GAYYy
Well that was something new.
A couple of weeks ago the itinerary for the Junior High School Staff Trip was read out and all seemed normal until we reached the trip’s final, and most uncharacteristic event. With a kind of sickly enthusiastic grin the teacher reading out the itinerary flashed his eyes surreptitiously round the room like a kind of cunning, sneaky spy made entirely of foxes, checking to make sure everyone was paying attention before he UNLEASHED the information with furious glee,
“And to end the night, we will go to a GAY CABARET”
He said, immediately followed by the sound of some teachers violently spitting out their tea and another screaming “OH GOD MY EYES”. You see, normally these things are pedestrian at best. Bear in mind that a school faculty body often ranges from those fresh out of university, to crumbling, ancient shadows of former human beings who have hips made out of finest mahogany, and you’ll understand that often a very conservative middle ground is selected for the events of the trip. These will range from such exciting holiday activities as “eating in a retaurant” or “watching a play” or “falling the frick asleep”. So it’s a fairly legitimate reaction to go “OMGWTFFFFS” when someone tells you that for the STAFF TRIP of all things, you will be going to spend the evening surrounded by homosexuals in outrageous, garish costumes.
You can liken the impact of this to something like a priest finishing his sermon saying “and now, in the name of the Lord, we are going to rape a bus!” or screaming “nudey nudey nudey nudey crazy crazy McFerglebat!” whilst slapping the congregation in their faces with his cock and attaching bulldog clips to his nipples.
Skip forward a few days and we find ourselves standing outside the venue - called “Anmitsu Hime” (loosely meaning Syrup Princess) - forming part of a long queue. The place was really popular, which is a good sign not only implying that the show might be well worth watching, but also the safety in numbers aspect quelled many of our fears, since having little to no experience of being around transvestites, none of us were sure whether or not say, one of the transvestites might have some kind of transvestite flip-out and start climbing the walls, hurling poison javelins at us, if we looked at them in the wrong way.
From the very moment we joined the queue, it was obvious this was going to be an interesting experience, for at the top of the queue, perched on a balcony, was one of the performers, beckoning people on the street to join the queue, using the subtle means of screaming into a megaphone. The funny thing about her- him- it- appropriate nomenclature- was that whilst she (he) resembled a girl somewhat, he also had the most HOARSE voice I have ever heard in my life. Think of the vocal hybrid of Marlon Brando in the Godfather and the possessed chick from The Exorcist, wrapped up in a sort of dainty Japanese woman-like package dressed in a costume resembling some kind of mermaid peacock and you will be a tiny fraction of the way there. It was like listening to someone really happily dying from strangulation, and it was an awesome gimmick, completely scaring the living shit out of 60% of the pedestrians, but drawing the remaining 40% towards the building, totally mesmerised, like moths to a dangerous yet brightly illuminated erupting volcano.
Apart from that guy (girl) (DAH) the rest were sliiiightly harder to determine the true gender of (well, ignoring the fact that it should be taken as a given that they are all men). For many though, the giveaway would be that, although they had feminine faces and even in some cases surprisingly feminine voices, most of them had unmistakably masculine arms, veiny and taught, sort of working a kind of brilliantly effective “macho crackwhore” look.
And so we all walked into the establishment, not knowing quite what to expect, with many of my colleagues wearing a similar kind of wide-eyed curious beam as a small child entering a zoo for the first time and seeing their first masturbating ape.
And surprisingly, the next hour turned out to be one of the best times I have had in Japan, ever, EVAR. The whole thing was basically a stand up comedy show interspersed with spectacularly gaytastic song and dance numbers and it was just hysterically funny. Those many nights I spent alone rotting in the countryside letting Japanese TV slowly dismantle my brain actually paid off in a kind of perverse way, as I found that not only was my Japanese level now more than sufficient to understand most of what the frick was being said, but I could just about keep up too, as the pacing was very similar to a comedy TV show (ie. fast). So, you know, I rock the world, evar. And of course, everyone else loved it. The guys (gals? Frick it) on stage were natural performers and the whole room just wouldn’t stop clapping at the end. Awesome, awesome, awesome. I want to be gay when I grow up.
Huh. So that’s where Dr. Girlfriend came from.
carrot with milk GAYYY.