because "turgid caterpillar" was already taken

In case you were ever part of a prophylactic marketing group charged with brainstorming ways to raise the infection rate of AIDS in Japan, pushing evocative names like this would probably be a pretty good way to start:

No wonder Japanese men aren't too keen on wrapping it.

good intention be damned

Stop in for a comforting latte, a stiff nightcap, or just to have your soul fucked.


** Shinsaibashi

dookie ex machina

[insert craption here]
I don't usually photograph or post any of the Engrish I find, but this was just too damn good to pass up. Signs posted on a row of temporary johns at a Hyogo highway rest stop under construction had all the right informative intentions, but unfortunately raise more questions than answers.

Does this 'machine' make feces? Does it accept feces as monetary compensation for its assistance, or is it simply powered by feces? Does it take feces and mold them into whimsical shapes like monkeys and bears? Does safe operation of this machine require extensive study of enigmatic fecal tutorials?


I fear we may never know.

The best kind of rash

Remember how I hinted that our students weren't exactly the glimmering intellectual beacons of compulsory education?
Well to reiterate, we're currently in the preparatory phases of homestay pairings for our big 3rd grader (15-year-olds) Australia trip in June. The following are some painfully adorable excerpts from the "Tell us about yourself" obstacle course at the top of the participant application:

"...I have one dug. I like to readabook. Say hello to."

"I dream. Tennis prayer."

"I have a dog, her name is Koro. She is 13 years ago."

"Iam happy."

"...But lets we be friends. And I'm looking wored to meat you."

"My skin is atopic dermatitties."

Don't look at me, smartass. I'm supposed to be the music teacher.

One step forward, light years back

I may be narrow-minded to a fault, but I guarantee that know a totally sweet opportunity when I see one.

Having thus gone through "all the trouble of obtaining a native speaker," I was commissioned this afternoon by our school PR suits to write up some catchy English jangles to emblazen on a fresh batch of colorful tote bags that we'd be handing out for promotional purposes at school events later this year. It was today, that I learned the true evil workings behind the all-consuming Engrish idiocy machine.

After my cutsie inspirational one-liners were systematically AA-gunned out of the sky ("If you can dream it, you can Richu it!" I know, award-winning PR material--eat my ass), I was dutifully instructed to return to my drawing board and just hammer out some grammatically correct phrases that didn't "...necessarily have to have anything to do with the school" and "not to worry if they [students] couldn't understand." It was also suggested that the phrases be "several lines long," and contain "upper-case lettering" because it "looked cooler." As I headed back to my desk, I was asked to include "a number--perhaps the current year..."
For placing it in the immediate relevancy of present-tense, I'm certain.

So here I am, back at my desk, sipping a lukewarm can of bitter coffee after hours, smelly innards of the blissfully ignorant Engrish jabberwocky spilled out over my keyboard. It is here, dear reader, that I offer you the opportunity of a lifetime:
give me your original Engrish masterpieces--something that Engrish.com would be proud of.
If the suits take the bait, and this gets turned into an honest-to-god tote, you'll get full credit when I submit the photographs for the Pulitzer. Just make sure it fits the above criteria. And in case you have issues with following along, or reading from left to right, the "above criteria" conveniently includes "just about fucking anything as long as it's grammatically correct."

Shoot me an email, or just have at it in the comments.

Make me proud.






** As of about 5:30 Thursday afternoon, the following are my brilliant, grammatically impeccable suggestions:

NEW GALAXY:
2008 is the year that children with pervasive developmental disabilities get strapped to a experimental rocket pack and launched into the farthest reaches of space! Reach for the sky in '08!

HEY GET BENT YOU OLD FART
Lap dances are fine but touching is not!
In '08, we bring the g-string thunder: Nation-wide prefectural legislative reform!

'Frank and beans' is a recipe where hot dogs are cut up and cooked in the same sauce as the baked beans. BEANS ARE AWESOME!! Also referred to as 'Beanee Weenee,' the brand name under which it is sold by Van Camp's. Sometimes versed as an addendum in the closing credits to "Beans: The Musical. Fruit." the Broadway production, currently in production.

BUKKAKE IN 2008: NOT JUST FOR UDON ANYMORE
Dear Jesus, I wish this wasn't true.

IF YOU HAVE A MUSTACHE, everyone will love you. In fact, who wants a mustache ride? Like in that hilarious movie "Super Troopers" where the Mexican-but-not-Mexican guy throws out the offer, and the ditzy German chick was like "Ooh, I do! I do!" and he was all like "Whatever." 2008.

** UPDATE: Reader Submissions **
Bob suggests classic American cinema:

MONGO LIKE CANDY!
Blazing saddles is the exegetic film you need to gain deep understanding of the American psyche. The eructative flatulent cowboys of 1974 are a touchstone that has yet to be surpassed.
HOW ABOUT MORE BEANS, MR. TAGGART?

Zach B. likes balls. And walls:

BALLS TO THE WALL: In a place of chaos; where you can hear pigs being slaughtered, women weeping, children crying and men gnashing their teeth. Join us in a year of trepidation. There is no weaksauce for you in 2008.

