A Tale of Pugs and Unicorns

This is the reason I'm not allowed to write children's bedtime stories anymore....

15:2 Of Pugs and Unicorns

A ferocious pug hunting

There once was a land constructed entirely from the sweet tears of candy corn giants. It was in this land that two races, one of puppies, and the other of unicorns lived. These two mighty beasts lived separately  but for the most part equally. With the puppies preferring to take long walks in the fields, and the unicorns(being bros) spent most of their time building Twenty –Four Hour Finesses and Jamba Juices.

Yes it was a peaceful nation, filled with the blissful sounds of pugs grumbling and yapping, while the unicorns filled the air with grunts of manliness as they bench-pressed each other. The geography of the island on which they lived, while improbable, served their purposes quite well. They inhabited an island, perfectly symmetrical, with a small divot right down the middle, so as to delineate where the two groups lived.

One day a unicorn named Chad found himself in a quandary during the annual bicep flexing contest. Somewhere between shotgunning a large orange smoothie with all the proteins and curling other unicorns he found himself wondering about their neighbors to the north. Being of a curious nature he asked one of his other bros about them.

“Yo bro.” He said kindly to one of his fellow muscular equines.

“Sup Bro?” The other muscular equine replied.

“What’s the deal with all those fluffy cute things on the other side of that hill thing?” He asked with a level of curiosity not often seen by the general unicorn population, as most of their questions usually fall into: “Which proteins make the best muscle?” and “Do you even lift?”.

“I don’t know bro. Want to go do some more muscular curls instead of questioning the mysterious nature of the world?”

Saddened by his compatriot's lack of interest and curiosity Chad responded: “No bro, I think I’m going over that hill.”

“Alright bro! Ima go do some mad curls and dead-lift that mountain!” He said, stalking off, biceps chafing together with every step.

Chad sipped down the last of his mega-protein-shake and walked over the hill. As he came to the top of the hill he was greeted by a fuzzy little pug in a sweater vest. 

“Greetings Unicorn Chad, we have foreseen your coming, and wish to romp!”

“Who are you bro?” The highly intelligent pug regarded him with a sense of pity.

“It matters not who I am Chad, but only that we romp together. The prophecy has long foretold our romp, and the other puglets will be sorely disappointed if we do not romp this day.”

Clearly confused by his language, Chad stood, dumbfounded, chewing some grass he had found.  “What?”

“Follow me, for I am Balthazar, speaker of the puppies, and lord of the puglets.” And so, against his bro-like nature, Chad followed Balthazar and together they went to a field of buttercups, where there was a grumble of pugs frolicking.

“Come join us Chad!” Said the puglets ever so creepily, but with no malicious intent.

Early Portrait of the Pug Ruler Balthazar (Left) and an
unknown puglet (Right)

“Alright!” Said Chad, clearly moved by the immobilizing cuteness of a face that looks as though it has been squished in a waffle iron. Together they romped for hours. Chad would curl the tiny pugs, and then the tiny pugs would snort at Chad. It was a cavalcade of cuteness. All the while Balthazar watched from a throne of butterscotch, contemplating.

“Today is a good day for romping, so romp Chad, romp among those you have shunned, romp among those who your people have spurned and ignored, taste of our innocence, and bask in the wrath that is the rise of the pugs!”

Suddenly the romp drew to a halt and Chad saw that a group of dark clouds had begun to gather above Balthazar's head. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the withered lines of the smushed puglet faces, giving them a ferocious appearance that Chad would have previously thought to be impossible. 

"What's going on bro?!" Chad said, nervously curling a handful of puglets. 

"You're people have left us to lie in the shadows of the gumdrop mountains long enough Chad. We yearn for greater fields, more grass, industry, profit, and new lands to settle. Unfortunately for you, that means the extermination and enslavement of your people. It's nothing personal, but it's all for the greater good."

Chad looked at Balthazar with a blank face as the gears in his mind turned, attempting to discover the meaning of the word 'exterminate'. "You can't exgerminate us! Why are you so mad bro?"

"While your attempts to assert fraternity with me seem relentless, I can assure you that they will do nothing to save your people. Puglets, bind his biceps!" Out of the rushes popped a grumble of puglets, armed with gold chains and aviator sunglasses. 

"Don't tase me bro!" The puglets rolled their eyes and tied the chains around Chad's massive arms. When he was bound, the puglets put him on a sled and pulled him to the top of the gumdrop mountain, where a massive thunderhead had formed. 

Down in the valley unicorns ran in fear of the dark apparition, not understanding how weather works. Shouts of: "What is it bro?!", "Bro!", and "No bro! Not like this!" could be heard echoing off of the valley walls.

Chad watched in horror as Balthazar ascended the hill, with a giant metal object in hand. "Do you know what this is Chad?!"

"Um... A death ray?"

"No you imbecile! Wait, yes, yes it is a death ray. I will use it to melt all of the unicorns into sparkle jelly which we will use to butter our toast! Those who survive will build massive monuments to our greatness, and serve us in our doghouses! We will rule this land! Come Pu

glets, the time has come!"

"Nooooooooo!" Chad said in his best impersonation of the re-released Return of the Jedi final battle, which of course was his favorite version... dick.

