My First Japanese Thanksgiving Erotic Story Reading

This weekend I learned about Thanksgiving. 

Thanksgiving is about getting together with family (or friends works, if your family are really far away, or just annoying). 

Thanksgiving is about eating too much food and being thankful when you don't vomit. 

Thanksgiving is about sharing erotic fiction.

One of these things seemed out of place. I'd never seen the Tanners reading erotic fiction on Full House. I must have missed the episode where Rudy Huxtable asked what a 'swollen member' was. 

Oh.　Heeheehee.

But then again, what the hell would I know? I'm from New Zealand. We don't give thanks for a goddamn thing. So when the hosts of my forthcoming Thanksgiving Potluck Erotica dinner party told me that everyone was writing an erotic short story, I did the obvious thing: chugged a can of hot coffee, cracked my knuckles and got to work.

Much to my eternal happiness, I won the competition for 'Best Erotic Story', beating out such luminary works as the Grinch who fucked Christmas, a treatise on midget dicks, a high seas romp with a Paul Jennings style facial twist at the end, and a saucy song about birds. There was also an unusual number of stories about either Harry Potter or Jesus. In fact, if I am given the opportunity to defend my crown next year, it's probably a good strategic move to start from a 'Harry Potter and Jesus accidentally get locked in the sauna together' scenario and then just see what happens. 

The crown of 'Best Erotic Storyteller 2010' is an accolade I accept with an unusual mixture of pride and shame. That same pride/shame combo compels me to share it with you, the internet. And if you are by any chance my Granny, I'm so sorry. 

Doctor Suggestive recommends not reading the following story if you wear a pacemaker or are Bigmrjosh's granny.

Giving Thanks

The bright lights played off the white corridors of the hospital. At this time of the early evening visiting hours were over. The hospital was quiet, but for room 613. 

“How long has it been, Cindy?”

“Almost three months, Doctor Parker. Too long.”

“Well, your progress in physical therapy has been remarkable.” Dr Parker replied. “That car really messed you up. I mean, in ten years at this hospital I’ve never seen a spine bend that way. For a while there I worried you might never walk again.”

“But here I am.” Cindy pulled aside the thin blue curtain behind which she had finally shed tatty hospital gown for good. She had exchanged that less-than-flattering outfit for a tan skirt tight enough to showcase her therapeutically physical legs. On top she had chosen a shimmering green blouse. Since it was a special occasion she hadn’t seen the need to do up all of the buttons.

Doctor Parker was wearing a doctor’s coat. That much was probably apparent. Underneath he wore a pair of business slacks and a shirt. Presumably. This is erotic fiction. Anything can happen.

“Anyway, Doctor, I’ve waited a long time to thank you,” Cindy said as she sashayed across the room. “I really want to show you my gratitude.”

Doctor Parker swallowed audibly. “Cindy, ethically I shouldn’t-”

“Ssh,” Cindy said, placing a slender finger against his lips. “’Shouldn’t’ starts with ‘ssh’.”

All of Dr. Parker’s ethical dilemmas were washed away by the undeniable beauty and elegant power of Cindy’s words. Three months of repressed lust and need poured between them. He pulled her to him and crushed her lips against his. Cindy ran her hands through Parker’s thick brown hair. It felt good, like straw. Like good straw. It didn’t smell like straw, that’d be weird, and gross. In fact, it smelt like apples. And apples, like cheesecake, convertibles and a good episode of Gray’s Anatomy, got Cindy hot.

“ Oh, Cindy.”

“Oh, Dr Parker.”

“Please, call me Dave.”

“I’d really prefer to stick with Dr Parker, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Okay, works for me.”

“Oh, Dr Parker!”

“Oh, Cindy!”

“Take my temperature, Dr Parker!”

“I think a rigorous treatment is in order!”

“Oh, Dr Parker!”

With urgent fingers, Cindy pulled Dr Parkers coat away from his shoulders. Dr Parker moved in to kiss her neck, her beautifully scarred neck. Cindy moaned with pleasure, and a little bit of pain because the scar tissue was still tender.

Now her fingers were working at the buttons of his shirt and his fingers were working at the buttons of her shirt and then their hands got tangled and it turned into a kind of romantic Jackie Chan shirt button slap fight.

They each took off their own shirts.

Even after her grisly accident, Cindy was still an 83 percent beautiful woman. She hid the fact that she had 1/5 less breast now than before the accident with an excessively frilly bra she had imported from Japan. The smiling pink mushrooms that adorned it screamed ‘do me’. Not literally though. Again, that would be weird.