Anonymous eschews bodily function and stays classy with T.S. Eliot:

"I have played," so he says, "every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart.
I'd extemporize back-chat, I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.

Adam sets up a neighborhood watch for flying pies:

BURRITO SUPREME
A tasty treat for any auspicious occasion! 1992 was the year of justice, so change your clock to go back in time. Terrorists. WATCH THE SKIES FOR FLYING PIES! Bite hard, but close your eyes for extra taste! The world may never know. Utilize for a better tomorrow.

To the peanut gallery, with love

Weenie men click to enlarge. Then cower in fear
Following certain accusations** in the comments stemming from my most recent post, I made a quick stop at the convenience store for lunch on my way home this afternoon. Five minutes and 400 yen later, I left the store reeking of sweet retribution.

Brazenly discriminatory potato snacks, and cup sake: the choice sake for grown-up homeless men all across Japan. Go on ask yourself--could there possibly be anything more blatantly manly than "thick taste" chips and sake under a tarpaulin down by the river?

No.
The answer is no. There is not.

I believe there are apologies to be made.




** To clear up any more potential confusion as a result of misleading sarcasm, rest assured that all photos appearing on the DI are taken with my camera(s), and by my hands, regardless of how disgusting, juvenile, or idiotic they may be. Thank you.

The game is afoot

First graders Hikaru and Miho, who are not surprisingly,
much cuter outside of class.

Bit of a mystery...these kids.

Glosse Point Brank

9:35pm
I have finished playing Resistance: FOM while waiting for clips to upload into iMovie, and decide to change my shirt before going to the party. I hate my hair, so it is punished by a hat.

10:10pm
I arrive late but it matters little. The band has still not yet started playing to the mostly male crowd. I exchange Asian high-fives with several friends of mine, and remind myself that I am not in a gay bar. I order a beer.

10:18pm
The sausage party streak is finally broken. Three more girls arrive, order drinks, but flee to the back of the bar. My beer is not amused.

10:25pm
The band takes the stage and introduce themselves. "Solid Gold Sex Toy": an aging hippy guitarist with a superiority complex, his loyal disciple--an awkward and toothless hippy wannabe saxophone player, and then their recently added bass guitarist--a sweaty and overenthusiastic fan of the two. I order a Myers rum and coke, and wait for the rest of the minstrels to arrive. Or a jester. That'd be sweet.

10:29pm
They do not arrive. The 'band' begins to play. Much to my disappointment, this is not a joke.

10:52pm
Aging hippy has a surprisingly good voice, and is no slouch on the guitar. My face is already warm. The girl sitting across from me is now drop-dead sexy. I am like a kindergartner after two helpings of communion--a pitiful drunk. Awkward disciple hippy stumbles through the first chapter in "10 Easy Saxophone Lessons". Bass guitarist is still sweaty.

11:16pm
Local Anti-Hero skating, trouser-snake waving, loud-mouth hellion 'Jiro' arrives, sheepishly apologizes for already being drunk, then loudly orders a beer. The sausage party has a new king. Hippy band appears mildly deterred by the upstage, but continues to play anyway.

11:19pm
I proudly finish my rumcoke, and order a gin and tonic. Jiro orders his third beer, throws the horns, and begins to scream "HEEEEAAAVY MEEEETAL", much to the delight of the crowd, but chagrin of the mild-mannered minstrels who are now fighting a losing battle for the bedpost rights of the four remaining females. The traveling circus announces the end of their "first set." I am annoyed at the discovery of sitting through another set.

11:26pm
Aging hippy strikes up conversation. Eyeing the girl across from me, he requests a manual for hitting on Japanese girls. I recall him seeking "groupies, not girlfriends" unquote. Toothless disciple stands within earshot to take notes. My gintonic begins to sarcastically recite lines from "40 Year Old Virgin." Hippies are not amused. They leave to go find inspiration for their next set. Have a sneaking suspicion that 'inspiration' = 'weed.'

11:49pm
Despite taunting from the crowd to flash his nether parts, Jiro does not oblige, instead launching into a beer-soaked rendition of 'Werucahm tsu zah Jyangaru.' It is an appropriate compromise. I decide to name my firstborn after him.

12:06am
Royal hotness is now talking to the local fixie shop owner. He is a pretty good guy. I surrender my empty glass at the bar and leave to go get an ice cream stick. Somewhere along the way, I stopped at my apartment and fell asleep.
Mercy kill, thank god.

Welcome to the "clue" train, last stop you

Innocent Engrish? Or the most hilarious and cleverly-disguised front for the adult film-making industry ever? On most days, I'd chalk it up as a charming coincidence, best not shared with the under-12 crowd. But the rest of the time, I wouldn't be so quick to put this past the Japanese, who like their porn to be "readily available" at best. And inventive, but you didn't hear that from me. This little storefront would circumvent both of those requirements with a certain well-oiled 'ease', I'm sure.

And is it just me, or does not the key vaguely resemble a penis?
Just wondering.