Fortunately for Chad and the entire unicorn population pugs have never been known for their prowess in technology. They lack opposable thumbs, and thus tend to make many mistakes in the construction of complex items. As Balthazar pulled the trigger a massive orb of light enveloped the island and sunk it into the sea. 

A pug attempting to use technology...

Luckily for the pugs and unicorns, they were instantly teleported to the far corners of the world. The pugs were sent through time to feudal China, where they served as royal lapdogs, advising warlords to the end of their days. The unicorns were transmorgified and sent through time to December 5th, 1776 where they formed the Phi Beta Kappa Society, more commonly known as the first true fraternity...

As for Balthazar, he was transported to 1997 where he starred in the movie Men In Black as Tommy Lee Jones.

The VMAs: A Bear's Pearl Harbor?

The following is yet another section from the ever growing chapter on bears in my great encyclopedia of knowledge...

Bears: 2:6 Miley Cyrus, The Impostor

While many humans have tried to embrace the bear culture, for most it has ended in ruin and dismemberment. On the outside it may seem as though bears live a  fairly simple life of catching fish, snorting river dust, and pestering hunters, but the depth of these activities is seldom understood. Notable examples of those who have tried but failed to embrace bear culture are: Grizzly Man, Zac Galifanakis and most recently, Miley Cyrus...

As this was a recent incident the bear community has not issued a statement on the matter, but I can assure you that once they have deliberated(See: 2:7 The Council Of Bears) their retribution will be swift and brutal. The bears are not a people known for mercy, and after last night I wouldn't expect the pop genre to last a week (most record labels are run at the top by bears).

For those who live under rocks, in caves, or abide in other such metaphors, I will give a brief description of what occurred last night. The stage was dark, setting a grim tone for the atrocities about to be committed, as the lights came up a massive cyborg bear was revealed, flanked by his evil bear army, ready to strike at the poor, unsuspecting VMA audience! Just as the bears prepared their attack, the bear leader began to feel ill, and suddenly Miley Cyrus, like a scene from Alien, burst forth from the bear's chest and proceeded to twerk, twirl hair that did not exist, and make a mockery of anteaters everywhere(Sticking her tongue out, no doubt impersonating one of these regal creatures). But that, was only the beginning.

The show descended quickly into chaos. The rest of the bears turned around, to show that rather than being alive and well, they had been made into sick mockeries of themselves, being used like puppets by lesser humans! Their leader Miley, stepped down from the mighty bear's entrails and showcased her own gruesome attire. She had slain a poor bear pup, in hopes of wearing its skin as some sort of a fashionable coat. Unfortunately for her, it covered less than half of her body, leaving her nearly fully exposed to the audience.

As if this grotesque display of power over our noble oursine compatriots was not enough, Miley walked up behind a bear with a rather large hind-quarters and proceeded to spank it while she used her mind powers to make it twerk! Oh the bearmanity! All of this was of course accompanied by Miley making not-so-subtle pokes at the bear culture!

"Why Miley, Why?"-Famous Bear Philosopher
Photo Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/granada_turnier/

She would whirl her hair around, imitating bears rising from the river after a long parley with groups of salmon, turning an ancient ritual into a not-so-exotic dance! She grabbed at a foam hand, straddling it, in a mockery of bears cleaning their private parts with the sacred dismembered hand of Park Ranger Rick. She even had the audacity to ask the audience how they were feeling as celebrities such as Drake, One Direction, and Rihanna turned away in what could have only been disgust and fear. I feel nothing but pity for those poor audience members, as the bears will show them no mercy.



To top it off, Miley ended her show by showing no honor by ripping the bear pelt off, leaving her in only skin colored underwear...

It was a night that shall live in infamy. While I do not know how the bears will react to this I can only guess that it will begin with a holy war against all of those in the VMA audience, and a special place in the hall of pretenders with Miley's name on it.

For those who didn't see the performance: http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1713017/miley-cyrus-robin-thicke-vma-twerk.jhtml

First video on the page

Voodoo Donuts: Catnip for Drum Circles?

The following tale comes from a time in which I was working as an intern in downtown Portland. Of course, like the rest of my life, this company was far from normal. Firstly hey had a John Hammond(Jurassic Park) mentality: “Spared no expense.”, and secondly that all employees were required on most days to wear a full suit and tie.  With these two ideas in mind we can begin our journey.

The sun beat down like the drummer of Metallica, threatening to rip open my face with its fiery beams of heat and death. On the mean(weird) streets of Portland I felt out of place in a three-piece-suit. My target was over seven blocks away, the sun was in the middle of the sky, and I had picked that day to wear black. It was going to be a journey of Lord of the Rings-like proportions.

The office had given me the mission of procuring $100 worth of doughnuts from Voodoo (Don’t know it? A. Where have you been? B. Here’s a link http://voodoodoughnut.com/index.php). When I say that they said buy $100 worth, I mean that they gave me a one-hundred dollar bill and said go…

Now, Portland may be one of the safer cities to do this sort of thing is, but it still isn’t the ideal place to be walking in a suit, with large amounts of cash, but as I mentioned earlier, I was an intern and did not question orders. I smiled and went.

As it turned out the journey there was not so taxing. While I did get some strange looks from the hipsters and beatniks wandering between coffee shops, I was not robbed or beaten senseless(Doesn’t really happen in Portland, but I think by this time we have established that I have some strange fears.) When I got to Voodoo Donuts, I found that as usual there was a sizable line outside.

