the eclectic electric ramblings of c squared

Writer's Block: Eat Your Vegetables

2008-10-07T03:12:10Z

The fall harvest is showing up in markets now, including many of the green vegetables children find so disgusting and yet are forced to eat. What is the most disgusting thing you’ve eaten, either by choice or against your will?

Submitted By bloodcurdling

View 500 Answers

i spent the better part of three years living in japan.... a land that we've come to associate with such fine n' delicate cuisines as sensual sushi, miso soup, and warmed sake poured from an intricately patterned raku pot... yeah, well, lemme level with you. while i love my former foreign abode, traditional delicacies not found outside the country pretty much include ANYTHING scraped off the bottom of the ocean.

particularly icky things that have been in my mouth are as follows:

fish head soup
fish eyeballs
deadly blowfish
every kind of marine ovary
crab brain pate
various shellfish (alive and wiggly, slowly flame-grilled to death on the table before me)
shark fin
sea cucumber (think giant slugs)
RAW lobster (oh so squishy)
RAW horse (not from the sea, but disturbing)
RAW chicken (let's not talk about it)
chicken knuckles (crunchy!)
whale (yes, endangered species)
and (shutter) fish semen sushi (i swallowed, wink wink)

but, if this post is about vegetables only, then i'm guessing the worst would be "natto", a common breakfast food. consisting of fermented soybeans in a slimy, sticky white goo, it smells not unlike 3-week old gym socks. often times, 'tis mixed with raw egg and onions, and eaten over rice... for breakfast.

i'll take spinach n' brussel sprouts over that any day, thank you very much.

*cody*

Wanting All Things Naughty (Not Looking for Nice)

2008-06-24T18:24:13Z

I posted this from here to eternity... if you, too, can help, please do! luff!!

***************************************************************************************************************

‘Sup all y’all fellow philes! The name’s Cody (long-time lurker, 2^nd or 3^rd time poster) and I’m a-needin’ some serious help. Currently, I got in the works a conventional style academic project on an unconventional subject: how modern vulgarities/impolite expressions are written in older, traditional Asian symbols.

(If that doesn’t make sense, the English equivalent might be doing research on the f-word, its various grammatical forms, usages, foreign cognates, and contending theories related to its historical origin…. See wikipedia for a fascinating distraction!)

Anyway, in a perfect world, I’d like to build a list of mainly CHINESE and JAPANESE

-slang

-profanity

-curses, epithets

-racial/sexist slurs

-Subculture or minority group expressions

-criminal and drug lingo

-descriptions of socially taboo behavior

-inappropriate synonyms for body parts, bodily functions, sexual acts etc…

***But MORE importantly, I need to know the Mandarin/Cantonese characters or Japanese kanji (and maybe, to a lesser extent, the hiragana and katakana).

Any help would be appreciated: whether that be recommendations for websites, dictionaries, conversation books (i.e. the “Making Out In--” series), other blogs/online journals… or even just a lil’ comment here or in my personal journal… like something you once heard slung in a bar brawl, or whispered into your ear by a dirty-talkin’ one-night stand.

Once again, this IS for a serious project, and I thank you for any advice. Cheerios, ladies n’ gents, and sorry for gratuitous cross-posting.

cody

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Silk Screen

2008-06-15T04:08:47Z

Behold the fruits of a five week course in silk screening -- my first forays into DIY emo-esque hipster-chic mixed media guerilla arts! DECK!

"Pop Propaganda"

by C. Cranch, 2008
(original photography: Asakusa Pagoda)
(photo-emulsion print with stencil print background)

"Tokyo Attack!"

by C. Cranch, 2008
(original photo: Yurikamome Line, leaving Odaiba Island)
(photo-emulsion print, with stencil print background)

"Raaawr, Rions"

by C. Cranch, 2008
(original photography: China Town, Yokohama City)
(photo-emulsion print with rainbow roll gradation background)

"Mischievous Oni" Newspaper Proof

by C. Cranch, 2008
(original drawing: pencil, ink)
(photo-emulsion print)

"Mischievous Oni" Final

by C. Cranch, 2008
(original drawing: pencil, ink)
(photo-emulsion print, with one-time monoprint color)

A Happy NYE from the big BD

2008-01-01T02:09:00Z

Well, hello.... and welcome… to my New Year’s Greeting Card. It wasn’t easy being a barely legal me in 2007. Sure, my pool boys think I’m 22, but I’ve dropped balls at least twice that amount. And in my time, I’ve learned some helpful “tricks” of the trade: like how to spot-clean joy juice from an aqua-netted weave, or deep-throat kielbasas. But I’ve also learned a lot about life -- Thanks, fortune cookies!

So here are a few tips to make this the best year [whisper] EVER….

We all have inner beauty, but unless you’re a Chinese contortionist with a big mirror, YOU'LL never see it. That’s why looking thin and being fashionable are essential.

Do you like this face? I never leave my boudoir without a few accoutrements....
1. blush
2. botox
3. hair spray and caulking glue
4. Maybelline’s signature “Canine Erection Red” lipstick
5. and a good sharpie to really bring out the eyes.

I also recommend a balanced diet of tic tacs and cigarettes.... or tape worms, for ladies on the go.

The second key to happiness is money.

For example, I always pay top bucks for a fuzzy white beaver. And this was hardly the exception.

But, wait a mo'! Low on cash, you say?

No problemo!

Just remember: "the future, TODAY!" All you need is a webcam and a working bowel. What was that? Money CAN’T buy happiness?! Well, anyone who thinks so has never done 6 inch lines of booger sugar off an 8 inch hunk name Julio, the best hired hustler in a harness and pasties…. God, I love Reno!

Oh, and lastly. Fact: never underestimate the power of a good mental attitude. I always think “positive”... unless of course, I’m under the gun for my Hep test. And while all those un-famous ex's may hate your wealth and emaciated body, just look into my lazy eye of doom and repeat after me:

1. “Junky whore” hurts, but it’s also French for “H-O-T exclamation point”.

And 2. Brenda Dickson’s got yo sexy back, bi-atch.

Kudos us. Happy New Year.

--BD

(ghost written by drawmaboy, but inspired by the comedy of devengreen.com)

Pussy Poll

2007-08-31T06:01:20Z

Entering a queer art show that requires TWO submissions. I'm revisiting the "Gay Ukiyo-e" theme... homo-eroticism and traditional Japanese mythology. Already know that I want to put in a similar image to this

("The Devils"....old, but the new one'll be spruced up with a torii gate)

However, I didn't have an appropriate second picture... something that mirrored the first, made a pair that could stand together, out of context and not look like two drawings randomly picked out from a larger series. So, I played around.... but not sure which one is better.....

(horizontal orientation juxtaposes nicely with the vertical males.... how Freudian!)

