Photo by DildoMachinA via flickr

I’ve been the butt of more than a few jokes this past week. It leaked out last week that the only reason I became the Prime Minister of Japan is because of a bad case of the runs. They are mocking me, asking me how it feels being the heir to a stained throne.

Well you know what? I’m proud. Now maybe we do politics a bit differently here in Japan, but it is well known throughout the country that a man who produces slimy and weak feces can produce nothing but slimy and week legislation. Simply put, how can you trust a man to handle the affairs of a powerful country when he can’t handle the affairs inside his own intestines?

I hate to sound like a crab, but I’ve got a beef to air with my neighbors. You know the type who plays music that can be heard over rustling leaves, has parties that last past 7 pm, and flashes patronizing smiles when you bring over the welcome pimento loaf.

Well, I’ve got a neighbor that trumps the antics of any of those previously mentioned clowns. South Korea! I haven’t gotten one wink of sleep since they came out with those freakish glow cats.

I woke up this morning with a rumbling in my stomach that only one thing could satisfy: Whale bacon! I shook my wife awake and yelled to her “Get down to the kitchen and fry me up some whale blubber and French toast!” She gave me one of those deep condescending sighs, reminding me that because of those seaweed huggers over at the IWC

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

I remember the days of my youth when my father would come back from a hunt with one of them suckers torpedoed to death. We would have such a big feast. We would gather around the table and take turns seeing who could do the best whale yelp in between bites of blubber and flesh. My crazy 2nd cousin Takeru would always declare that his favorite part to eat was the blowhole. My father always debated whether to drink white wine since it is seafood, or red wine since it’s a red meat mammal. He usually compromised by slugging a few vodka tonics. Oh, and the leftovers! For the next 2 months, our school lunches were nothing but whale on rye.

Well, I’m back from my trip. I visited The United States, China and Singapore, and frankly I’m suffering from dry roasted peanut withdrawal. Perhaps I can convince my secretary to dress up as an airline stewardess and drop some off along with a plastic cup of 7up every few hours. I recall Shinzo saying he got her to play dress-up every now and then.

Anyway, I had such a glorious time in the United States of America. Here are some notes from my trip:

1. When I arrived in Washington DC, I tried to show off my wit to Condoleeza Rice. Listen to this joke I prepared:

Nice to meet you, Mrs. Rice. You’ll have to excuse my surprise, where I come from rice is white!

Associated Press

Something must have gotten lost in translation, because the hearty laugh I expected was actually an icy glare of death. I’ll have to annunciate my words more clearly next time.

Photo by Tjeerd via flickr

I’m here! I’ll tell you about my impressions of America later. Right now, I’ve got more important things to talk about - I met THE MAN!!!

From the first handshake, I knew I was in the presence of greatness. The first (pleasant) surprise occurred when I shook his hand. I was expecting rugged hands, like a cowboy who just finished rassling an American Black Bear in the Grand Canyon. On the contrary, his hands were so silky and smooth as if he’d never worked a day in his life. I didn’t want to let go. George (we’re on a first name basis since he can’t say my last name without cursing) told me it’s because of the special aloe-infused soap they use in the White House. He offered to give me some. No thanks, I’m never washing these hands again.

He invited me into his office and said to me, “Your stomach must be parched. Can I do you for a snack?” Realizing this was my chance to taste some genuine American cuisine, I asked for a hamburger and a cola. George smiled and I swear to God, hope to die, he said, “You’re my kind of man.” I’m George W. Bush’s kind of man!!!

Countdown to meeting the man: 71 hours, 47 minutes, 28 seconds.

I mean this is George freakin’ W. Bush! A living legend! He shoots down terrorists, twirls his guns, then delivers a clever line just before the credits roll. He’s done it all!

…and I’ve done nothing. I don’t have one captured terrorist to my name, and I’m meeting the man in less than 3 days? What am I supposed to say for myself? Well thankfully, the answer stuck to me like a thorn in my side - or to choose a more apt metaphor, a pin in a cushion - last week. I’ve uncovered a new, sinister form of terrorism brewing right under my nose: Sewing circles.

photo by h-angele via flickr

This menace appeared in Sapporo last week when a sewing pin found on a subway train seat precipitated a code 4 evacuation

I’m so nervous! I’m going to America in 2 weeks to meet President Bush, and I can’t speak a lick of English! You may remember that I was taking lessons at a private English company called NOVA. Unfortunately, a government penalty issued last year (Reason #003482 I hate Shinzo Abe) proved too much as NOVA closed their doors last week.

Photo by MShades via flickr

It devastated me. I sat alone in my study trying to sound out the words in my English textbook, but it just wasn’t the same without my teacher, Trent, making awkward passes at the female students in the class. Trent teaches so much that just isn’t in the textbook. Because of him, I’ve learned such phrases as “We don’t have to tell your boyfriend about it.” and “That’s not the only thing that’s bigger in America.”

Let’s face it: These are dangerous times and Japan isn’t living in an impenetrable bubble (I keep trying to blow one, but it always pops). Criminals are running amok in Tokyo. Why, just two years ago I saw a man jaywalking in broad daylight! Being an elderly (and filthy rich) citizen, it’s hard to feel safe walking outside in these conditions.

That’s why I let out a big sigh of relief when fashion designer, Aya Tsukioka, gave us Urban Camouflage — disguises to trick criminals into thinking you are just a street lamp or some other piece of urban landscape.