The Voodoo Sign, With Filters and Things (#HipsterMuch?)

For those who are unfamiliar with Voodoo, no matter what time of day, there will always be a line. Sometimes it's fifteen minutes, other times it's two hours, but it's always there. With donuts ranging from: Captain crunch, bubblegum, cock and balls, etc, Voodoo has become one of the most popular sites to visit in Portland. On a regular basis there is a procession of confused businessmen and spunky travelers lined up around the block, just to get their hands on the magic inside those holes(Their slogan, kind of).

In any case I waited in the sweltering heat, feeling my suit ruining beneath the heavy black jacket I wore. While I’m sure taking the jacket off would have been a safe bet, it was my first year at the company, and I still believed that one of my bosses was lurking around every corner to check if I was following protocol.

As I reached the front of the line I was beckoned to the front counter by one of the kindly punk rockers working the register. Being the adult I am, buying a hundred dollars’ worth of donuts was just another mundane experience for me… Or I giggled like a three-year-old, slapped the hundred dollar bill on the counter and shouted: “I want this many!” Imagine it however you will, but I assure you it was much closer to the second.

The clerk was clearly very enthusiastic about creating over five boxes of assorted doughnuts, but still managed one of the longest and angst filled sighs that I have ever heard. I feel it is necessary to mention that I have never received treatment like this since, and most of the Voodoo employees rock! Ten minutes later I found myself looking like a balancing act in a sugar laden circus.

Balancing my five boxes of donuts, I walked precariously back into the afternoon heat. Somehow, the boxes did nothing to mitigate the heat, or make my journey any easier. Instead of the sweet smell of bacon maple propelling me to victory, it instead attracted my first obstacle. As I was walking past another Portland favorite, Stumptown Coffee, I found myself being swarmed by a group of homeless people (About three).

“Hey Little Wall Street.” Referring I’m assuming to my cropped hair, and suit/tie. “Got any donuts in there to spare for a couple of hungry dudes?” More of them were leaving the makeshift drum circle that had formed on the sidewalk and approaching me. I should have remembered the golden rule that we all learned from Jurassic park, but instead I responded to the man…

“I’m sorry man, these are for the office. Not even my money.” Completely ignoring the raptors coming in from the sides.  He looked at me like a hungry lioness looks at an injured zebra (Kids close your eyes.) As I looked at him I began to hear the pitter-patter of little drum sticks, rolling upon my boxes of deliciousness. The members of the drum circle had grown into a procession around ‘Little Wall Street’ as I was getting stuck at a crosswalk.

Soon I was being heckled by no less than five of them! “Come on man, they aren’t going to notice if one box falls off of the truck are they?”

“Come on man, I’m just an intern!” Somehow this didn’t elicit much sympathy from them…

“An intern in a suit like that? Highly doubt it man. You probably the CEO of that place, and just ain’t saying anything. Come on, give us some of your donuts!” The drumming on the donut boxes grew louder. To me it sounded  like the booming drums of war. I was terrified and it appeared as though the red hand would never transform into the little white walk man ever again. I was doomed to stay at this crosswalk forever, or at least until I had given away my donuts.

After what felt like an eternity, the light changed and I was allowed by the gods of public works to continue along my journey. As soon as I stepped into the street I was met by a host of curse words from the drum group, but I had stepped out of their area and so they chose not to follow. Unfortunately, they recognize me now if I go to get coffee in my suit…

The rest of the journey was fairly uneventful, until I came to the greatest challenge of them all. For context, the five donut boxes obscured everything but my peripheral vision, and took both hands to carry. I reached the door to my office. At the time I was working at a fairly secured building, and it required a keycard to get in… Which of course was in my back pocket, in the farthest possible position from where my hands were.

I’m sure it looked quite strange to everyone else, but I knew that if I got my back pocket close enough to the sensor it would let me in. To the outside world I’m sure it appeared as though I was scratching my butt on the side of a building…

Long story short, I got in the building, and didn’t have an embarrassing fall while attempting to open the door with my foot. Everyone got donuts, and no one was hurt, and I learned the very important lesson, that if you are buying more than two boxes of donuts, bring a friend…

My Feelings on Flying: Encyclopedia 1: 2-3

The following is yet another excerpt from an encyclopedia of sorts that I will be attempting to publish come the end of the summer. Your thoughts are appreciated, and may affect the final copy, so comment or something!

1:2 Takeoff

The plane had recently taxied on to the runway and was now waiting for clearance for takeoff, or as I liked to think; waiting for another plane to aimlessly wander into it and create a fiery explosion of death (This happened once). As much as these things are uncommon we must always prepare for the worst. This is the first piece of advice I will give regarding airplanes, and it will not be the last.

The second is that flight is an abominable concept that should be left to the birds. Until the age of fourteen I found the concept of flying incredibly intriguing, an illusion quickly shattered by the arrival of logic, along with hairs in odd places (Irrelevant). It was then that I realized the true danger in entrusting myself to a person who feels it necessary to wear brass buttons and ribbons on their hat(pilot). As much as I am myself a connoisseur of fine buttons, I do not feel that it makes me fit to fly a plane. 