VS.

(more clearly has a direct relation, in terms of layout and positioning)

Oh, and by the way, these lovely ladies are "hannya," or witch-demons.

And yeah, if you HATE both of them.... maybe I don't need to know that. Arigatou!

ReWorked n' ReVisioned

2007-08-18T03:26:10Z

No need to comment, 'cause these are already-posted pics.... just redone 'cause there was something *off* and I always back-up my work in multiple locations, in case of a rectal fire (those who went to DePauw circa 2001-02 will catch that one). Later, gators!

Skull Beer Logo (copyright 2007)
by Cody Cranch

Gothic Stout Beer Logo (copyright 2007)
by Cody Cranch

Gettin' Kicks thru More Pics

2007-08-14T04:27:22Z

Avast, me pretty, they don't call me Long John, nor my Roger jolly for nuthin'! Wanna shiver me timber? Blow me down?! Climb my mast while I visit yer crow's nest?!?"

"Pirate Grrl" by Cody Cranch
for Pirate's Booty Beer Logo (copyright 2007)

Chicago-a-go-go!!!

2007-06-27T05:34:00Z

Last time we spoke, I was Chi-town bound.... and now, so happy to say, made those big changes and am breezin' through life in the Big Blow!! Ya know, just settin' up house n' home, and searching for enough gigs to get me through the day. But before I go further into the harrowing (and at times, delightfully scandalous) details of my month on the move, here's a sampling from the latest project..... illustrations for a children's book all about those chivalrous chaps from times past.... knights! (I always loved me a "Middle Aged" man, dressed to kill, and ready to get on bended knees before this queen's sharp, shiny sword!)

"Front cover" by Cody Cranch
1 of 12 illustrations for book detailing medieval weaponry, combat styles, and tournament games

P.S. Any and ALL visitors welcomed to visit my bad-ass abode. Drop me a line, or gimme a call.... We'll do brunch / lunch / coffee / cocktails.... or just have a good ol' wine n' whine session on the back porch..... whatever suits your fancy!

da digits: se7en se7en thre3 4our 6ix n9ne one 4our fiv5 se7en

Creative Quickie

2007-05-26T01:04:59Z

Hey all y'all! Lemme take a minute to tell ya what's what n' give a hawt shout-out to this land of the free, home of the brave.... I bit the bullet, made the move, and am back home! I sure as hell have SO much to say 'bout it, but so little patience.... instead, I leave you with this in-the-meantime image.... was fun drawing some good ol' fantasy for once... something just for moi, only for me. Plus, I think it'll make do as a nice welcome mat for my new webpage (in the making). Ya nervous?!

by Cody Cranch

The Fabulous Adventures of Miss Sharon Needles: Illustrious Junkie Ho!

2007-04-19T08:24:55Z

In regards to my recent forays into freelance art, I made the promise to myself that I wouldn't post any pics until something solid was picked up by at least one person with even a modicum of power...well, not sure if this counts, but I'm gettin' published....in England, of all places....

Anywho, here's the deets. An old fling of mine who's currently a member of the London Gay Men's Choir....I hear chortles already.... needed illustrations for their program. Now get this.... as I understand the situation (it's all a bit iffy), this year's choir performance is a musical review that tells a "story" (ala Mamma Mia, Movin' Out, etc.).

It's a typical taradiddle, known to many of us across the world and through time: gay boi, living at home, is unhappy with life and love (or rather, lack-thereof). Gay boi moves to the bright lights of the big city, where he starts to "experiment". Foreshadow, anyone?! It's all innocent fun and games, until a puff here, and a bump there, slowly send him hurtling down a dark and dangerous spiral of bareback orgies and drug abuse.... climaxing with (even I couldn't make this up) his involvement with a gang war?!? in which he shoots a man, and is sent to court.

Exactly what songs and in what combinations have been arranged to tell this story, I have no idea (guessing NOT Judy Garland, though the parallels are uncanny). But for my contribution, I was to conceive of visual representations of said plot arc. Oh, sure, I'm a pulled-string, a pulled-favor, since my whopping salary comes out to around...oh, zero pounds. But it was good to get some creative juices flowing. And apparently, the choir tours all of the UK, with an estimated audience of 10,000. Not too shabby, me thinks, guv'nuh!

(click to enlarge)

Gay boi with the most angsty, teen-agery poem I could think of on the spot....

possibly not-work-safe parts #2-4

Work of the devil....

The glamorous effects of booger sugar and a few bad Belushi's....paging Betty Ford....

Yay Happy ending!!

So long, and thanks for all the fish!

2007-04-09T16:47:06Z

Without doubt, this’ll be my most important post of the last three years…. for ‘tis time to turn the page to the next chapter, and say sayonara to sushi chefs and salary men, to English schools and the rising sun. My decision (return home, finally and for good) has been a long time on the brain, but short time in the making…. Sudden and surprising for some, but most of all, for me.

I’ve gone through four distinct phases leading up to the here and now: resolution, creation, realization, and no-hesitation

Or in other words: Cody gets off his duff, makes some stuff, sees things getting really tough (and into a brown paper bag he huffs and puffs) before finally saying, “Enough is ENOUGH!”

Let’s delve. At the risk of sounding either like a total artsy snob or a flake with naïve dreams, I made the New Years resolution to be a more creatively productive person… I’ve always done odd drawing jobs for friends and coworkers… acting in essence as a charity free-lancer. But why not take it up a notch?! Put together portfolios, resumes, get my shit “out there” instead of hording it all on hard drives and in rarely opened sketchbooks.

Starting February, I took a risk, cut back my teaching hours to part-time status, and got busy. In essence, I became…..

I did work for the school

Created a 15-part satirical cartoon series for English magazines

Wrote and illustrated humorous essays (see last post)

Continued the erotica

Wrote a children's story

...Sally's quite different,
Loves when leaves fall down,
Dry up, turn crispy
Moldy yellow, and brown

Or waking up early
To the world with white coating.
Spotting clouds stuffed with snow
Till they’re almost exploding...

I auditioned for acting agencies, went to workshops, lectures, networked etc. etc.

To be honest, there was lots of suckiness, rejection and little acceptance, unanswered emails and a fair amount of “Great work, but….”

In the end, I only held out for a few months. Not nearly enough time. And rejection is a big part of an artist/actor’s life. I know this and am prepared to receive it.

But I had an epiphany. I realized that “it” just wasn’t gonna “happen” here in Japan, and that maybe I didn’t want it to, either. Location and stimulation are vital for artists. Being amongst fellow peers and like-minded people is crucial for sustaining and protecting one’s passion. And Tokyo, though awesome in many respects, does not fulfill me, nurture me, nor offer even a fraction of the opportunities a place like America does.

