Cigarette Smoke, Phone Calls and Erections: Tales of an Eikaiwa Parasite

Vomiting Over a Guy in a Bar in Roppongi? Big fucking deal!" I hear your anguished cries resonate. Yeah, big fucking deal. But, what you guys dont know is that I'm back here in the beautiful Snowy Mountains of Australia. The Place where it all began. The winter wonderland where my Nokia 3210 with the silver cover took a call from the raspy-voices Masako Kuroda. And Angel of AEON. The Angel of Death!

Yeah, I was suckin' back on a Dunhill Blue at the time of the call. I did exhale a marvelous plume of blue smoke right into the handpiece as I began to get a hard-on over the Japanese bird on the other end of the line in the Big Smoke--the deliriously putrid Sydney Town. I accepted an appointment to strut my stuff, to masturbate my idle mind into a performing pervert, to ejaculate into the sponge-like minds of the wide-eyed J-Girl pussy lovin' motherfuckers of the world. And it was 3 months after this display of utter disregard for the human form that I found myself in the Land of Mystique, Japan.

"Hey you motherfucker! Get on with it!" I hear your disillusioned vocal streams strain. Sure, I'll get on with it. It may not make sense to you, this rhetoric that I deem necessary to divulge on you all, in particularly myself. It gives me a sense of relief, a sense of pleasure, a sense of abandonment to be able to share, or to force upon you all, the feelings that I have towards Japan. I think that now, after 2 years and 2 months since being here in Oz, receiving a phone call that changed my life, that it is time once again to provide you with thoughts of value on the topic of the foreigner in Japan, the Eikaiwa parasite.

Hmmmm, I have mixed emotions, highs and lows, moments of extacy and moments of disgust. We all die. Every single one of us. And it is because of this "natural phenomenon" that I say "DO IT!" Do it damn it! Get off your sorry arses and give Masako a phone call. If you arent successful at least you would have had the chance to have heard her sexy, erection-inducing voice. Who knows, for you quick shooters the few words that she may utter into your receptive ears may be more than enough time for you to "pyong kandaa!", which happens to be Korean for "Shoot your fucking load right up the magazine's glossy pages."

So, as I sit here, in the glorious Snowy Mountains, in a cabin that is within sight of the one where this dream began, still suckin' back on a Dunhill Blue, still longing for the return, still viewing the Land of the J-Girl as a place of mystique and the birthplace of the schoolgirl panty vending machine, pokari sweat, electronic shit and the salaried slug, I ponder my life and know that I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

If you were to ask me, much like King Midas asked Silenus, the son-of-a-bitch daemon of Dionysus "What is man's greatest happiness?" I would be forced to use the words of the foul-mouthed bumfucker demi-god Silenus and reply:

"Ephemeral wretch, begotten by accident and toil, why do you force me to tell you what it would be your greatest boon not to hear? What would be best for you is quite beyond your reach: not to have been born, not to be, to be NOTHING. But the second best is to die soon!"

Jazza