Remember the Alamo
I took the ferry from the island back to mainland Korea Halloween night. I was certainly the only whitey onboard. So, this Halloween, I shared a floor in a sequestered part of the boat with a dozen or so Korean dudes for 12 hours. In all, I went about 60 hours without seeing another whitey. Then I took the first ship in the morning to Japan, which was only about a three hour journey.
Japan was effing nuts. I met up with this Aussie guy on the boat, and after doing the visa stuff, we went on this epic journey to find a hotel at a reasonable price. At dinner, we were trying to figure out what the hell we were eating and what to order next. The Japanese waitress was very accommodating, and went to find a patron who could order a meal for us. The dude she found treated us to a shitload of sake, and on top all the beer we were getting a quick start to the evening. This guy, Hajimeh, must've thought we were good fun, and he rang up his brother to come join us. At one point, Hajimeh measured his finger up against the side of my glass of beer: "Japanese cock very, very small." I was confused, because his fingers spanned a respectable enough length, and Hajimeh continued: "Japanese cock very, very small. But American cock sooo big. American cock is big?" "Uhhh... I suppose it's alright, yeah." "Yes. American cock is so big. I want to go! American dream! American burger is very big?" [Oh shit, coke/cock. I get it.] "Yeah, American burger is very big, too. [For the benefit of my Aussie friend, who still hadn't caught on to what was going on] You like the big cock?" "Yes, I like. Big burger, big cock. American dream!"
When his brother, Taiki, self-proclaimed "playboy," showed up, it was time to boogie on elsewhere. These two Oriental partyboys wanted to introduce us to Japanese women - "Japanese womens, good face and good legs, but no... uhhh [gesture]" "Chesticles?" "Yes, no have very good" - but they couldn't decide on a suitable place. We got in Taiki's car, and drove, where else, to the local Eastern European hostess bar: "You like the Romani womens?"
This isn't quite my cup of tea, so I was chugging off the bottle of Jack that came with the exorbitant cover charge, hoping it would shake off the awkwardness. We were each paired off with a Romani, and "mine" didn't speak the greatest English, and I don't speak the greatest Russian or Japanese. So I spent most of the time trying not to count the gaps in her grill (three, best I could figure).
Afterwards, the brothers invite us back to their sushi restaurant for some drinks and a medley of other vices. The Aussie bloke politely declined, and so it was just me and the Mariohaki Bros. After some drinking, and a paranoia inducer, I was already well on my way to feeling like I was stuck in a Japanese television show. Ever their white toy, they Hajimeh brought out this testicular-looking side from behind the counter, in a well-fitting bowl. Apparently, on this television show, you pinch off a bit of testicle with chopsticks - I'm hoping it was some kind of tomato/pepper hybrid, but I'll never know - and feed a microscopic amount to the next person. The object of the show, and what really gets the laugh track going, is when you coax the tanked whitey into eating way more than everyone else. Naturally, they grimace all the way through it, but whitey is so tanked that he's relatively unfazed, so they keep feeding him heeps and heeps and stroke his ego to keep him going: "oh, American so strong." This eventually leads to one of the Japanese favorite pastimes: projectile vomiting.
I'd spent much of the previous week reading about twentieth century Korean history, which is overwhelmingly about Japan's imperialist control on its neighbor occupying the phallic peninsula. Millions and millions were killed, and I have the propensity to get all overly sympathetic on the ass of the colonized. On my way to vomit, I wanted some kind of historical toast to mark the occasion, wisely decided against it since that 1) makes for bad tv and 2) isn't a great way to endear yourself to hosts that were going out of their way to show me a good time, and my last lucid memory is of me chanting "remember the Alamo." Hajimeh was weeing at the time when I could no longer hold it in, so I hussled to the sink and gave that shit a delightful pinkish hue. About eight times over.
After losing everything in my belly and chucking up parts of my pancreas, I was still curious about what we had just eaten. Hajimeh and his brother then coolly pretended like they didn't know what I was saying. [Cue laugh track yet again. Oh the Japanese are a giggly bunch.]