Also, to make matters worse, there were some financial issues as well…. Sticky circumstances that involve adult words like “economy” and “money” and “budgetary re-evaluation.” Combine that with the fact that my parents are getting older (dad’s approaching 70) and I desperately want to be a part of my nephew’s new life….

I’m lonely. I’m far away. Luck is in short supply, and life in general is slowly and steadily spiraling beyond my control…. I’m not living hand-to-mouth… I’m not in free-fall, but I am on the edge of the cliff looking down at a rocky bottom, about to be pushed over…. I just know it’s time. Get out while the memories are good and there’s still some yen in my back pocket.

But I can’t help but question…. Am I a failure? A quitter? Will I regret my choices till the day I die, or can I pick up the pieces and start over? Will I forever look back, or can I face forward with chin up, and take the next step….a first step in a long, thorny road filled with pit-falls…. toward a final destination that lies far off, hazy in the distance, half-hidden by a treacherous mountain I must cross.

See you May 10th.

Naughty and Nature

2007-03-31T09:08:28Z

The following is a super old post -- edited, shortened, and all but completely rewritten -- and submitted to an anthology of short stories about Japan

Although occasional cold snaps still hit so quick you’d get whiplash, and that cantankerous curmudgeon, Ol’ Man Winter, continues to stubbornly hack up artic spats, time is ticking forward. The alarm clock’s set for Spring’s Awakening, and by the looks of it, there’s no hitting the snooze button. She’ll be getting up bright and early this year.

For months now, the tree-lined streets have stood bare. Spindly branches creak and croon, pathetically knobbed with sleeping buds. But soon enough, the sakura cherry trees will explode to life. Blossoms burst, setting everything ablaze with fluffy plumes of pink and white. And oh, how we’ve waited with bated breath for this brief, brilliant harbinger of Spring. But seemingly overnight, the trees will weep their delicate blooms and blanket every surface with still-pristine petals. One can see why the flower was once a symbol of the fierce samurai warriors of centuries past. No, they weren’t pink-loving wussies. Rather, the blossom, like their lives, gloriously shines and then falls honorably in the moment of its greatest beauty.

Thankfully, perhaps, these little flowers no longer incite no-holds-barred self-destruction and seppuku. Yet they still excite the Japanese like kids in a candy store. A scene of sakura trunks topped with plump clumps like popcorn and colored sugar-cotton, whet their appetite for warm days ahead. Nevertheless, since snack time is short, the Japanese horde en masse to gorge it down, get their fill.

To an uniformed observer, the flower-viewing hanami party, along with sushi, sake, silk screen paintings, and Bob Sapp, might represent one of the quintessential images of Japan. Traditional, yes, but just as visible, alive and well, in these modern times as straight-laced businessmen quietly enjoy a smoke break in the park. Nuclear 3-person families lounge on plastic gingham. And centenarians stroll with keitais in hand, clicking pictures as if they’d die tomorrow. It’s like Buddhist serenity, Confucian practicality, and home-grown aesthetic sensibility all loafing under one canopy. But, look closely. Like the wicker picnic baskets filled to the brim with beer, something lurks beneath the surface – something just waiting to gush out.

For every 10 sleepy-time tea ceremonies, for every 20 polite-speech-spouting office ladies, and for every 30 emasculating bows of deference, there is a devilish desire for debauchery seething in the subconscious of even the most decent, rice-fed folk. For example, let us take the “Honen Matsuri”. Considering the innocent name, this festival’s a rather serious soiree steeped in ancient Shinto beliefs. The theme: penis, sex, penis, and did I mention penis? Apparently, male organs (in particular, those of the throbbing, veined variety) are not just for making whoopee and wee-wee, but are potent charms for assuring fertility and a year of prosperity. On the appointed day in mid-March, people of all ages and backgrounds descend upon a tiny town outside Nagoya, and a shrine dedicated solely to the man’s member. Artisans and food vendors, too, join in for the Johnson. Every imaginable ware is for sale, but of course all fitting with the afternoon’s macho motif. Toy todgers. Pecker-shaped pottery. Little pizzle pops and pricks on sticks. Even Buddha’s been remade to resemble a boy’s bits – quite surprising since usually the three major Western religions are the ones rightly accused of phallo-centrism. (Though one doubts even the good prophets of The Book were going this far when describing Moses’ “mighty STAFF,” the “PILLARS of Muhammad,” or how Jesus was “HUNG on the cross” and would “RISE again”.)

The highlight of the festival, however, is watching holy men dressed as gods and devils stroll down packed avenues. Priests, too, bless the crowd, though not with the usual laurels and wands, but rather with 14-inch unmentionables. After several hours of frenzied activity, the entire romp climaxes – not too soon, of course – with the unveiling of something in epic proportions: a thousand pound private part carved from an entire tree log. Strangely, with its slightly pink hot dog hue, this laborious lingam looks more like a shockingly misplaced paper-Mache wiener one sees atop Oscar-Meyer promo trucks.

In addition, onlookers are encouraged to flock to the cock and get hand-on. This leads to shockingly more jerk-jobs than in any Las Vegas house of vice. Farmers fondle for a fruitful harvest. Girls grope for good luck. Young bucks vigorously rub the blessed rod and then rub their own rods for blessing. Why? For what reason? Well, to ensure he won’t be shooting blanks next time the old ball-and-chain wants to bake another bun in the oven. Prosperity can be measured in more than one kind of dough, you know.

So, in conclusion, as March marches on, the blooming sakura promises new beginnings, just as the matsuri gives hope for a better future. And whether we groggily awaken to the sweet scent of flowers or a morning wood, the long night of winter is over... Cause enough for a celebration.

One Gay Man, A Big Ol' Wedding Plan, and Beautiful San Fran

2007-02-24T05:18:53Z

Blasphemous, I know, but it took nearly 25 years to make my pilgrimage to the homo mecca.... ironically, the reason for going: straight people. Pictures from my sister's wedding...

Amy and Marc.... don't they just look so happy?! [but when is this girl gonna get her rock?!]

Moist and misty redwood grove.... very Enya.

It was a liberal affair....we weren't "bridesmaids" exactly, but rather a "Circle of Support".

My 3 gurls! Molly, Amy, Mom!

Me pappy! Always the jokester.... walked onto the floor for the traditional dance with his daughter... it was a boogy-woogy to "Stayin' Alive".

My speach, though a delightfully charming , bringing-down-the-house performance piece, looks quite boring on paper....

Hello. My name’s Cody and...... I’m DAAAAAMN glad to be here!! WhoooooWheeee!! Because if anyone’s traveled farther than I have to be here at this wedding, well then I’ll just eat my cumber bund for breakfast.