She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Parker did the same with his pants.

Now there were only thin layers of fabric standing between doctor, patient and a totally erotic sexy sexfest. So they took those off too.

Oh yeah.

Cindy liked the way Dr Parker was staring at her body; it was like the way a bull stares at a china shop in that both looks said ‘soon you will be fucked.’

Their bodies came together again. “Oh Cindy, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Dr Parker moaned. “Normally my hot female patients give it up within two weeks of arriving here.”

“That’s not sexy for me. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say it.”

“Oh, Cindy!”

“Oh, Dr Parker!”

The moment they had both yearned for was upon them. Cindy’s bed was there, empty and beckoning to them. For long months it had cradled her frail, damaged body. Now the hydraulics that allowed easy raising of the top and the bottom ends would allow them to do some totally freaky shit.

Dr Parker hoisted Cindy into the air to carry her over to the bed. And that was the moment when Cindy’s sixth vertebrae slipped out of place.

“Oh, Dr Parker, I can’t feel my legs!” she wailed.

“Good sign. I haven’t even put it in yet!”

“No, I really can’t feel them. I think you broke my spine!”

That brought Parker to a halt. “Oh,” he said. “You’re going to need a doctor.”

SPECIAL FEATURES: Now if you didn't already, read back through it with a really British accent. This is called the 'Fergus Version'. It was in no uncertain terms his smooth and sexy reading of my story that helped propel me to victory on the night, ably assisted by his pedophile mustache. Good show, Fergus!

I say. That was some sexy shit, eh chaps?

Straight Screamin' at Trains

Guess my hobbies.

<Ahem> Hello, I’m the Train Screamer and welcome to the Train Screamers ‘Screamin’ at Trains with your host the Train Screamer.’

Today we’re going to be visiting the magical mountain paradise that is Hanayama. As my regular viewers know, I love to scream at trains all over Japan, all day and every night. And Hanayama is no exception. But Hanayama is special because it’s also my home. Come on, let’s check it out!

The rural alpine wonderland that is Hanayama is famous for two things: crazy people and insects the size of human infants. But don’t worry; I’m not crazy and I’m sure not a giant insect a-ha-ha-ha! I just really hate trains but I also really love trains. So there’s that.

But there’s so much more to the ‘Yama than those terrible, beautiful machines that you call trains and I call fulfilment. There’s also a diagonal lift! No, you didn’t hear wrong, this elevator moves along the X-axis and the Y-axis simultaneously! I love the diago-vator so much that I gave it its own name. It’s diago-vator. I also applied for world wonder status for the diago-vator, but it got beat out by some stupid statue that doesn’t even have a nose. Whatever.

I'm over it.

Remember, if you ride the diago-vator to be courteous. Always push the <ahem> button to send the lift back after you’ve finished riding it, even if there are people waiting at your end to get on.

That's just Common Sense

So as I said, Hanayama has many interesting sights: the diago-vator and those sweet, dreadful trains. That’s it. We better go see the trains before I wet myself.

The Hanayama train station is the unofficial meeting point for every crazy person in a five kilometre radius. Completely coincidentally, it’s also the perfect spot for those who enjoy the gentlemanly pursuit of train screaming. Unlike your average train station, Hanayama eki has stairs leading down to – and crossing! – the tracks. On the far side from the entrance, beside the barrier arm that separates me from my hate-bride, is a metal fence. When I stand here I am like unto a GOD! <Ahem> No train can withstand my righteous bellow! At about chest height, the fence doesn’t obscure your view of oncoming trains and it provides a handy handhold you can clutch for support if that’s your style. I prefer to hold onto my trousers, my wang and my dreams of locomotive rape-suicide.

Each to their own.

Well, that’s all for this episode of Train Screamer’s 'Screamin’ at Trains with your host the Train Screamer.’ Tune in next week when we- wait. Wait. Holy shit, do you hear that? A train’s coming. I have to, I need to, I - GUH!! A-CHA-PA-TSU-BA-RA-PA-GI-MU-TA-O-KU-RI-BA-RA-TI-E!!

<Ahem> And remember my Top 5 Tips when Screaming at Trains:

1)      Wear a Cap. That way no one will recognise you. A beanie is okay if it’s really cold.

2)      Warm Up your Vocal Chords. Try saying ‘uh’ continuously from the time you leave your home to when you arrive at the station.

3)      Don’t be Afraid to Scream Directly into Someone’s Ear. Remember, they probably either hate or love trains (depending on the day) just as much as you do. They just don’t have the balls to do anything about it. Help spread the word about train screaming. And we all know the most effective way to spread words is to scream them!