I would be lying if I said the only source of my fear was the pilots. It's more the idea that I'm playing a giant game of sardines. Being shoved into a tin can with hundreds of other specimens for elongated periods of time just seems irrational and utterly repugnant. Flight is a bird-brained concept thought up by a pair of commie loving hippies lovingly known as the Wright Brothers. There’s a conspiracy there, I’m sure, but that is better saved for later.

In any case there was once a time when I was packed into one of these death traps with hundreds of other sheep awaiting my doom and it is that I intend to tell you about. By some miracle the plane made its way onto the take-off strip without some terrible accident taking place. If I believed in God this would have no doubt been chalked up to an act of hers.

While sitting on the runway a man with a calm and soothing voice came across the intercom assuring me that we would be taking off very soon. This came at an odd time as the flight attendants were also giving a safety demonstration. I’m sure he was meant to calm us down while the hell driven stewardesses told us of moronic plans to carry out if we found ourselves aboard a land bound fireball.

The brace positions, buckling seatbelts, leaning your chair forward, opening the emergency exit door, flotation devices, it’s all a crock of shit. Next piece of advice: If you find yourself aboard a crashing plane fuck protocol, start praying to your deity of choice and if there’s someone attractive near you, ask them to copulate, because there is no way you are fighting the angry beast that has decided to fall from the sky. What it will do is assure that you spend your last few minutes of life in an uncomfortable position smelling your own crotch.

It was again my curious luck that day to make it safely, if such a word can be used, into the air. Yes, the ground whipped away from me like a scorned lover and I found myself high above the clouds, soaring in what I could only imagine to be hell. The ground was nowhere in sight and all that I could see were the blinding rays of the hot sun, attempting to blind me, thus pulling control of my life further from me.

1:3 Airborne

The first thing to note about being thousands of feet in the air with nothing between you and certain death but an extremely fast tin can is that in flight beverages are a lie. I know people think that in flight beverages and that pitiful portion they call a snack are nice, but in reality it’s nothing but a not-so-clever rouse to placate you and once again blind you to the fact that you are in extreme danger.

You see, airline companies long ago realized that much like life, business and everything else, air travel is a fat crock of shit. Why would they invest then you ask? Because it was strange, it was a new way of travel that was otherwise untapped. It was marketable, exotic; they could put a shiny sticker on it and get people to pay them money for it. Much the same way that I was once convinced by a rather devious clown to take his place in the human cannon, but that is another story entirely.

With all this in mind the airline companies hired a “special” psychologist. This man was a snake, he was paid to be a snake, and he was damn good at it. His job was to take a product, analyze the different demographics for it and then subtly alter the way it was marketed to make people want to buy it more. Boy were the Eskimos mad about that one.

This psychologist spent months and millions of dollars worth of research money testing participants and various theories. He exposed patients to the most horrifying experiences they could possibly imagine and then during, tried to calm them down. What he found was that the ultimate pacifying technique was to offer them a free cold beverage and a small packet of nuts.

              

Thirty million dollars and several years later the airlines had what they wanted! They began to craft their massive birds and load them all with tiny containers of peanuts and cold beverages of the blandest variety. You see, something else the psychologist discovered was that the refreshments could not be too expensive, or the participants would feel as if they were being bribed and would become suspicious, thus making them more anxious.

One such example was a man named Dan. Dan was a family man, he had a wife and two bland, round children. They lived a plain life and were perfectly satisfied with it, For this reason Dan chose to participate in medical experimentation. This particular experiment involved him being strapped into a chair while a vicious bear roared at him from behind cage bars. While he was being roared at a white haired man would calmly offer him a cool beverage.

At first he accepted it, but then estimated the value to be too high and became suspicious. This in turn worried him more and caused him to sweat. The bear smelled the sweat and sensed his fears. In a moment of primal rage the bear broke through the bars and disemboweled Dan the family man. Thank god for informed consent forms. And for this reason the drinks on airplanes are of a medium price and are never too fancy.

Assuming that you do find yourself in a situation where you are seated aboard one of these metal death machines, I can offer you only one true piece of advice. Aside from not yelling "bomb" or other such inflammatory words (The TSA and homeland security are real sticklers), just down as many of the free beverages you can and ride out the sugar high until you are once again safely on the ground. 

10:1 Capybara Warfare

The capybara is a ruthless species without mercy or sense of honor. While the capybara is very clearly a regal creature, they also posses an acute sense of when they are losing a battle, and will do anything to assure their victory(Including self cannibalism... See: 8: What?!). This creature is responsible for some of the most gruesome battles to ever occur in the animal kingdom.

A capybara, surveying the battlefield.

Some might think the capybara to be a loose cannon, the truth is rather more simplistic. Though the capybara may have evolved a large brain from quantum mechanics and superb verbal reasoning skills; it has unfortunately still maintained a rather primal part of its genetic heritage.When anything, be it a butterfly or a bulldozer enters the capybara's territory an instinct to head-butt first, ask questions later takes hold. Suddenly the mysteries of the universe and solving world hunger are no more. Where logic lived, there becomes only bloodlust, and a white hot rage that may only be quenched by head-butting.

This instinct was developed long ago in the age of the dinosaurs, back when it was common for the capybara was forced to defend its homelands from the likes of Tyrannosaurus Rex and Diplodocus(See 11: Dinosaurs). Over millions of years small spine-like protrusions began to develop on the top of the skull, cleverly hidden by its silky fur. The capybara is able to flex it's head muscles and push these spikes forward with the equivalent pressure of a lions jaw(roughly 200,000,000 PSI).