Yes, as some of you may have heard, I’ve spent the past two years living in Japan. And, you know, it’s not just some funny far off land where cars comes from and where fine culinary cuisine involves the use of raw things that have no shoulders. Believe it or not, it’s also the home of some of the world’s oldest and most romantic poetry... grand sonnets that make ol’ Mr. Shakespeare look like Dr. Seuss.

In fact, this ceremony and its symbolic union of two people remind me of a famous Japanese tale of true love. A Kabuki play entitled, “Tsuki no Shita Ai”. Or, more accurately, in our tongue, “When Joe Met Gladys”.

During the most intense climax of their affair, the imperial samurai warlord... Joe.... lovingly caresses his beautiful geisha consort....um.... Gladys....and delicately, sensuously whispers into her porcelain-like ear:

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooWWWWWWwww! UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU uuuuuuWWWWWAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaa! NiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnGGGGGGYOOOOOO CHOOOOOOOOooooooooHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Which, in English, means, “I sure think you’re purdy!”

Well, ya know, that’s a rough approximation. But after all, love needs no translation.

In all seriousness, though, I’m happy. Happy for four reasons. One, I’m happy because so many of my loved ones, those special in my life, who I’ve missed for two years, have gathered together in this beautiful city for an even more beautiful purpose. Two, because I get to eat a lot of free food…. And as a bachelor in his early mid-twenties, that’s an opportunity I never pass up. Three, and prolly most importantly, most obviously, I’m happy for Amy and Marc. Because look at them, folks. They’ve got it. They’ve found it. That something that makes life worth living. That spark, that fire, that love so deep and precious it goes beyond words, mere kabuki, mere poetry.... straight to the core of their being.

And yes, I’m happy. Happy because I’m the luckiest man in this room. Oh sure, Marc’s the one getting married and I guess that counts for something. But I’m pretty lucky, too, because the striking red-head in white’s my big sister.

Gettin' Tough on Puff

2007-02-15T15:34:09Z

I shouldn't be surprised my previous "purdy picture post" got a next-to-nil response. While I snapped them at truly spiritual moments of awe and wonder....I realized they must bring to many-a-minds those inane dentist office/cubicle-adorning inspirational posters.... an art form neither I nor many of those I gladly call "friends" would go ga-ga for....So here's something more akin to our black senses of taste.... straight out of [to be said with hands firmly on hips and that cock-headed sitcom smile] The "Oh! Tokyo!!" files.... one of a dozen oddly poetic, guilty-tripping, anti-smoking campaign ads. Which reminds me....

[Claws off day-old nicotine patch, replaces directly over jugular, while simultaneously lighting up unfiltered, black-market Chinese cigarillo in the presence of an asthmatic fetus and ravenously fantasizing about licking inside of community ashtray.]

Also, an unknown type of glassware product questionably named. No explanation available, none desired.

Frustration Narration

2007-02-10T18:48:48Z

I got potential posts lined up like coke at a Kate Moss Christmas party!

Stories left on the back-burner are more than blackened by now.

Half-year-old entries have been locked, loaded.... but while it ain't exactly rocket science, for some reason, I just can't launch.

WTF! Writer's block's got me so backed up I'm gonna need a few good flashlights and a bread-crumb trail just to find where I last left off.

[Rustles around in the nearest kitchen drawer]

Ok, so all I have here is a few dead double-A's, and come to think of it, rice is really more the Asian staple. So, in the meantime, let's relax, wait for Cody to enter his peaceful place, pick up the pieces, put it all into perspective....ooh, how about some pictures, instead?! One or two a week, till he produces something worth reading....

His/your/our moment of zen.

The Transcendental Tree of Kamakura, Nov '06

Secret Nikko Niche, Oct '06

"I love the way...your sandy hair...floats in the air....To me it's like a lullaby....I'm just flying by, oh, so high...like a kite, tied to a stake...." Kip, '04

Wizz Kids

2007-01-27T07:07:29Z

Yo ho, y’all! I’ve got a question and am hoping you peeps here have some answers. See, I’m currently holed-up in a "guest"... or rather, "gaijin" (outsider)... house, to those more comfortably familiar with local, xenophobic epithets. Basically, that means I rent my own room, but share bath and kitchen quarters with a constantly changing cadre of quixotic and quirky hoi polloi. Sure it has its perks. Mostly, my fellow housemates are gracious guitar n’ cigar wielding generation X gypsies, drinking wine into the wee hours of the morn, telling tales of backpacking from Biloxi to Bangkok, and that time they thumbed through all of Europe on 1 pair of undies.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like it – I was once one, too, and may my recently acquired 9-to-5 modus vivendi be damned! So, when the wind blows in some new world-wanderer, I welcome him or her with open arms, offer a nice fruit n’ cracker basket, and give an earful of handy advice... Never know when these fresh-of-the-boat bohemians need directions to the nearest Book-Off!

Yet, since my front foyer’s a metaphorical revolving door, it’s damned hard to establish guidelines for what’s good behavior, rules for regulation, respect, and most importantly, whose turn it is take out the trash. Sadly, I hang my head in shame for the times I’ve most definitely exhibited symptoms of slackers’ syndrome: leaving dishes to soak for three weeks straight, letting wayward mail pile up en masse. Still, in the end, I feel that I redeem myself with frenzied bouts of manic cleaning sprees... so what if someone else hasn’t scraped the soap scum strewn across the shower room mirror... C’est la vie! But never fear, for I am here! Mr. Mi Casa Su Casa, to the rescue, with a wet-wipe in one hand, and grim determination in the other.

Regrettably, though, one of my most recent roomies leaves me less than enthusiastic about spick-and-spanning, since he’s what I like to call a dripper, a dribbler (and I ain’t talkin’ about coffee brewers or the Boston Globe Trotters). In other terms, there’s a splasher in town... Someone who sprays pee left, right, on, and under the communal commode like an uncut male kitty looking for in-heat hornballs. They might have "Dicks" in common, but even Vice President Cheney has better aim. In fact, I’m so incensed, angered, and indignant... I wrote a poem:

When I need to number 2,
And walk into our lil’ loo,
I’m really quite befuddled
To see your yellow puddle!
But perpetrator, do not fret.
It happens to us all, I bet.
So please remember, when you tinkle
If you miss – by chance, you sprinkle,
Be so kind, and very neat.
Get the tissue – wipe the seat.
I’ve done it, too – I won’t be sore,
Unless you fail to wipe the floor.

Unfortunately, poetry in this situation (as in life, and in an econ exam) gets me nowhere. What should I do, people!? Here are the options, thus far.

A) Confront the culprit directly. Good choice, in theory, but the biggest dilemma lies in the fact that I don’t actually know who does it... Sure, I have my suspicions, but they’re based entirely upon Sherlockian powers of deduction. Dates, time, surreptitious observations – not exactly evidence that would hold up in high court. In addition, the one I suspect seems to be a good guy... nice guy, salt-of-the-earth type folk. To wrongly accuse him would mean spending the rest of our stint in awkward avoidance.