4)      Express is Best. Don’t waste your time and energy screaming at lacklustre slow-moving trains. The biggest rush comes from screaming at the trains in... the biggest rush. Plus with an express there’s almost no chance of someone getting off to whup your ass.

5)      Trains were Sent by Satan to Test You. Trains are like the reasonably priced prostitutes of the transport industry: you can scream at them and you can hit them with sticks, but you must never allow yourself to be seduced by them. Stay on your guard.

Check out Train Screamers new single, ‘Straight Screamin’ at Trains’ now available on iTunes. Rolling Stone called it “What... the fuck? 4 stars.”

For a limited time, get the free B-side, ‘Crazy Train (Train Screamer version)’ a harrowing cover of the Black Sabbath classic, delivered entirely in impassioned Japanese screaming.

Thanks to this guy for the sweet Train Screamer graphic. What a legend, and he draws other stuff good too! Check it out.

Hazardous Bees

I’ve been asked many barely intelligible questions since I first reported for my tour of duty in the Japanese Elementary school system, on a range of bizarre and surreal topics. But one of the first – and still one of the best – came from a fifth grade boy.

He said to me, with utter sincerity in his eyes, ‘Do you know bee o’ hazard?’

At least, that’s what I heard.

‘Holy Jesus,' I replied. ‘Are the bees here considered a hazard?!’ Then, because this sentence made for some complicated English, I mimed a bee buzzing its way towards me, stinging my face and then my head exploding.

It was some of my best “bridging the gap” work.

'RRRRUUUAAAAaaaaahhh!'

‘No, no, no.’ The boy is shaking his head. ‘Bee-oh-hazard. Bee-oh-hazard,’ he enunciates unhelpfully. Then his friends decide to help out by chanting the exact same thing as him. ‘Bee-Oh-Hazard! BEE-OH-HAZARD!’ Was it that my body odour was so intense they were concerned for their safety? I was starting to worry, but it turned out six boys screaming nonsense at me was exactly what my addled brain needed. Something clicked.

‘Oh!’ I yelped with a little too much enthusiasm for a grown man. ‘BIOhazard!’

‘Yes.’ The boy looks at me with that look that says, “I just said that 18 times and you are a retard.” Like when you have to explain a joke, he has lost all enthusiasm for the topic by this point but WHO CARES! I know that Biohazard is the Japanese name for a series of video games known as Resident Evil in English-speaking countries. It’s not my fault that the peculiarities of Japanese language turned the word Biohazard into some kind of pirate warning.

‘Yar, ‘twas the bee o’ hazard what done us in. ‘m sure of it.’

This kid made the fatal mistake of talking about Biohazard with someone who’d been playing Biohazard since before he was even born and goddam if we weren’t going to have a conversation about it in broken Nihonglish.

The beautiful dance of words went like this:

Kid: Do you like Biohazard 1?

BMJ: Hai!

Kid: Do you like Biohazard 2?

BMJ: Hai! Sugoi, ne!

Kid: Do you like Biohazard 3?

BMJ: Iie! It’s balls.

Kid: … Do you like Biohazard 4?

BMJ: Hai!

Kid: Do you like Biohazard 5?

BMJ: Hai!

Kid: Ok. Bye bye!

BMJ: We are best friends now.

He didn’t even ask about Code Veronica. Do your research, kid. (It’s a ‘hai’ if you were wondering.)

That conversation, like any conversation you have that’s completely amazing, got me to thinking. Biohazard is insanely popular in Japan, especially considering the number of creatures appearing in the games that aren’t cute enough to make a soft toy or keychain from. I mean, these are games about a virus that turns any living creature into a zombified killing machine. Even the monkeys! So what’s the appeal? Aside from zombie monkeys.

I think it comes down to this: obviously the country that gave us The Ring enjoys pissing its pants as a recreational activity.

'That’s… gonna be hard to sponge out of the tatami.'

Every game in the Biohazard series has three basic enemies. They occur early on in the game, so even if you suck at not getting eaten by zombies, fighting giant snakes or being a master of unlocking you will still probably meet them.

'I was almost a Jill sandwich!' 'Ahaha, yeah, I should have left you in there to die!'

These three basic enemy types are analogues of very real fears close to the hearts and minds of the Japanese people. Behold!

Zombie Person.