In the water, it is often said that the capybara is slow and ungainly, making it easy prey for river and ocean dwelling predators. While this might have been the case in the early days of this species life, it is not anymore. In the early 1900s when the capybaras developed a system of currency (See 10:2 Capybara Economics), they began paying the apex predators of the water for protection.

Sharks and squids may have used to prey upon the capybara, but it is now common to see these mythical beasts being saddled by capybara, and ridden like toy ponies. This was found to be a great tactical advantage in The Great Mermaid war of 1920, in which nearly 13,000 capybaras lost their lives. This may seem like a high price to pay, but another mermaid has not been seen since, leading many scientists to believe they were completely wiped out.

With their ruthless traits, and passion for cranial battering, the capybara is adept at warfare, and ranks at one of the top predators in the animal kingdom…

Kitkats are bastards

When I was first preparing to travel to Japan, one of my friends made me a list of things I had to do while I was there. Most of them were easily achieved, and made my experience that much better. However, there was one item on the list that proved far more difficult than the rest. While it seemed to be completely within the realm of possibility originally, it came to be my greatest nemesis(other than snakes, planes, food poisoning, and ghosts, of course.) This monumental quest she tasked me with? Finding strange and wonderful flavors of Kitkats.

When I began my journey into the unknown region that geographers call The Japan, I had assumed that these Kitkats would be plentiful. Perhaps even flowing in rivers from gilded chocolate fountains, run by pug butlers, but I was wrong. 

I began my search by checking the small convenience stores in the airport, on the way to my hotel from the airport, from the hotel to dinner, and so on and so forth. While these minimarts and convenience shops did provide a bizarre set of fast foods that I had never before laid eyes on(Such as rice triangles filled with what I can only guess to have been deliciousness), they could not provide me with what I was looking for. 

Each lowly candy aisle I searched seemed to be more pitiful than the last. While one would have a full sized Kitkat bar, the next might only have "fun sized", which I assure you is fun for no one, other than the devil who laughs at those having to unwrap multiple minuscule candy bars to get the satisfaction of one! These may be amusing for use of tricking kids on Halloween, but otherwise they are completely pointless.

When the smaller stores stopped me, I moved on to the bigger ones. 7 elevens(They're bigger in Japan.), grocery stores, and the like. What I found was barren candy racks, reminiscent of old west ghost towns (no Kitkats).  As I walked in the oppressive heat, like a pilgrim on a mad journey through the Gobi desert, I began to lose heart. In a grand gesture I dropped to my knees in the middle of Shibuya Crossing and yelled "WHY GOD?!?!?!"(I actually said "damn" under my breath, but close enough.)

Despair was my only friend, heat my constant companion, and sadness the only sustenance. I dined on it day and night (Among other things, such as delicious basement curry), wanting nothing other than the sweet embrace of a variety of strangely flavored candies! It seemed that my journey wouldn't end in anything but suffering, until I stumbled upon one final bastion of hope. As I sulked my way through the underground mall at Osaka Station the words jumped out at me, like some neon kangaroo, wanting nothing but to bring me salvation in its pouch. 

It read: SUPER Market. I could only assume that as the 'super' was capitalized that they had to carry what I sought. I walked into the store, a traveller weary from thousands of miles(maybe one?) of hard travel across a desolate wasteland. My vision swam with thousands of images, Kitkats dancing in lakes of melon flavoring, crispy wafers diving into glistening pools of strawberry chocolate. It was beautiful. 

However, as is often true of wonderful things, it was not true. The candy aisle did possess flavored Kitkats, but in only two varieties. Dark chocolate and green tea... CHILD'S PLAY! Flavors that existed elsewhere, and served no purpose other than to ignite the fury of my unquenched rage. I felt the urge to flip over all of the tables, knock down the aisles, burn the remains, and leave nothing but dust, to let no one else feel the disappointment and hurt that I had, but then like a beam of orange light they found me.

Guiding away from my troublesome fate like Virgil for Dante. I passed through the seven rings of lesser candy, through the aisle, and into the orange glory of Paradiso. Sitting on the shelf like they were nothing special was a small package of orange flavored Andes mints. I knelt down (They were on the bottom shelf) and paid homage to what I could only assume to be the work of the gods. 

I picked them up and cradled them gingerly. Together we made the short journey through purgatory and onward to the checkout counter. I handed over my three-hundred yen, and they were mine. I did not dare open them on the ride home, for fear that the heat might melt their supple frames. As I sit here now, a mere three hours later, the box is half gone. 

Each bite was a new nirvana bursting forth in my mouth. Every moment was a torrent of beautiful fruit flavors dancing a ballet upon my tongue. It was by far one of the most superb chocolate confections that I have ever tasted, and I do not think I will find anything of it's caliber again any time soon... Unless of course I manage to find those damned Kitkats!

10: The Mystical Capybara

Today's post is of a more informational nature(sort of). After a brief encounter with a majestic beast today at the Osaka aquarium, I have taken it upon myself to spread awareness of one of the earth's most astonishing creatures. A creature so regal, so elegant that most would run and hide when faced with the sheer enormity of its awesomeness. I am of course referring to the legendary capybara. 

