(Tokyo, Japan) Crasher Squirrel confirmed in a press conference today the claim of Miyuki Hatoyama, wife of presumptive Japan Prime Minister, Yukio “the Bird” Hatoyama, that she had ridden a UFO to Venus.
Crasher Squirrel said, “the UFO was bright and shiny, but the seats were a little small for my big gaijin squirrel ass. And the Venusians smelled like natto.”
When questioned about his alleged involvement in a love triangle with the First Couple of Japan, Crasher Squirrel commented, “hey, man, it was the 60s, the summer of love, you know, free love.”
National Police Agency spokesman, Omaru Omawari, said in a statement faxed to the press, “we have solid information that the UFO was purchased from a gaijin, so we are now piss-testing all gaijin in Roppongi for Venusian genetics.”
McDonalds Japan spokes-gaijin, Mr. James, blurted deliriously, 「トンデイルビッグマックミタイネ！スゴイネ！」。
In other news, Noripi’s husband confessed, “yes, yes, yes, I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!”
Japanese media has been fanning the flames of panic in its breathless, melodramatic, musically-enhanced coverage of the “battle at the borders” against H1H1 Novel Influenza.
Since the first cases of H1N1 infections were detected in Japan, however, the number of people confirmed with H1N1 infection has skyrocketed, shattering the media-perpetuated myth that “it’s an overseas disease” and that somehow the disease could be “stopped at Japan’s borders.”
So, naturally, the administration of Prime Minister Taro “Dick” Aso launched an “important” public service announcement trying to calm the populace down.
Contradicting itself repeatedly, the PSAs basically tell the public, “the sky is falling!” but “don’t panic!”
* Don’t relax your guard against infection! If treated early, there’s nothing to fear!
* Don’t worry! Your government has stockpiled Tamiflu for 38 million people!
* If you become symptomatic with high fever and coughs, don’t go to a hospital! Call the H1N1 Fever Hotline in your neighborhood first!
Let’s hope that those suffering from ostracism, the “blame game” (and H1N1 influenza) recover quickly.
Let’s be angry at cynical TV networks that will clearly do anything, including inducing a panic, to increase their pitiful ratings. Bastards.
Let’s laugh at stupid politicians who try to “look presidential” but end up looking dorky and making things worse.
For those with a sense of humor, here’s a link to the PSA, with English subtitles added for better comprehension.
InvisibleGaijin has been a Salaryman, both the work-yourself-to-death-by-quietly-taking-shit-every-day Japanese kind and the fully-loaded-ex-pat-who-hangs-out-at-the-American-Club-talking-shit-about-Japanese kind.
For my generation, being a loyal, dedicated, hard-working Salaryman was a good thing. Wearing a non-descript-so-you-don’t-stand-out-too-much suit from Takashimaya, wedged into the Odakyu train every morning like soybeans into tofu, chain-smoking Seven Stars, drinking Kirin Lager, and slowly working one’s way up to Exalted-but-do-nothing-Bucho-ness — that was the life all good boys aspired to (or at least the life their kyoiku mama’s programmed them for).
Even as a third-generation Japanese-American born and raised on the streets of South Central Los Angeles, “having a good career” meant: go to good university, get degree, get white collar professional job, get married to approved-by-mom-nice girl, have 2.3 children (1.4 children in Japan), work ass off for 30 years, then enjoy retired life on a pension.
Even though I was once a I-make-way-too-much-money-thus-I-am-a-god kind of executive-asshole, I eventually realized there must be more in life than the endless pursuit of corporate profit. Especially when the other boys got bigger bonuses than me just because they liked kissing the board’s ass, exploiting the loyalty of local staff, and lying to Clients.
Oops, sorry, that should read: “being a team player, empowering staff, and creating value for Clients.”
In my early middle age, I reached the point where I said, “f**k that!” and pulled the pin, resigned my executive position, burned my suits, and tossed my briefcase into the gomibako.
The Salaryman in me died that day. Actually, I snuck up behind him in a dark alley, popped a cap in his head, and stood over the corpse, saying, “who’s your otou-san now?”
In the Death of a Salaryman began the Journey of the InvisibleGaijin.