Oh... Hello. How are you?
Yes... I am fine... And you?
I am equally fine, as well...
...[cricket cricket]...
Yes, Tokyo is nice. But I must go home soon.
Me, too. How much longer urine Japa – – doh!!!

Or, B) post an open letter to all residents. This is another model solution, but I’m already known ‘round these parts as the "note-writing king". Every time I’m out of town for more than 12 hours, or the local ten-and-yen (re: five-and-dime) has a super savers’ sale, or even just to put up a friendly reminder of my annual "Tsunami Drill n’ Chill" barbeque... I’m the first person chiming the proverbial bell. Plus, anonymity’s out of the question. After all, my Sailor Moon stationary and signature pink glitter pen are household icons.

Besides, if I did, what manner of mentioning should I make this out to be? Do I go with the direct approach... Perhaps a blood-stained rag scrawled with the words, "You drip, I snip!" and a stick-figure cartoon of me holding scissors and a severed penis? Oh no, that won’t do!! I’m really more a diplomat, a peacemaker – a slow poisons-kind of killer, anyway. Perchance then, a nice embroidery above the bathroom throne would be in better taste... like little needlepointed cherubs with "God loveth the clean" in a bold puce cross-stitch?

Either way, I need to be proactive... Usually I’m the type of person to just rattle and hiss, quietly sit on the problem and wait it out – however, in this case, where I’m sitting’s probably wet. And like the lovely smells wafting from my water closet, it’s not gonna just float away, no matter how many windows one opens.

Thank you.

Sincerely,
A pissed-off potty mouth

ATTACK OF THE ITALICS!

2006-10-02T14:51:00Z

While this is technically not my story, the sheer offense to good folks' decency demands I tell you..... IMMEDIATELY!

See, 'round about Tuesday last week, called the BF to say "haro". He answered in a hushed tone, telling me he was at the hospital. "My God, is everything alright?" I gasped. "Yes yes, I'll buzz back in a bit," he said (I translated).

Meanwhile, thoughts a-many ran through my head.... his mother's had a heart attach. His niece is down with SBS. Dutch Elm's Disease has reared its ugly head again. I was worried blue, and so passed the time the best I could: a hard round of cardio at the local gym.

Finally, we got in touch, and Kenny recounted a long familial saga, beginning with, strangely enough, a long-estranged family member. Uncle Sabu.

Uncle Sabu was once a happy man. A loving husband and father. Until, of course, debts caught up with him and he was dealt with the dull blow of a dirty divorce. He became the black-sheep, on the dole, and part-time hobo. Occassionaly, he would call, asking for money, and Kenny's mother would gladly oblige. After all, blood is thicker.

Sometime in the recent past, though, ol' Unkie hit 'em up again, and this time for more than some change. Kenny's family pulled through and then heard nothing. Until.

Uncle Sabu came into Kenny's store(which, by the by, he co-owns/runs with his mom) to show his thanks. Uncle Sabu, however, was not well. Besides being emaciated, he could barely stand and, as Kenny so cutely observed in English, "smelled like a died person". Ken and his mother rushed this uncle to the local hospital, only to be turned away.... he was just in too ghastly of a state to be treated by respectable health physicians.

After three different hospitals, they found one who remembered their Hippocratic oaths (their nurses' oaths) and admitted the man. Turns out, malnutrition aside, the gangrene was less than a month from claiming Uncle Sabu's life. Forget apples-a-day.... double leg-amputation was what this doctor ordered.

Now, it's time for an old fashioned poll.... Which part of this story is the MOOOOOOST HORRENDOUS? A. Uncle's putrid wounds were covered in maggots, or B. during inspection, Mr. MD accidentally broke off a toe.

(Remember, America, your voice counts)

That was a lovely story, my boy. But be a dear, and make Auntie Cody another martini.

2006-09-13T14:30:42Z

My oh my, do forgive my manners. In neglecting this journal, I've also managed to forget mentioning a MOST life-changingly important detail..... I'm the loud n' proud uncle of this bouncing ball of baby lovin'! Everyone, please welcome Kai.

Oh sure, I forget things. After all, I'm not the spry young 24 year-old of yester-yore. Nope. And with 47 days till I'm officially a quarter centenarian, I do comprehend life's cruelties.... First goes the brain, then the bowels, and before you know it, I'm baking my pants in an oven and giddy for spoon-fed bread pudding and Bunko Day. But in those quick moments where I casually remember Kai, my brightest light, I look forward to the future....and want nothing more but to get off these bed sores and pop a cork....

Here was my first gift to the kid. A poem.

This is the story of a furry, stuffed toy
And how he became friends with a cute little boy.

See, Mocha the Monkey, lived in a far off land.
A strange group of islands by the name of Japan.

While most monkeys, teeny, twittery and brown
Come from a forest, Mocha grew up in town.

It can be said, “At least twas no zoo.”
Still, Mocha was sad, everyday a bit blue.

For he had no family, no nest, nor a home.
No monkey best friend to call his own.

So he swung all alone watching all the sunsets,
From the big, gray buildings and steel minarets.

Until by luck, he met a tall man,
Who was called Cody, and HARDLY from Japan.

"Hey, Mr. Monkey," Cody said with a smile.
"Why that frown? Not been hugged in awhile?"

"Yup," he replied as tears filled his eyes.
"Nobody loves me," he squeaked amid cries.

"Yo, ya know what?" Cody patted the poor lad.
"I gotta plan – not quite perfect, yet not half-bad."

"Back home, there's a babe, only two months n' a day.
Come with me, meet him, and just say 'hey'."

"But if things go well, and you cuddle up tight,
Hug and snuggle and keep him warm at night,

"I think you could stay and be his best mate!"
"Oh yes!" Mocha yelled – he hardly could wait.

So, to Japan, Mocha waved goodbye.
Hopped in the plane to sail up high,
And flew across oceans and through the blue sky
To begin his adventures with a nephew named Kai.

GAG!

2006-06-27T14:46:35Z

'Tis been an era since I last wrote.... mostly 'cause I've been busy with .... Two months and counting, people! OUTRAGEOUS!! He's an artist, former model and French chef -- the three sexiest professions ever -- and 35. So we do things like take long walks on the beach and make key-chains for each other.... Are you judging?

Oh yes, his name's Kenichi, which is, you know, Asian, so just say "Kenny G." and we'll know whatcha mean.

Furthermore, I'd like to point out is "Giant Boo Weiners"....

Additionally, should be for ALL colors of the rainbow....

And that in these hot summer days, comes "From France".

