By Trebor Elliverf, Travel Correspondent
The world is a big and exciting rock, neither round nor flat but decidedly quadrangular in shape and rather droopy in spots. Nowhere is its dimensions more defined than in the Land of the Rising Sun, a country that resembles nothing so much as an overly aroused meerkat.
It neither matters a little nor at all that I have never actually set foot on its fairy-tale paths, for I can imagine myself there right now. With modern advancements in astral projection I can bask in the brilliant autumn afternoon, marveling at the meritorious flora and fauna of its gardens without ever leaving the safety and security of my Davenport.
Japan is, indeed, the hottest destination of this year and the reasons for that designation are manifold. Whether we are talking about the pristine architecture of the Shinto shrines, held so sacrosanct by local savages, or rhapsodizing about the radiant allure of Kyoto and its whisper-soft geisha district, the picture is clear. Japan is host to so many wonderful sights and sensations that a tourist would have to be imbecilic not to consider it for their next sojourn.
The thatched-roof teahouses of Yoshiki-en will allow you to calm your nerves and allay jet lag before you are spirited away to a bathhouse for some much-needed attention from the kimono crowd. Once there, you will gain purchase to a world never previously afforded to a Westerner.
On my last astral holiday I stayed in a hotel nestled among the rich vermilion pagodas sprouting from a crimson forest. Once there I was afforded the honor and luxury of flogging my very own geisha with a fine stick of bamboo before giving her eyeballs a firm tongue lashing.
Eyeball licking is all the rage in Japan right now, along with the playful shenanigans of Kancho. These are more recent phenomena which have joined old customs like “loach loading” and doll love as part of the one-of-a-kind sexual fabric of society.
But even in all of their complexity and splendor, they can’t help but make up a microcosm of what Japan has to offer the eager foreigner. A visit to the International Manga Museum may just result in a scene snatched right out of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. Here the plushies of the world unite and bow their heads, honoring the perverts of old who shaped Asia’s curious obsession with the animated form.
While the decadent attraction of watching a young baka onna getting herself fully immersed in goo is deserving of innumerable passages, one should not ignore the larger and richer culture of the region.
Japan is nothing if not a foodie’s wet dream, its many markets and resutorans serving as a mecca for gourmands the world over. The sheer grandiloquence of their cuisine can be traced back throughout the ages.
Ancient customs continue to fascinate, such as the eating of fetuses, and its Shefu approach their trade with a precision and creative je ne sais quoi worthy of Guy Fieri. The very height of their culinary expertise can be found in the fermented fish guts of Shiokara.
Verily, there are far too many aspects of Japanese culture that inspire admiration, from the once-great tradition of smothering female babies with wet paper to their professional shoving of passengers into subway cars. However, one aspect is slowly transforming the country into a master of athletic endurance supōtsu.
The first thing I think of when planning out some proper trav and leis is sports—the world’s sweat-anointed gladiators grappling with each other like lovers crotch-locked in raw estrus, their sinewy bodies exuding all of the violent, competitive ire that is the true spirit of humanity.
The Empire of Greater Japan has long been at the vanguard of modern sport, having given us the grandiose wonders of sumo wrestling and martial arts. But in recent years, mass interest in these tired disciplines has waned and with it have ticket sales.
Fortunately for the residents of Asia’s eastern coast, a new sport has risen to prominence and it is poised to take over the globe. The galvanizing spectacle of the so-called “Sound Off” has arrived and to observe it is to behold a phenomenon that has no equal.
I recently projected myself to the Sapporo Dome, one of only two covered stadiums in all of Japan, for the season’s first Sound Off game. A hushed crowd of some 40,000 fans watched the field intently as its players slowly emerged from their dugouts.
Clad only in white house slippers, their tawny flesh glistening with a fresh sheen of petroleum jelly, they walked methodically towards their opponents, stopped before markers on the artificial grass and bowed.
The sound of the fans’ collective lump swallowing was audible as each player then produced a thin metal rod from their respective quivers and charged at one another. To the Westerner’s eye it would seem that these two gentlemen were lacquered up to wrestle each other to the ground and, ultimately, pierce one another’s flesh with the rods, but in Japan subtlety and nuance are valued over cheap thrills.
Once both players reached the middle of the field, they reached into their quivers anew and took out matching drop cloths. They rolled them out and lay them down on the Astroturf, each taking a seat on their mat.
Satisfied with their positions, both players held up their right fists and gestured at the other. Player one held up two fingers as one would in a game of Rock, Paper, Scissor. Player two grinned as he held up his fist. Rock clearly beat scissor. This could only mean one thing.
Player two held his metal rod aloft for the crowd to inspect it. Even from up in the nosebleeds, it was evident that the rod was approximately six inches in length.
The sounding of sounding off commenced; player two slowly inserted the thin metal rod into his urethra, carefully sliding it in one quarter of an inch at a time, his determined gaze fixed upon his opponent who looked on stolidly.
Player two stifled a groan as the metal rod disappeared into his peehole. The crowd cheered for just a moment before falling quiet again. Player two cocked his head to the side as player one sized up the situation.
After a moment of muted hesitation, player one nodded and player two removed the rod from his penis, setting the lubricated antenna down upon his drop cloth as player one fished out a 12-inch rod from his quiver.
There are few rules to a Sound Off—about the only thing one needs to understand is that a penalty is earned if a rod ends up in an orifice unrelated to the game. If such a penetration occurs, the offending player must pay for the next advertising spot during the game’s live feed.
Watching every inch of player one’s mighty staff become one with him was awe-inspiring. Like bearing witness to an erupting volcano, there was an admirable magnificence to its death-defying madness. There was also something beautiful in its fundamental attraction.
The Japanese do not need the bluster of the Western world’s bombastic sporting events. There are no skirmishes here, no encroachments or line of scrimmage. The only line is the one the players are willing to cross in their effort to insert the largest possible object in their bladder.
This is no doubt the future of modern sport, in this country and every other. After all, if there is one thing sports is all about it’s the good old-fashioned dick measuring contest.
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Featured Image by Justin A. Burnett
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