Measuring academic pride in your man-boob cup size

So one of the teachers across the room just walked over to my desk and handed me this giant sheet* of strange translucent paper depicting the names of the current ranked sumo wrestlers. Apparently, one of the higher ranking wrestlers (16th place, is STILL like the fifteenth place loser) was an old graduate of ours. The Japanese really cling to this kind of glory--creating sensation from non-news(wrinkled gym bag + flattened nikuman + crying teenager = scandal?). In the grand scheme of the glory scavenger-hunt though, if your academia's brightest beacon of perserverence through the mental and physical teenage trial-by-fire, is a perfectly mediocre overweight wrestler, who graduated high school in 1998, you best fire the head of your student recruiting department. Anyway, don't get me wrong, I like fat, mostly-naked men (this is not to say, that I like men who are fat or naked, or even 'men', as a gender preference for that matter)** pushing and throwing each other around as much as the next guy, but only because it's hilarious when 400 pound whales repeatedly pimp slap each other in the face and neck. I wonder why he thought it was of any interest to me. Anyway, it looks kinda cool though. Maybe I'll write notes on it and hang it on my wall. Meh.

While forcing my protesting eyes open to watch enough shitty television for my next retarded video piece, I stumbled across a show that showcased the sumo and their daily routine as a wide load in a country of narrow alleys. One guy complained about his wardrobe (consisting of a bathrobe, and a bathrobe for wearing outside), and that he couldn't buy fashionable clothes. He alleviated this problem by buying designer wallets. An ass-load of designer wallets. Another guy ate through on average, around 110 fried yakitory (chicken on a damn stick) in one sitting at his favorite restuarant as his smoking hot wife sitting across from him, idly picked at a tiny bowl of rice that couldn't have held more than eight grains. I go to places like that too, but usually eat only four or five sticks, and then puke my gluttonous brains out from overindulging. Another guy had to get a special reservation from buffet owners before he was allowed to come. Undoubtedly to give the kitchen staff enough time to fill a cement mixer with vegetable oil, kill the fatted herd, and hide their firstborn.

I was thinking about shoving something down my throat and posting some Wikipedia regurgitation about sumo, to draw some conclusions about them, but you have fingers. Do it yourself.




* I have since learned it is called the "Banzuke," and it is not paper. It is printed on the recycled stomach skin of fallen sumo warriors.

** I am not gay. Get bent.