004. I had come in December of 2003 to see the PRIDE FC New Years eve event at the Saitama Super Arena. It rocked. Gary Goodridge knocked Don Fry out with a head kick in the first 30 seconds. The last cool thing Goodridge would ever do in his Fighting career.
I was really into MMA so I checked out the famous Takada Dojo in Meguro here in Tokyo. By checked out I mean I went and trained there a couple days. I left unimpressed. A friend recommended I go train at least once at the equally famous (in japan anyway) Ihara gym and this is where I still train, for the most part, to this day. It impressed me that much.
I am telling you all this because it should be clear that I did not come to Japan planning to teach English. Nor was I interested in temples or learning Japanese or Kimonos or Manga or whatever. I was just really into MMA and at the time PRIDE FC was THE show. UFC hadnt blown up yet. I did discover however that I liked Tokyo. It is such a dynamic city and has a vibration that I immediately connected with, so I up and moved here. I started Teaching English because I needed a Visa and the Owner of my gym said “Just go Teach English.”
At the time I thought this was absurd. I didn`t even know the Japanese were learning English, and why would I?Anyway I got a job with a company and I was going to be teaching Elementary school in Minato Ku. In 2004 this all meant very little to me, I was just happy that I could stay and train and could do this without being homeless or turning tricks in a dirty bathroom someplace.
First I think you should know that I am a natural Teacher. I have a lot of experience and I can give references.
- I was 7 when I taught this kid Roger Ganly that if you have braces it isnt a good idea to elbow me in the stomach and knock the wind out of me because I will probably walk up behind you after school and call your name and when you turn around I will crow hop your dumb ass.
- When I was 13 and my brother was 10 I taught him some really valuable stuff. He would look out while I shoplifted comic books and whatever else I wanted from the Book store. I taught him all about team work, planning and communication: verbal or otherwise. Not to mention that with the right attitude nothing is impossible. Really good stuff. He has never thanked me though.
- I was maybe 14 when I invented my own martial art. It was kind of like Karate and Judo mixed with Kung fu and wrestling. ..but it had a lot more spinning kicks and jumping around. This was a really big deal as far as teaching went because my friend Patrick and I had decided that he would coach my brother, I would coach his and then the next day the two of them would fight to the death and we were betting a lot of money, like 5 or 6 dollars so everyone was taking it really serious. I had to impart all my warrior knowledge on his brother Tyler (no easy task as he had no natural killer instinct to speak of) basically in 2 hours. I think I succeeded but sadly we never got to try it out because Tyler got grounded for something. Jerk.
- I was 17 when I taught my 15 year old girlfriend Melanie how to give head and have all kinds of sex. She was a quick study let me tell you but I think my natural instincts for imparting wisdom on others really made a difference. Melanie was a very cool girlfriend.
- After I left the Military for a while I was teaching Cops in California how to do CQB (Closed Quarters Battle) incase they had to clear a Nursing home in which a Meth Lab had been constructed. I also taught them how to kick the shit out of an unruly suspect if she refuses to sign a speeding ticket or whatever.
Look the list goes on and on but I think you get the point right?
Megumi “MAD DOG” Yamada
The first school I taught at was in Odaiba. It was an Elementary school. Very few foreign people live in Odaiba (a man-made island in the middle of Tokyo bay. Weird place.) so there were no mixed kids or foreign students. In fact there wasnt a single teacher that spoke any English at all. My boss from my company took me there and introduced me and then to my horror just left. The first few days are a blur as I had no idea what to do, when to do it or with whom. I resorted to teaching basic military drill movements my first several class under the guise of it being “learning your left and right”. “Snap and Pop”. “Sound Off!” Keep in mind I spoke no Japanese. None. It was all going so well.
I was trying to use the online translation software “Babbel Fish” to achieve some basic level of communication but it wasnt working. I am sure the teacher was trying to ask me “At lunch time, can you eat fish?” but Babbel fish came back with “Fish it consumes a supper of Ok time?” I was fucking lost.
In the 3rd grade class this little girl was just staring at me. She just sat there in her chair glaring at me. In the lunch room (this school had one oddly enough most Japanese elementary do not.) I saw her again across the room slowly eating while MAD DOGGING me the entire time. This went on for months. Finally one day this future super model (looking at her face was like looking at a puppy dog. a very cute puppy dog.) walked up to me outside the school when I was heading to the train station. I heard the little voice behind me “Eric Sensei!”