Gettin' Nanjingy With It

2006-05-28T08:29:29Z

Though my trip to China was book-ended by a double visit to Shanghai, the overall plan for in between was about as well-laid as a 16 year old Spelling Quiz-keteer at Star Trek camp. Sure, Miss Kristen was kind enough to open up her home to me and my homo-nanigans. But I still wasn’t about to schlep around for a week mooching off her frozen mushu pork when a wide world waited. Truth be told, I've never been the one-pair-o-undies-per-week hostel-hopping type (roughin' it for me is a night at the HoJo). But I decided to dust out the backpack and set my sights for Beijing, solo-bound!

But let’s not bolt ahead.... Traipsing up to Tiananmen for an ol' fashioned Forbidden City frolick was still days away. In the meantime, I'd come with Kristen to Nanjing and there was much to see, much to conquer....

Oops, sorry. Bad choice of words.

Nanjing, the forth largest population center in China, is like most of the eastern cities here: on the go, up and out, paving over the past in a mad dash for better Starbucks parking. Its history is 10 times older than my own alma mater, yet much of what I knew at the time was gleaned from History Channel docs about those happy-go-lucky days of Japanese occupation, widespread rape and mass beheadings. I was nervous, to be honest. Being an America is bad enough these days. But an American, fresh off the boat from Tokyo to boot, does not get you good street cred in the back alleys of this part of town. I was especially apprehensive when I joined Kristen for some team-teaching at the university where she works. Apparently, it was show-n-tell day in class and I was the gift-store trinket being passed around for a good look. What will they think? What will they ask? Would they give the "favorite foods" and girlfriend inquiries a good ten minutes before grilling me over an open flame? Were they ready to pounce at the first whiff of wasabi on someone's breath? There was no way to tell and so I did what I guessed best: strolled into the room all smiles and charm, with a few breath mints in my pocket and a smoke bomb or two in case things got hairy.

Turns out, these kids rocked! Smart, funny and naïve enough with the language to make even a seen-it-all sensei say, "Aw, super cute!" For instance, in China, students can pick their own English aliases. And with names like Artemis, Kaka, and Cabbage, morning role call is WAY much more interesting! All class, we goofed off, Q-and-A'd and just plain kicked it together.... when suddenly, I didn’t feel quite up to snuff anymore. There was, at first, a jumbly in the tumbly, and then an itty bitty ache.... an ouch.... "down there".... you know.... in my gennies!

I thought to myself: "Oh NO NO NO! Please don't be a rebound, a reoccurrence of that problem I had awhile back. Not here! Not now!! Because I sure as hell slammed that chlam with a thorough regimen of Japanese germ killers and I should be right as rain!"

But by afternoon, I was nearly doubled over by a stabbing pain in the stomach. Poor Kristen (bless her heart) rushed me to the local drug store for some OTC relief. The pharmacist, a wizened old lady who was 80 if she was a day, looked me up and down, asked where it hurt, and rattled off her diagnosis in a Mandarin diatribe quite abrasive to my dainty state of mind.

"Um," Kristen chuckled. "She wants to know when you last took a poop."

I calculated momentarily, feeling my face flush red. "Hey, if you need to think about it, then it's been too long!" Kristen joshed.

"Look, Missy," I hissed. "I may be willy-nilly when it comes many topics, but bowel movements are strictly between me and the bowl!"

Unfortunately, when everything from the belly button down's being speared and skewered, it's not the time for modest, and I reluctantly confessed my intimate intestinal details. The old lady laughed at my plight (not an uncommon occurrence in Asia when private parts are concerned) and she handed me

Now, if that’s not a sign from God, then nothing short of a burning bush would convince me I was simply constipated. I mean, my NAME was written all over the frickin' thing! LITERALLY!! Oh, sure, I hadn't the foggiest idea what was in these diuretic pills – powdered tiger's tongue probably – but I didn't care as long as it got IN me, and the brick-hard bulk got OUT!

Sadly, alas, an hour later the scathing pain had yet to depart with its most likely cause, and it didn't take a genius to figure out something else was seriously wrong.... Kinda gives a whole new spin to the saying, "No shit, Sherlock," eh?

And so, after much lolling about and general wailing, Kristen'd had enough (what a doll!) and whisked me away to the nearest ER – not my idea of a hot tourist spot in any place, but especially not in a country just a few decades out of the third world. I had visions of iron lungs, waiting-room amputations, and stadium-sized bird flu-itoriums. In hindsight, though, the hospital wasn't all that bad, albeit a bit convoluted. I’m still fuzzy on the details – being metaphorically impaled by a stake tends to take your mind off other things. But the procedure, as clearly as I recall, involved: several crash-courses in medicinal translation, dealing with more than a few fourth-shift receptionists bitchier than junkyard bitches, and lots of time spent poked and prodded by people in lab coats.

Does it hurt here? No. Does it hurt here? No. Does it hur— OH FUCKING FUCK YES!!

At one point I was on my back, covered in lube while a strange man had an intimate look at my insides.... not so different from a typical Saturday night. But in this case, the guy sure liked his toys: a million dollar medical sonogram with monitor (kinky!). Lots of heavy petting (but without any affectionate foreplay) later, he tossed me a tissue in disdain and announced the diagnosis: inflammation of the urinary tract due to long-term chemical crystallization.

Oh GREAT! Ever since I was eight, I'd fantasized about getting a big rock one day, but kidney stones were NOT what I had in mind!

The only good news was that they were small, and surgery wasn't necessary. A few injections in the love handle, a four-hour IV drip-a-thon and two days bed-rest were enough to break up my build-up. But regrettably, even though the whole affair passed (or rather, did NOT pass) without further incident, I had to cancel my trip to Beijing. Instead of turning into super go-go tourist, I spent the rest of the week chilling about Nanjing and catching up on Hollywood (not all pirates steal booty and babes, you know!). And yeah, I was a little disappointed, to be sure, but looking back, thankful it had happened at a time when helpful friends were around, and in a country where a whole day at the hospital only costs twenty bucks.

Eventually, at week's end, Kristen and I returned to Shanghai for our goopy good-byes. But, the final night before my flight out, I spent alone, walking the luxurious streets of the Bund in search of last-minute shopping and feeling quite sad to leave so soon. Shanghai, for sure, may be louder and crazier than what I've grown accustomed to in Tokyo. But, I could see myself returning to China's crown gem, loving once more this city's life, and looking again upon the skyline's soaring centerpiece: that bulbous Pearl Tower, so aptly named after the jewel born from an oyster's years of hard labor.... so aptly a symbol of modern China, agonizingly coating its hard and gritty past with layer upon layer of lustrous mineral....

And as I stood on the banks of the Huangpo River, gazing at the sight, I patted my still-sore side, and thought, "I SO feel your pain!"