The capybara, or ratius-ourso-magnifico is a large water dwelling rodent of South America. A full grown capybara can weigh over ten tons, in human terms, about twenty elephants. Some might say that the capybara is a fat animal, unfortunately for them the capybara is not a creature to take such insults lightly... When hurt emotionally the capybara has been known to rip arms and/or legs off of its agressor.

While the capybara may more closely resemble a bear than a rat, it is still classified in the rodent family. Scientists currently believe that long ago a whisky laden grizzly bear found its way into an otter den, and well the rest is history.

A capybara by the name of Steve, looking regal as f***

With teeth over three inches in length(Can actually be true!!) the capybara is a formidable predator. Its diet consists mainly of tasty river fish, and the blood of the unjust. When it is not hunting the capybara enjoys basking in the sun, and floating lazily down rivers whilst looking cute for tourists. While this might be seen as the capybara selling out to the man, I can assure you that it is a pretty sweet deal.

The capybara is a textbook grifter. While one floats down the river cleaning itself, the other deftly sneaks up behind the unsuspecting tourist and steals their wallets, and occasionally their souls. Human souls can be used as a form of currency on the capybara black market, which is covered in 10:2 Capybara Economics.

On the subject of capybara mating habits I fear that scientists can only speculate, as all those who have attempted to observe the ritual never returned to tell about it. What can be gathered is that they leave their traditional manses for a locale of a more sensual nature. If I had to guess, I would say a small cave, shag carpeted with the hides of enemies, filled with old Barry Manilow records pilfered from zoo keepers and other such employees. 

After the mysterious ritual is complete, the capybara female kicks the male out of their den, and sends him to want after her lustfully during the four month gestation period. At this time it is common for the male to bring offerings of various river fish, and/or the heads of rival capybara males, to prove that he is indeed a smooth operator.  After the birth of the baby capybara the male is allowed back into the den once more for the sweet lovings at which point he is tossed aside for good and sent off to work in the gold mines (See: 10:2 capybara economics).

The baby capybara while adorable, is also incredibly deadly. When born, the capybara possesses a set of hardened claws, imbued with venom secreted from its mother's womb. The capybara itself is immune to this venom as it is a complete and total badass, but to other predators it is a deadly neurotoxin. The venom attacks the animal's brainstem and essentially reduces it to the consistency of jello pudding, which the baby capybara then sucks out like some delicious brainy milkshake. These claws are trimmed a year after birth by the Capybara High Council, who as a ruling body realized long ago that if these claws persisted long after birth, the population would become soft, and their food source would be decimated.

For more information on the capybara please subscribe. The more followers, the more time I am allowed to devote to the capybara chapter of my encyclopedia... So subscirbe damn you! Or you'll have Steve to deal with!

Why does the best food come from the strangest places?

There have been very few times in my life when I have felt the adventurous urge to eat somewhere completely bonkers, but on those occaisions I have found it to be the best food. In most cases I find that my fear of food poisoning, or getting shanked to death by a psychopathic muppet chef stop me from going to such places. This story is about two and a half of such instances where my sense left me and I tasted greatness...

The first and probably still the most memorable instance comes from my 2007 trip to South Africa. My family and I had just finished a visit to the apartheid museum near the Nelson Mandela memorial in Johannesburg(I think it was Johannesburg), and somehow after all of the shocking images and sad tales, we still found ourselves hungry... Some things never change.

It was a hot day, hotter than coals being broiled in an oven that was in the process of getting swallowed by a dragon (Close to ninety degrees, I don't do well with heat or exposure to sunlight). As we were walking away from the memorial to the caravan of tour buses we spotted a group of people hovering around the back of someone's car. While I was perfectly content to leave whatever it was alone, my more adventurous stepmother and father were keen on checking it out. Which turned out to be one of the better decisions made in the history of mankind.

At the back of the car was a very large woman, ladling out what appeared to be some brown slop on top of rice with veggies. That's right, this food was coming from the back of someone's compact! I was hesitant to say the least, but then the smell hit me. It was as if Zeus himself had come down and thunderbolted me right in the nose hole (a good thing). It was like smelling the Mona Lisa, or at least what I imagine smelling it would be like, they wouldn't let me get close enough... So much for wanting the youth to "experience" art.

Quickly we made our way to the front of the throng and purchased some brown slop of our own. It was lamb curry with chickpeas and some other unidentifiable vegetables. The taste was even better than the smell, and though the burn was enough to make me wonder if I would ever taste again, it was worth it. We ate our curry, and continued to live, despite the fact that it came from the back of a car (slim odds).

Now for the part that relates to Japan! Last night I once again found myself in a situation where my wits had left me and I was willing to take a chance on anything short of gutter food. What I found was somehow below that, in a manner of speaking. I apologize in advance for the blurry pictures, but it was dark, and I was full of deliciousness when I took them. 

It was around 6:30(around midnight for jet lag time) and I had been searching for over thirty minutes, attempting to find sustenance. For those of you who don't know me (Is that anyone who reads this? Probably not.) I don't do well with prolonged periods of starvation(1-3 hours without food). I become irrational, and for lack of a better word "hangry".

In any case, I was walking down an alleyway when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a picture of delicious curry. Outside of a small indentation in the alleyway was a sign advertising Indian food and an arrow pointing down. For a good while I stopped and stared at the brick wall, wondering if I just had to run at it and believe...