RE zombie person

Actual zombie person

The zombie person is your bread and butter in the Resident Evil games. In the real Japan, you only need to try and catch any evening train to see actual zombies in action. Overwork makes the salaryman shuffle about aimlessly and, for some reason thirst for braaaaains. That may be artistic license on my part.

Zombie Dog

RE Zombie Dog

Actual Zombie Dog (Also maybe Satan)

On the left side you will see a godless demonic beast rending the flesh from a human corpse. On the right you will see the Satanic Dog that I encountered one moonless night that wanted to rend the flesh from my corpse. If it’s not Satan then it’s making a fantastic effort to be like him with the dastardly red cape and all.

Japanese people love to take little dogs and put them in little outfits like this. But deep down in their souls they know that you can’t put any living creature in a fluffy frog suit and not expect retribution. There is a price, an eternal, horrible price. And they fear what will happen when the legion of tiny demoralized dogs wake up and smell the coppery tang of our blood.

Murderous Raven

Actual Raven

RE Raven

This one is pretty self explanatory. Ravens are bloody terrifying. The ones in Biohazard aren’t even necessarily scarier than real Japanese ravens; I’m utterly convinced that both want to eat my eyeballs like grapes. The only real question is, will they spit out the skin in the Japanese fashion or will they swallow the whole thing?

Japan Cribs BOOYAH!

This blog is unlike the blogs you are used to. Unlike every other blog I have ever written, I sat down to write this blog with a purpose. I mean a purpose beyond trying to salvage my native tongue, which I seem to be forgetting how to speak with any kind of fluency.

First up I want to apologise to my New Zealand friends and family. You’ve had to wait a long time to see the upcoming brilliance. But it’s not my fault! I’m about to do what I do every time something undesirable or unfortunate happens to me: blame my predecessor.

For example, once I tripped on some stairs and hurt my ankle, and goddamn if it wasn't my predecessor's fault. And don't even get me started on those times when my alarm has failed to go off in the morning.

The girl who lived here before us is pretty much a stranger to me. But I’ve read enough Batman comics to consider myself a master detective, and using my keen sleuth senses I have determined that she had two major hobbies.
They were: 1) avoiding cleaning, and
                  2) buying candles.
Seriously, we got rid of more candles than an 18^th century brothel liquidation sale. She must have been the easiest person to buy birthday presents for.

Oh my God, I love candles. How did you know!

Had we been sure the house was fireproof, it probably would have taken less time to just set the interior on fire and start from scratch. I hate candles now. Whenever I see a candle I just feel unclean.

Anyway, they’re all gone! So after 3 months of intensive feng shui and crying while I scrub away mould and redesigning spaces and assembling furniture that comes in 163 pieces, I present to you our apartment. Watch your head on the low beams in the ceiling, they’re brutal.

The Lounge

Ah, let's start in my favourite place. J Here lives the mega TV, the PS3, the computer, the giant couch, pretty much everything that is good in this world. Happy sigh...

It has tatami matting on the floor, which is really awesome until the day I turn over a cup of coffee. Which you and I both know is in my future.

Ssshh. There, there. Daddy'll be home soon.

Our little "office" slash where we keep our luggage.

The Kitchen

The kitchen is small. It’s definitely a one person kitchen, as I have found any time I’ve tried to get in there when my wife is busy doing the mysterious kitchen things that women do. The main challenge for the kitchen was finding a way to have enough room to store all of our appliances AND have room to prepare meals AND have room to put the dishes somewhere until I get around to washing them.

The Bedroom

The bedroom is a two person space, but only just. When I get up at morning I have to inch along the space between the foot of the bed and the wall. I’m not angry about it though; I like to just chalk it up as ninja training. We used to have a large black freestanding wardrobe in the corner, but I think my guitar looks much better in that space. Don’t you?

The Part that’s not the Lounge, the Kitchen or the Bedroom.

We could call this the bookshelf room, because that’s about all that fits in there. It used to house all the candles. Like the kitchen, it has no tatami, just this classy hardwood floor-looking linoleum. On top of the bookshelf, under the eternal guardianship of plushy Mario, is a tourist map of Kobe. I use a black marker to cross off places we have been. Eventually I want a whole map of black X’s. Because I’m emo that way.

The Toilet

Capybaras cuddling. The hanging thing is a deer from Nara.

Miffy & fruits = A happy poo times!

That’s right, I went there. Anyway, the toilet’s one of the biggest rooms in our house! You can see that it was difficult for me to squeeze my huge muscles in there just to take a photo. The Miffy theme makes such hardships easier to bear. On the notice board are souvenirs, tickets and brochures from various places we have seen around Japan. We try to scrounge or steal at least one thing for the board every time we go somewhere new.