In Lieu of Part 2, Part 2

2006-05-23T11:35:03Z

You know, most o' the time, I feel pretty:

And e'ry now n' then, this boy's a lil' bit:

But, sweet lord, rue the day I'm:

Don't you just love when the average fag's entire emotional spectrum can be summed up by a line of designer ice creams called Chocolat Boutique?!

In Lieu of CHINA PART 2

2006-05-18T08:26:29Z

Yay! Fun with digi pics and dirty minds!!

The irony of this lil' baby is that it's actually fish flavored!

Don't we all? Don't we all?!

ORE WA KAYUI! [Translation: I'm Itchy!] Derike-to Eria [Translation: Delicate Area]

shangHAI WAY TO HEAVENly kingdom

2006-05-07T09:12:46Z

For nearly nine months, I dutifully 9-to-5'ed it day-in and day-out. I worked these bones, through backache and bunions, to win my bread and butter – chomped at the bit for rosy-cheeked babes – slaved away, you could say, for the sake of educations, for fighting ignorance, for feeding my coke habit.

And what did I get?! What did I deserve!?!

A damned vacation, that's what! But don't misread me here. Work is still a delight. Angels, just as sweet as pie, really. But there's always – and I'd put my pension on the line here – ALWAYS a frightful few who could drive a man to drink! Example: just last week I was about two seconds from smacking one snobling who wouldn't stop checking the back o' her eye sockets. And if the huffy-puffy too-cool-for-school routine wasn't enough to push my buttons, Lil' Miss Prepubescent Princess, get this, actually duh'ed me.... YES, DUH'ED....ME!!

As in, “Gosh, Mr Cody, blahdy blah blah! DUH!!”

Sure, this chick cops 'tude like a one-season teen wonder on the WB, but oh did she make the hit-list that fateful be-verb review!

Still, folks, when a seasoned gay man starts counting 11-year old girls as his mortal enemies, it's time for a breather. A bit of shakin'-up to stay fresh. A much needed WHAM-BAM adventure to recharge the battery. And who, honestly, would be more apt at helping Cody get his groove back, than a best bud from back in the college day..... Kristen!! aka this one: kneenee!!!

Now to start, as you all know, I've spent the better part of two years calling Japan, the ex-expansionistic-imperial-empire-turned-peaceful-democracy-and-leader-in-underaged-schoolgirl-porn, home. And Kristen, as some of you know, has spent the same amount of time calling China, the ex-aforementioned's-whipping-bitch-turned-oppressive-communistic-regime-turned-pseudo-communistic-up-and-coming-superpower-and-motherland-of-all-you-can-eat-pupu-platters, home, too. Our respective neighbors may harbor murderous hatred for each other, but with Kristen and I, it's all love!

Besides, visiting Kristen was surely a major reason for going, an awesome added bonus. But also, I've always had a deep interest in ancient Chinese culture and history.... especially the life and culinary lore of tactical mastermind, General Tso....

Oooh, good thesis!

So thus, with much caution in the wind, and most plans left to chance (how Bohemian!) I booked a flight to the Middle Country and began brushing up on my Mandarin. But forget the “hello”'s and “how are you”'s.... while questing across China I'd need more hardcore colloquialisms.

“Mmmm, a side of dog would really hit the spot.”

“Pardon, but I'm feeling a bit under the weather. Do you by chance have any thousand year old sea turtle testicles?”

And, “Excuse me, officer, but I seem to have lost my pancreas.”

Really, the girl may be my other half, but one needs a hearty liquor limit and a lot of traveler's insurance when Kristen plays tour guide!

Even so, when the day came, I left without looking back, and headed west for the land of wantons, Wang Chung, and all the weapons-grade plutonium Pakistan can buy.... to China, and the Heavenly Kingdom's crown jewels, the pearl of Asia, Shanghai City..... um, well, more exactly (and much less romantically) to Pu Dong Airport.

Forgive my inner child for finding that name funny!

While I'd heard this place brought up ad nauseum in every Lou Dobbs Report and New York Times editorial from here to eternity, the reality of China's growth, it's momentous change, and drive for wealth and a better future never really hit home until I saw the tall towers of this town on the Bund. And I remember thinking: funny, the first thing one notices when visiting a foreign country is not so much every strange new site before one's wide-open eyes. But rather, one suddenly recalls the old things at home, long made invisible by routine and habit, now glaringly clear in contrast.

Make sense?! Well, let's delve....being a teacher, I love me some good metaphors!

If Tokyo was a color, it'd be gray.... like the silvery iridescence of fat fish underbellies, the oily sheen of a pigeon's breast. Shear, shiny, cold and steely blue. When up close and personal with Tokyo, its alleyways and the great avenues of Ginza and Shibuya pulse frenetically with a billion rainbow eye-catchers. But from a distance, these nooks are lost in a vast grid of blinking white luminance. A blanket of hard diamond snowfall.

On the flip side, though, Shanghai is like seeing through jaundiced eyes on a sunny day. Blame the smog, but the whole of it feels awash in an orange, amber glow. Despite the skyline soaring to a dizzying height, and the urban stretches that spreads in every direction, it all comes down to atmosphere: a heavy soup, warm and close like carrot-colored stew. Sure, steel is still king, but Shanghai has the sunsets and sandstone hues of lower latitudes.

And that's not all! When talking sweets, then Tokyo's the pound cake: a conservative man's guilty pleasure, stolidly planted at the center his plate. So dense and compact, one would not only need a fork, knife and fair amount of elbow grease, but also a hot cup of coffee with a shot of kahlua just to get through its layers.

Whereas Shanghai, but contrast, is more akin to fancy French meringues: fluffy-rich and rising high with decadent dollops of creams. But quick, suck up this sugary goodness and risk a heart attack. Or else, let it sit too long, and you begin to fear.... maybe, the shady restaurant manager hiding in back really DID skimp on a few key ingredients, and the whole thing might suddenly deflate, melting into one big gooey mess.

Then finally, a favorite topic of mine. If Tokyo's a runway-ruling fashion model, then Dolce and Gabbana cry “It's a Hit!” But even babies and butterflies can't crack his chiseled face out of that scowl and into a smile. Black-clad, walking tall and fast, he knows he's hot.... and totally opposite of bright and bouncing Shanghai. Like America's Next Top Model, this chica struts her stuff unscathed through Tyra's gauntlet. And with the taste of new success still on her tongue, she admires her frilly lil' ensemble: a low, sexy Western cut, yet still in the appropriately patriotic color I call "Wow Mao Magenta".