Luckily before I tried anything I spotted the actual door leading down into what appeared to be a basement. I was hungry, so I followed. I made my way into what was indeed a basement, with a tiny row of chairs surrrounding a small square in which an Indian chef was cooking. 

There was no one there, which is either a sign that the quality of the food is yet undiscovered, or the past patrons are in the soup... But I was filled with the hunger and I went in anyway! I ordered a simple chicken curry and garlic naan.

My fears evaporated in a matter of moments, when rather than pulling out a gruesome butcher knife with entrails on it, he instead pulled out fresh naan dough and began tossing it right in front of me! A few cloves of fresh cut garlic, a deep frier, and some gee later I was in heaven. Once again sense had lost a battle and the food of strange places had prevailed. The meal was delicious, and counter to expectations there was no food poisoning!!

For scale, that piece of naan was bigger than my head!!!!

After my success with the curry, I even decided to eat some more random food off of the street. Stopping at the first desert-ish stand that appeared, I ordered something that I could read, but had no idea as to the meaning. I was pleasantly surprised to find it was some sort of crunchy, maple cream filled ball of amazing.

Lesson here: The best food is found when you are lacking the sense to try the logical options!

Hunting for Tanooki in Akihabara

Japan Day 1: Akihabara & The Tanooki Shrine

I woke around 5:30 in the morning as my body thought it was somewhere closer to noon. As it turns out, jet lag can be a harsh mistress. Bleerily I managed to get myself dressed and out of my hotel. I stumbled down the streets outside in search of coffee and food. Luckily for me I was able to meet up with a friend, and she showed me the way to some runny eggs and deliciously thick toast. I had not eaten in over fourteen hours, and so it seemed a bounty fit for a king. 

After scarfing down breakfast and once again filling my body with a quad shot of coffee from a nearby Starbucks it was time for adventure. I had no idea where to go, and so I took the first suggestion I got, which was to visit Akihabara. 

Akihabara is well known for its wealth o technology stores, as well as the slightly more creepy otaku culture (People obsessed with anime, manga, or anything of the like, usually to a degree that can be seen as fairly unsettling.) On every corner there was a young japanese girl beconing me into a "maid cafe"(Resstaurants where the staff dress up as french maids and refer to you as "master"...), and nearly every building had some sort if busty anime girl gazing down at me. As I passed a sign that said: "Danger: Watch out for upskirting." with a picture of a cell phone camera crossed out, I knew that I was in for an interesting day.

The second thing that struck me about the area  was that rather than selling food or nick nacks on the side of the street, a good deal of the stands were vending computer parts. From fans to processors, the side of the street was a PC builder's wet dream. 

My friend showed me around for a bit, but then had to leave to go meet someone for lunch. This left me with two hours to kill before we were to meet up again, and in a somewhat unusual move I struck out into the unknown for adventure. 

As I stepped out of the JR train station I was greeted by a massive Sega sign. Not knowing what else to do(As I have never been anywhere near Japan), I followed it into a large building. Where I found myself was a seven story arcade! Every wall on the first floor was lined with various iterations of the crane game, and each level up the building was filled with various other game types. In short, it was heaven. 

I continued following the escalators up until I was on the top floor. It was here that I found a series of around twelvebubbles, each containing a confusing set of joysticks and wall to wall screens. I pulled open the bubble and sat down inside. A voice greeted me in Japanese so quick that I was unable to understand anything other than the fact that I needed to put in coins. 

I slipped in a hundred yen and watched awestruck as screens all around my head lit up. there was a loud hum as the booth began to warm up and then I was at a menu screen, once again entirely in kanji I didn't recognize. I continued to hit the start button until a mech selection screen popped up. It appeared that I would be fighting the people in the other booths in some sort of Gundam style combat. 

A few more clicks of the start button and I was on a field getting absolutely demolished by the other players. Every once in a while I would manage to get a kill in, but with no control instructions it was fairly difficult. To top it off each bubble had a headset, and while I couldn't understand everything being said, I did catch the words heta(bad) and gaijin(foreigner) being thrown around pretty liberally. After twenty minutes of getting stomped by local teenagers I decided it was time to leave and see what else the area had to offer. 

I walked back to the train station area and connected to the Wi-Fi. I searched things to do in Akihabara, and found something very interesting. There was an article detailing a small shrine hidden down a side street just over the nearby river dedicated to the Tanooki. This is a half fox half raccoon, or something of the like that can be found in Japan, or in mario games as a wearable suit.

The article was very vague as to where the shrine was, other than just across the river and hard to find. Excited, and with adventure in my heart, I took off in the general direction the article had given me. I walked all of the side streets around the river, searching high and low for any sign of the shrine, but could find nothing. It was getting close to the time I needed to meet up with my friend, and sadly I called an end to the search. 

Luckily, my friend is also possessed by a similar sense of adventure, and was totoally behind continuing the search. Together it only took about ten minutes of searching and we found oursleves outside the shrine gates. Inside I could see the various tanooki statues, among other traditional shrine fare.

A cat hung off the side of one of the buildings, keeping watch over us as we cleansed our hands in the basin at the entrance. I walked around in silence, looking at the various carvings and representations of the tanooki. As I looked around I noticed something strange. All of the carvings had enormous balls, some measuring half the size of the animal! It was a truly humbling site.