The Genkan (Entrance)

It’s really all about the partitioning curtain on this one. That’s all I wanted to show you. There’s also a washing machine, a sink and about 32 shoes. Exciting!

Dogs, right? They know everything.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my virtual tour of our abode. Thanks for coming!

Now get out.

Making Some Money

So I am poor.

Blogging is a great way to share my genius with 0.000000000000173% of the world. But it’s not particularly lucrative. So far, my ledger shows net profits of $0 and two shouts of “hey, your blog is funny” on the street. My net losses are even more depressing: $612 spent on caffeine alone, plus a bill for a yet to be disclosed sum from my wife for time spent ‘pissing around on that bloody computer and ignoring me.’

Something had to change.

I wracked my bulbous, majestic brain for ways that I could parlay my three talents into some kind of income. It wasn’t easy; I have a pretty specialized skill set. I hit upon the solution while teaching colours to a class of third graders. We had just convinced Mr Red to come out of hiding by all chanting “Come on!”

He's shy, you know.

And I had informed the students that Mr Red only liked objects that were red and would probably eat their schoolbags. That was when it hit me: I was already a children’s entertainer. Why not make some money out of it?

Welcome to BigMrJosh’s Children’s Birthday Party Central!

At BigMrJosh childrens’ birthday parties, you can give your child an experience they will never forget without extensive hypnotherapy. Currently operating in the Japan region only (sorry, rest of the world!) our dedicated team bring you semi-quality party experiences at semi-competitive prices. At present we have a staff of one, but with the assistance of the prison corrections department we hope to be increasing our staff to… well, probably to at least two.

You guys are so hired.

Please take the time to read about some of the exciting games and activities we can provide for your next child’s birthday party!

Pin the Balls on the Tanuki

As someone whose main goal in life is to win everything, I get really pissed off by Pin the Tail on the Donkey. It’s too specific! There’s only one place where the tail looks right and you want me to hit it with a pin?! That’s like expecting Helen Keller to ski a slalom course – it’s not impossible, but there’s gonna be more than a bit of luck involved, you know?

Look at its arrogant ass. God I hate you, donkey.

By contrast, children will love playing Pin the Balls on the Tanuki, because a tanuki is 60% balls anyway. That’s a considerably higher chance of success. You could pin balls to a tanuki’s chin and it would still count as correct. You’re a winner!

Balloon Animals

While we’re talking about balls, how do your children feel about squeaky, shiny balls of happiness?! That’s right, I’m talking about balloons, folks!

Cool animals like giraffes and elephants aren’t relevant to the Japanese child. I have spent countless minutes honing my ability to make Japanese-specific balloon animals.

Tanuki

Aside from the ever-popular tanuki, your child may also enjoy:

Kitsune!

Stray Cat!

Mukade!

Terrifying Raven!

What a delight for children of any age!

Pass the Parcel

No expense has been spared to bring your child a magnificent party experience. Japanese children are already adept at opening sixteen layers of packaging, thanks to the Japanese shopkeeper’s propensity for acting like they’re in Love Actually.

Chotto Mate

Really, the only novelty in this game is that they have to share the task with other children. Still, none of that will matter when the lucky winner savagely tears away that last layer to reveal… a perfectly spherical, flawlessly beautiful, chemically delicious apple! And look – it’s big enough for all to share! Everyone’s a winner!

(Please note, a 1000 yen deposit is required to secure the apple.)

Samurai Pinata

We all want our children to have Bushido, the Samurai spirit. Birthdays offers a timely reminder that your child is one year closer to adulthood, that time when they may have to feel the hot blood of their enemies splash their face. In short, it’s no time to be resting on their laurels.

The rules of Samurai piñata are almost the same as normal piñata. Almost. There’s still a big thing stuffed with candy. The kid still gets blindfolded and spun around until they’re dizzy and nauseous (or, as I call it, ready for killing). But instead of a stick they get a razor sharp katana, just like you have in the garage. And they get one shot to bring that piñata's time on this great battlefield we call Earth to a quick and merciless end. Otherwise the next stab is for them.

This game can really set the mood for your party, so… you should probably be pretty sure of the outcome before requesting it. Or at least leave it until the end. No refunds.

All medical costs incurred are the responsibility of the child who – let’s face it – shouldn’t have sucked so hard. Not recommended for ages 4 and under.

Son, you brought this on yourself.

From everyone here at BigMrJosh children’s birthday parties, we look forward to hearing from you soon!