So, alas, I leave you with my first impressions. I fear, again, that I've made many generalizations, and in the end, what do I really know?! Sure, I paint pictures of Tokyo as cold and hard, but to be fair, there are exceptions to the rule. Exceptions that make my time here worth it. The same goes for Shanghai, as well.... the exceptions to its exotic excitement and giddy rise in the world are all too apparent just beyond its borders. When traveling by train to Kristen's house in nearby Nanjing City, much of the view is blocked by rows of trees that hide a darker reality. Caught in glimpses, the countryside often is bleak: industrial factories puking their pollution out of every hole, huge, hulking abandoned buildings, standing like concrete skeletons. And everywhere, the sprawling communities of slaves whose back this empire's being built upon.

......

Yay! Happy Ending!!

But fear not, in the next chapter of Chinaland, hilarity ensues. Here's a brief glimpse:

I was in Nanjing, when all of a sudden....

....on my back, covered in lube....

....he disdainfully threw the kleenex at me....

....pulling my pants down when....

.....“Twenty dollars?!?” I cried.....

....Kristen laughed a lot.....

Oh, and here's a purty picture!

Oriental Pearl Tower, known as The Pearls of Asia.... or as we prefer, The ANAL BEADS of Asia!

Joi de Vivre on Leave

2006-02-26T05:14:33Z

Time out. Hold the phone. Cue the technical difficulties card and cut to commercial.... Some thing's wrong. It's Saturday night. And. Sigh. I'm just too blue and sick of the fumes to paint this town red again.

Honestly, and to the point, boys suck and I need a break. Since Mr. Mes Milquetoast Amour stopped calling sometime during the last Ice Age, my love life's been like the Sunni Triangle: lots of action, but now little more than a burned out pile of rubble. Hang-ups, heart-aches, stood-ups and one-night-stands. I'm sick of it all and just plain STOPPING it!

Let's take the last “boyfriend” for example. I use that label loosely because, well, he WAS a boy, and there were at least two oh-my-God-ME-TOO's before having a sleep-over party. He was all smiles and free tequila shots, but in the end, left me with only a headache and a raging case of chlamydia.

Ok, so it wasn't “raging” per se. No bloody pus or peeing razor blades. In fact, I didn't feel a thing. Yet, my monthly check-up said otherwise, and I was promptly advised to see a specialist for a thorough antibiotic regimen. And thus began the story of....

“STI Say Good Bye: An Adventure in Socialist Medicine.”

Starring:

Cody, recent initiate of the Been-a-dick-tine Cloister.....AS..... Cody, ex-wastrel man-about-town and fallen It-Boy.

Also Starring:

A pretty Chinese actress.....AS....Miss Sushi Nintendo, clinic receptionist.

And Introducing:

A half-dessicated Jack-o-lantern in mid-December....AS.... elderly urological patient #1

Cody, once gay society's answer to Colin Farrell, enters the mahogany-paneled waiting room. He is conspicuously disguised in a wide-brim, champagne-colored chapeau and pair of dark sunglasses ala Nicole Richie. The cool office air lightly ruffles his ankle-length floral sun dress. Cody, as never, is tastefully dressed, and, as always, the youngest patient in the room by 80 years.

Approaching the receptionist and hoping for the best, he presents to the woman a tell-all referral. She, in the manner of one who is unaccustomed to dealing with the hearing un-impaired, shouts, “Toyota Tsunami Sake!” This strange string of ticks and buzzes (barely recognizable as a form of human "language") surprises Cody, for it sounds not unlike the flipping of his A-list rolodex. Still, however, he arches his eyebrows in the universal expression of.... Quoi?

10 minutes and a good deal of dictionary-shuffling later, Cody completely understands the complex ins-and-outs of “taking a number”. He awaits further instruction, and glides up to the desk again once the receptionist signals his turn via fog horn. “Sashimi Playstation Manga!!”

Ah ha! Cody proudly thinks to himself. Always a quick learner, he gets her gist right away. But his elation soon fades to panic in light of her most awkward request. See, not having anticipated the usual urological procedures, Cody had naively drained his bladder earlier that morning. And the small Winn-Dixie cup the lady holds forth might as well be a gallon jug needing to be amply overflowed with urine.

“Um, I'm terribly sorry,” he begins delicately in her native tongue. “But, I don't think I can do.... that.” Nervous chuckle. “You wouldn't happen to have a glass of water? Some tea, perhaps??”

Giving a look more sour than lemons, she disappears for a moment, and returns with a glass – or more appropriately – thimbleful of brown liquid. Cody graciously accepts it and gulps it down in half a swallow (not an unusual feat for him). He sits, once more, silently, concentrating every last neuron in his brain on a single task, willing his very organic cells to get this damnable filtering process over with as soon as biologically possible.

Another 20 minutes later, he is convinced he can squeeze out the required amount. Cody jumps up with the specimen receptacle, makes his way towards the toilet, realizes a critical fault in the plan, and turns to the receptionist. “Pardon, but exactly where might your restroom be located?”

“Pikachu Kamikaze!!!” she blasts.

“Yes, I see.... thank.... you.”

He ambles toward the most likely door candidate, and then stops yet again – another terrifying thought crosses his already scrambled brain. What must he do exactly once the task is ful-FILLED, so to speak. Give it to a technician? Carry it to the front desk?! In hand and piping-hot?!?!

He raises a hesitant finger and stutters, “Yes, one more question--”

The receptionist, this time either anticipating the conundrum or reading his puzzled features, curtly explains in a timbre equal to that of a sonic boom. And, somewhere behind Cody, an ancient woman, shriveled with age, hoarsely laughs as this bewildered foreigner blindly stabs off in any general direction.

The End.
Roll Credits.
Applause!

This program was made possible by:

*Pfizer. Proud manufacturer of Pee-Hole Whole: the Pecker-Perfecter Pills

*Merck Pharmaceuticals: Slap that Clap with Good-As-GONE-rhea.

*The Chlammy Whammy, by GlaxoSmithKline

*Massengill's Kooter Rooter, for ladies with that not-so-fresh-feeling.

And

*Muff Buff Depilatory Wax Products.

....at least I can look back with some levity, eh?

I NEVUH do this, but what the hey!

2006-01-16T04:52:34Z

1. Name:
2. Date of birth:
3. Where you live:
4. What makes you happy:
5. Currently listening/the last thing you listened to:
6. Do you read my journal?:
7. If yes, what makes it especially good or bad?:
8. An interesting fact about you:
9. Are you in love/do you have a crush at the moment?:
10. Favourite place to spend time:
11. Favourite lyric:
12. The best time of the year:

RECOMMEND
1. A film:
2. A book:
3. A band, a song, or album:
4. A new LJ friend:

PLUS
1. One thing you like about me:
2. Two things you like about yourself:
3. Look at my friends-list and tell what you like about one of our mutual friends:
4. Put this in your journal so that I can tell you what I like about you!