They helped me find my way back home via taxi. And, seeing as how I know about three ways in Japanese to say "thank you" but don't know how to say "I'm sorry," I spent the whole time meditating on my new mantra of the evening: "don't puke in the cab; don't puke in the cab; don't puke in the cab." I didn't puke in the cab - which is good, because I'm sure cabbie didn't want to hear "domo arigato, Mr. Roboto; sayonara!" - but I couldn't extend the same courtesy to the elevator. Have you ever had to swallow a mouthful of vomit? I wouldn't recommend it. Only half as much came out the second time, and I had to revisit essence du Marq the next morning in the elevator going down. It took about two days to recover, which was the rest of my stay in Japan.
Really, though, I'm just killing time before I move into the new place. It wasn't quite ready for my scheduled 2pm move-in, since apparently my place had been used as storage for misc belonging to future coworkers. It was cluttered with boxes, which my supervisor apologized profusely for: "This is like one of those horror stories you hear about in Korea." "N-, this is hardly horrific. Really, I can wait." It's like living in an Ikea store, and I'm very capable of looking beyond the clutter. A few of the eminities: a queen sized mattress imported from America ("fuck yeah!"), a proper shower (a blessing in Korea), an actual closet (" "), and a flat panel TV (Samsung). And the view from the 25th floor rooftop, magnifique!
Japan was effing nuts. I met up with this Aussie guy on the boat, and after doing the visa stuff, we went on this epic journey to find a hotel at a reasonable price. At dinner, we were trying to figure out what the hell we were eating and what to order next. The Japanese waitress was very accommodating, and went to find a patron who could order a meal for us. The dude she found treated us to a shitload of sake, and on top all the beer we were getting a quick start to the evening. This guy, Hajimeh, must've thought we were good fun, and he rang up his brother to come join us. At one point, Hajimeh measured his finger up against the side of my glass of beer: "Japanese cock very, very small." I was confused, because his fingers spanned a respectable enough length, and Hajimeh continued: "Japanese cock very, very small. But American cock sooo big. American cock is big?" "Uhhh... I suppose it's alright, yeah." "Yes. American cock is so big. I want to go! American dream! American burger is very big?" [Oh shit, coke/cock. I get it.] "Yeah, American burger is very big, too. [For the benefit of my Aussie friend, who still hadn't caught on to what was going on] You like the big cock?" "Yes, I like. Big burger, big cock. American dream!"
When his brother, Taiki, self-proclaimed "playboy," showed up, it was time to boogie on elsewhere. These two Oriental partyboys wanted to introduce us to Japanese women - "Japanese womens, good face and good legs, but no... uhhh [gesture]" "Chesticles?" "Yes, no have very good" - but they couldn't decide on a suitable place. We got in Taiki's car, and drove, where else, to the local Eastern European hostess bar: "You like the Romani womens?"
This isn't quite my cup of tea, so I was chugging off the bottle of Jack that came with the exorbitant cover charge, hoping it would shake off the awkwardness. We were each paired off with a Romani, and "mine" didn't speak the greatest English, and I don't speak the greatest Russian or Japanese. So I spent most of the time trying not to count the gaps in her grill (three, best I could figure).
Afterwards, the brothers invite us back to their sushi restaurant for some drinks and a medley of other vices. The Aussie bloke politely declined, and so it was just me and the Mariohaki Bros. After some drinking, and a paranoia inducer, I was already well on my way to feeling like I was stuck in a Japanese television show. Ever their white toy, they Hajimeh brought out this testicular-looking side from behind the counter, in a well-fitting bowl. Apparently, on this television show, you pinch off a bit of testicle with chopsticks - I'm hoping it was some kind of tomato/pepper hybrid, but I'll never know - and feed a microscopic amount to the next person. The object of the show, and what really gets the laugh track going, is when you coax the tanked whitey into eating way more than everyone else. Naturally, they grimace all the way through it, but whitey is so tanked that he's relatively unfazed, so they keep feeding him heeps and heeps and stroke his ego to keep him going: "oh, American so strong." This eventually leads to one of the Japanese favorite pastimes: projectile vomiting.