I stopped and turned around and there she was with her little red bag pack and she was standing in a power position: feet a bit wider than normal, hands on her hips and a very serious expression on her face. Something you might call a conversation then ensued. I had learned about 10 words of Japanese in those few months and with that and gestures and more of this puppy dog face scowling at me I ascertained that she was inviting me to her house which was I also ascertained on the 40th floor of one of these big streaming steel and glasses high-rise apartment buildings which are the only domicile`s on the island. It was 3:30Pm and I declined. This did not go well. She was not happy. I was lost. This pattern continued for a long time. By the end of the year she had learned one English word real well: Stupid. She practiced it often with me when I would decline yet another invitation. To this day I have never been able to figure that little girl out.
The Kancho Incident
Kancho is this thing that Japanese kids do. I will walk you through it so put your coffee or crack pipe down and follow along.
Ok, keep the pipe, just read along.
- put both hands up in front of you palms facing each other.
- enter lace your fingers while extending together you right and left pointer fingers so your hands resemble a church steeple or a gun.
- Now sneak up behind someone.
- Now jam that church steeple up their ass.
That is Kancho. It’s like a prank…although the humor or enjoyment is frankly, lost on me. But its RAMPANT at elementary schools. The Muppet Puppet foreigner, English “ALT” (assistant language turd/teacher) is no exception…in fact often its just open season on your asshole.
The thing is…”what Kancho is” or “advice on how to handle kancho” was not included in the “Things you might need to know” handbook my Company never gave me. So when I felt a hard foreign object intruding into that restricted area I naturally whirled around at top speed and my eyes took in the situation just in time for me to see the back of my right hand impact this 8-year-old boys head.
SMASH/ CUT and he is on the floor basically conscious I guess with one eye going to 3 oclock the other to midnight. Only a little blood was trickling out of his nose. His partners in crime, about 12 kids boys and girls stood in a half circle across from me with jaws on the floor. Nobody spoke for what seemed like a long time but was actually 2 seconds untill my initial response of “Fuck.me.Hard.”
I dragged the kid to the nurses office where thanks to the cohorts, she was told what happened.
This became a whole “incident” and my boss had to come to the school and bow about a million times and I did my awkward foreigner bow about a million times and the Principal bowed about a million times and the kid never came near me again.
The second year I worked for that company they fired the “handler” who did a lot of the leg work going to schools and talking to people and helping us, the ignorant and troublesome teachers survive. I guess they fired him because in fact, he was incompetent. A nice guy but incompetent. Like when he failed to tell me at contract re-signing time that this year the company would NOT be paying the summer holidays. That was nice. A really nice surprise when I went to an ATM one day to pay my rent.
In his place they hired and American as a “head teacher”. I will call him “Bob”.
Bob had been in Japan for years. Had a Masters in Japanese linguistics or something and was basically destined to become the Companies English departments “Head Liar.” This he did well. I guess liars and lies are just part of the business here so I am giving him a free-be on that score. Head liar gets a pass.
No, it wasn’t the lying that bugged me but rather his continuous attempts to convince me to either appear in Homosexual pornography or to be a gay prostitute. Ole` Bob was 100% FLAME ON gay gay and lived with his Boyfriend in Tokyo. I remember the conversation pretty well.
Bob: Have you ever considered doing some acting?
Me: No that isnt my thing I dont think….why?
Bob: Oh nothing…just…I know some people who make videos. All types of videos and its an easy way to make extra cash. You should think about it.
Me: ….You mean Porn?
Me: ….You mean gay porn Bob?
Bob: Well yeah…but you can just masturbate on camera…alone.
Me: masturbate on cam in a gay porn flick. This is your advice….
Bob: You can totally wear sunglasses or a Mask…like a professional wrestling Mask.
Me: Wear a mask….that’s your advice….
The potty mouthed fucking butt pirate. Needless to say I never made my debut. If you have read some other posts on the website you would know I am not too into being videotaped, unless I am doing the videotaping.. Extravagant photo graphs…fine…video…no. Apparently Bob is doing this regularly. A friend came to me one day and I could tell he wasn’t in top form mentally and after I inquired as to why, he told me Bob had tried to recruit him for a “film role”. Yeah I bet.