With the tanooki shrine found we decided to call it a succesful day and take the JR line back to the hotel. While I sit in my hotel room writing this, I know I will never forget my experience with the big balled tanooki of Akihabara...

I'm On My Way to Japan!

For the next two weeks I will be traveling. Currently I am sitting on an airplane bound for Los Angeles and from there I will be flying to Narita Tokyo. Now in my sleep deprived state, I have decided to document the interesting parts of my trip on this blog!

Essentially, every few days I will be posting tales from my trip, or stories inspired by tales, inspired by life events that may or may not have occurred. Just in case that isn't vague enough for you, some of the stories will be true, others will not be, but somehow or other they may or may not be related to my travels in Japan!

Without further Ado, I give you post #1: AKA I now hate the BelAir Shuttle Company!

My journey began at two-fifteen AM in a McDonalds parking lot. While this may seem like a rather odd place for one to begin a traveling excursion, it is indeed where I started. Being the smart(neurotic) traveler that I am, I had booked myself a seat on a shuttle in advance to take from my hometown of Bellingham, to Seatac airport(About 2 hours).

In any case, my roommates and I stood huddled against the frigid cold(About 65 degrees) bidding our fond farewells beneath the dim neon of the McDonalds arch. Out of the darkness, a bus emegred from the mist, at least, I like to think there was mist, part of it might have been that my contacts were in for too long, but who's counting?

The mist did not seem to matter, as I was fueled by the promise of adventure, and the slowly creeping edges of sleepiness. I loaded my things into the cargo bay of the bus and waved a fond adeu to my roommates. Of course at that point they had already left, making me look a little like a crazy person, but oh well, what happens in the McDonalds parking lot at 2AM stays there. 

Moments after I had boarded I was asleep. I had already been up for far too long (I'mn a lightweight when it comes to not sleeping) and was ready to get a jump start on jet lag. The bus roared off into the night, like a bat slightly slower than one just coming from the gates of hell. I didn't seem to notice much until I awoke to the sounds of customer complaint (like fifth on the list of bad things to wake up to.) Assuming someone had merely just been having a bad morning I tried once again to sleep.

This proved to be a futile effort, as soon the complaints had gotten louder, and more numerous. "Why aren't we moving?", "What do you mean it's some sort of mechanical failure?!" The answer to that last question seems fairly obvious, but when people are tired they tend to get cranky. Realizing that my attempts at rest were going nowhere I got up to go see what was happening. 

Outside there was a short woman yelling at the bus driver. "I have a six AM flight! Am I going to make it?" The bus driver shrugged and continued to stare intently at the front tire of his vehicle. I too had a six AM flight and was beginning to worry. 

"What happened?" I asked them, trying to be as calm and pleasant as possible.

"The bus has a flat tire." The mechanic said, conveying that he had already been asked this enough times. 

It was at this point that I began to worry, and after about ten minutes of nervous pacing I saw the outcome: If I was to wait for the bus I would miss my flight. At this point it was close to 4AM, and we were stopped at a casino that was about an hour away from the airport. It was time for plan B. I went to go find the disgruntled woman from earlier. 

She was pacing around the side of the bus, talking angrily with her other companions. "What would you guys say to splitting a cab? If we leave now we can still get to the airport on time." She looked at me with desperation and agreed. We hurried over to the valet, who, somehow was still manning his desk at four in the morning. He called us a cab, and before we knew it we were on our way to the airport once again.

We arrived at the airport with at around 5AM, and I was into my gate only ten minutes before my flight was scheduled to depart. All in all, it was a close one, but I was on my way to Japan! Nothing could stop me!

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This next part is written from my hotel room in Tokyo (Spoilers: I made it!)

However, it was not without hassle. At around 11:30AM in Los Angeles, wired on a quad shot of espresso I began the  boarding process for my flight to Narita. Whether it was the scumbaggy goatee that I had been attempting to grow (I shaved it off as soon as I got to my hotel) or the fact that I looked like I was straight out of Night of the Living Dead, but either way, the security team decided I was a threat...

I was nearly into the bridge to the plane when I was pulled out of line by an official looking man in a TSA uniform. "Sir can you step out of line please?" I was in no position to question, I did as he asked and followed him off to a side area where two other TSA officers were standing. 

It was like a criminal interrogation. They opened my bag, asked me a series of heated questions, culminating in me pulling out my itinerary and directions to my hotel to prove that I was indeed going to Tokyo for tourism. Ten minutes later I was on the plane, but it was a terrifying ten minutes. They almost had me convinced that I was a criminal by the end(Sleep deprivation will do that.)

Eleven hours later I found myself in the airport, grabbing my bags and running as fast as I could to catch my train to the hotel. A lot of uninteresting misunderstandings and wrong transfer platforms later I found myself out in the humid Tokyo air, looking at a group of streets written in kanji I couldn't read. 

The instructions for getting to my hotel only took me as far as the final subway station. After that they just said: "3 minutes on foot." Which meant that I was in close, with only infinite different directions to try. Luckily for me a highschool student saw me looking confused at the map outside and came over to offer his help. 

"You looking for hotel?" I told him yes, and showed him the vague map of my hotel. He nodded vigorously and offered to take me there. Thanks to Matsuri I was able to make it to my hotel only thirty six hours after I left Bellingham!!!

More stories to come! Below is a picture from the street near my hotel.