I'd spent much of the previous week reading about twentieth century Korean history, which is overwhelmingly about Japan's imperialist control on its neighbor occupying the phallic peninsula. Millions and millions were killed, and I have the propensity to get all overly sympathetic on the ass of the colonized. On my way to vomit, I wanted some kind of historical toast to mark the occasion, wisely decided against it since that 1) makes for bad tv and 2) isn't a great way to endear yourself to hosts that were going out of their way to show me a good time, and my last lucid memory is of me chanting "remember the Alamo." Hajimeh was weeing at the time when I could no longer hold it in, so I hussled to the sink and gave that shit a delightful pinkish hue. About eight times over.
After losing everything in my belly and chucking up parts of my pancreas, I was still curious about what we had just eaten. Hajimeh and his brother then coolly pretended like they didn't know what I was saying. [Cue laugh track yet again. Oh the Japanese are a giggly bunch.]
They helped me find my way back home via taxi. And, seeing as how I know about three ways in Japanese to say "thank you" but don't know how to say "I'm sorry," I spent the whole time meditating on my new mantra of the evening: "don't puke in the cab; don't puke in the cab; don't puke in the cab." I didn't puke in the cab - which is good, because I'm sure cabbie didn't want to hear "domo arigato, Mr. Roboto; sayonara!" - but I couldn't extend the same courtesy to the elevator. Have you ever had to swallow a mouthful of vomit? I wouldn't recommend it. Only half as much came out the second time, and I had to revisit essence du Marq the next morning in the elevator going down. It took about two days to recover, which was the rest of my stay in Japan.
Really, though, I'm just killing time before I move into the new place. It wasn't quite ready for my scheduled 2pm move-in, since apparently my place had been used as storage for misc belonging to future coworkers. It was cluttered with boxes, which my supervisor apologized profusely for: "This is like one of those horror stories you hear about in Korea." "N-, this is hardly horrific. Really, I can wait." It's like living in an Ikea store, and I'm very capable of looking beyond the clutter. A few of the eminities: a queen sized mattress imported from America ("fuck yeah!"), a proper shower (a blessing in Korea), an actual closet (" "), and a flat panel TV (Samsung). And the view from the 25th floor rooftop, magnifique!
posted by Mark Hernandef at 5:30 PM
8 Comments:
Regarding the cock/coke thing, it's actually pretty likely that he meant the former. Penis size is one of the favorite conversation topics of the drunken Japanese man who's speaking to foreigners, right up there with "Do you like Japanese girl?" If you're ever back in Japan, I'd recommend going to an onsen (public bath)--anyone who engages you in conversation there is most definitely not talking about soft drinks.
Interesting, but then how do we explain the transition to burgers, unless that's a yonic reference. Cheers for the tip on the onsen, Ryan. Koreans enjoy talking about their penises, as well. But, they tend to be more open and less inquisitive: "Korean penis, small BUT, BUT... very, very HARD. And, [arm pump to suggest fornication] go a really long time." I've heard some version of this thrice already.
This would be a fun subject to study. It could be a college course. "I didn't do well on the written exam, but I did very well in the orals." I taught English to Saudi Arabians and they were really hung up on size. They all bragged about anal conquests, but they weren't "gay" because they were on the giving end and not the receiving end.
I also wonder about point of reference. To whose cock are you comparing this "respectable size"?
Eh, dude spread his fingers out, thumb and middle, and it seemed pretty decent. Brother had large hands, esp relative to my own fetus hands. It's a moot point anyway, seeing as how we're talking about beverages.
Hey Dr! Good talking to you last night, sorry it was cut short. Call anytime you can, I'm always around and so, so lonely. Anywho, try to work "balloon-knot" into all of your blogs, that's how I'll know you're saying hi to me! YEEEAAA!
-Ruddy Bob
anon: I'm sorry that you couldn't find what you were looking for. Perhaps this will help: www.foreskin.org
I also highly recommend www.suckmygapingcunt.co.kr
I've also had quite a bit of luck with this:
www.google.com
Perhaps this will help point you in the right direction.
Yours in Christ,
MH
Such a long time between posts! We need to know the skinny. 25th floor...great view, proper shower, queen sized bed, flat panel TV...and then there's that closet. Where are you spending most of your time? In the shower?
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