The Kiss of Death
All of the new “teachers” or “clowns” or “Puppets” or “assholes” had to go to the City hall to meet the god of English education one day. It was my first time to do this. I was new in Tokyo and had no idea about the trains etc. My boss had just said “hey see you at Daimon at 1000AM.” Right. Daimon. 1000AM. See you. I arrived at 1020 after about 30 train changes, a series of sprints and a back flip. I saw the other teachers all looking bored standing in a line. Lots of kackies. Lots of sweater vests. Lots of ugly ties. I was wearing a pair of black slacks and a grey turtle neck sweater. I also hadnt shaved at all in about 3 months and my beard was a thing of Hemingway like pride. My boss, this little woman about 4 feet tall was wearing this quasi gothic black costume/outfit and black platform boots and she immediately started babbling incoherently as I emerged from the station sweaty and panting.
We went to the city hall where god lived and as we entered I apologized to everyone for being late and this one fellow wearing a really bad gray suit said in a booming baritone voice. “Its the kiss of Death. Being late is the Kiss of Death in Japan my friend. You had better understand that. Kiss of DEATH.” I actually nodded my head and as I was about to ask who invited Sean Connery’s character from “Rising Sun” here, but here he came again “And a beard…again Kiss of Death my friend. Beards are a no go. I have been here a long time and I know what the deal is and let me tell….Beard = Kiss of DEATH.” By this point I was dumbfounded and simply nodded numbly. The guy next to me spoke up “Beards are the Kiss of Death huh? You’re a fucking idiot. ” This was Brian. I would soon learn that both “Fuck” and “idiot” were words that he cherished dearly. A Black/Jewish expert on the Hebrew version of the Bible, married to a lovely Japanese woman and I would soon find out: essentially a Narcisstic psychopath. We immediately became fast friends and are to this day.
In the meeting with some of Gods minions from the Board of Education and Mind Control, essentially only Japanese was being spoken. Myself and another “boot cherry” could understand nothing so Sean Connery, a man I would from that day forward simply refer to as “THE VOICE” cowboyed up to perform translation services. Gods Minion would talk for a few minutes then The Voice said ” OK….essentially what she is saying is that at after lunch time you need to play with the kids outside during their Recess. You see it is a vital bonding time for us to connect with the children, our students, and really impress upon them that foreign people are just that…people.” Brian spoke up loudly in the somewhat high-pitched, on the verge of laughter voice that he always seems to have. “What the Fuck are you talking about? That’s not what she said. Fucking Idiot.” The whole meeting stopped and stared. The Voice spoke. “That is precisely what she said. Look…my Japanese language skills are…” Brian again “You’re a fucking Moron. She was telling us we are expected to EAT LUNCH with the students and the rooms we should eat in will alternate each day so we have a chance to visit every class. Fucking recess? She never said anything about that.”
Silence. Heavy and True. The voice left it alone after that.
Ironically a few months later The Voice would be fired for first stalking and then trying to solicit sex from two of his Junior High school students.
Like a new teacher would do at any school anywhere, on my first day with each class I usually introduced myself and gave a brief introduction followed by a little open Q&A with the help of the Japanese home room teacher.
It was 5th grade class at a public school in Shibuya Ku this time.
“OK…any questions?” The list was pretty basic. Do you have a girlfriend? Do you eat Sushi? Can you use chopsticks? What is your favorite color? Do you like dogs? How tall are you? Do you like Dogs? Can you eat Raw fish? Do you like Dogs? Like that.
Today would be a bit special though….the last question I took that day was from a boy. He stood up when I called on him and very clearly speaking asked in Japanese “Eric Sensei no chinchin ha nan centi gurai?” essentially “How big is your dick?” It was like a moment from BACKDRAFT as all the air in the air seemed to suck back for a split second as everyone, except me because I didn’t catch it immediately, sharply inhaled. The Home room Teacher, a 30-year-old lady who was very energetic and kind, well her face went through a serious of evolutions before become a fairly neutral mask despite the red color creepy up her neck and across her cheeks. Then when the reaction came from the “has asocial death wish” kids fellow students, it came big. “What the hell?!?!” “What kind of question is that?!” “God you are dirty!” “You are always asking dirty questions!” “You are such a pervert!” One boy turned around and punched him in the stomach and then a piece of balled up paper that came from where, I dont know, hit him in the side of the head.
I looked at the Home room teacher for Clarification. She opened her mouth, then she flinched then closed her mouth, then opened it again, then tilted her head and looked at me like I was a lost doggy. Finally she just shook her head over and over and when I asked “What?” she just shook her head and waved her hand at me. The international signal for “Uh no. no no no.”
Kids are so great. Full of curiosity.
I no longer teach Elementary school and I have branched out and am doing a few different jobs in Tokyo now including some writing. However I am sure the interesting events and stories will keep coming so there will probably be more of this. There is actually a lot left to tell.