Tag Archives: maker of the japanese zero

“If you take the blue hat….”

30.dutchboy (1)

Look at me, I'm so happy and gay!

I’ve got these classes where I have a 15 minute break in between, which is just enough time to clear my head, eat a banana, and put some shit on the board for the next class of intrepid ant people.

That would be the case, if the queen of uselessness wasn’t there to steal every last bit of my life away. She’s a reverse vampire, making your life suck instead of sucking away your life.

I’m not sure what her job is, but apparently they hire people in Japan to be redundant and useless. Without jobs, Japanese people feel meaningless. That crashing sound that just shattered the hood of your car and  front window as you drove was the McDonalds janitor who lost his job and now feels that his life lacks a point, causing him to hurl his mass off the top of a karaoke bar. That second thud that crumpled your trunk was a recently retired business man who couldn’t feel useful in retired life. The final sound of twisting metal that ripped through your roof and killed you was completely unrelated to work, just a girl whose boyfriend of one week broke up with her (They’d gotten to holding hands in public!).

In a way, I guess I should applaud the company for such care toward the human race, keeping the useless from meeting like-minded inept friends on the Internet where they might travel to meet and help hang each other. It’s great that they can find a budget for hiring people that have the unfortunate handicap of having their heads stuck up their asses.

…but I’m not much for charity…

This whole woman’s job seem to be telling me shit I already know, including:

* What students will come today (I both know already and don’t give a fuck)
* What students came (pretty sure I got that figured out)
* What the weather is like (I know when it rains, bitch, I’m wet)
* If the room I’m in I cold or warm (thanks, I lack basic physcal sensory functions)
* That I have a cd player next to me and an outlet on the wall, and how to make the magic lightning juice go through the cd player’s tail and make it all glowy and sound-y

She also tried to make me follow rules that make no sense. Japan’s all about slowly breaking people with small rules until they’ll do anything. It becomes a world where you’re always thinking about following mundane rules and not thinking. It makes for a completely compliant society.

In this company, there’s a large room where everyone must wear their little Dutch Boy blue hat (along with their blue uniform). There’s no reason for it, the hat doesn’t protect and it’s not to keep hair out of anything, but if you venture in this room, you must don the cap of gayness. When my students have to travel thru it they all toss on their little hats like a line of ducks, ripping them off when they emerge, like a man gasping for breathe after surviving a long underwater tunnel.

Queen Vapid hands me a hat.

“Cool, a gay hat by the esteemed maker of the Japanese Zero”

I toss it in my bag. She makes motions for me to put it on.

I ain’t gonna lie, I put some effort into not looking like a complete fucking train wreck in life.

Bitch thinks I’m gonna stain my threads all look’n like the boy who sticks his finger in a dike to save Holland (not that kinda dyke) or a third rate Chinese factory slave.

I toss out a quick ‘why?’.

The best way to scare Japanese people is to ask why, because no one ever does and no one has ever wonders it for themselves, so rather then mash brain electrons together to make a new thought, they just default back to the last system save and pretend nothing strange happened, like your broken computer, or that robot in the Alien movie that eventually broke and killed everyone.

So every week she makes a motion to put on my hat and go all native commie (stange fact: iphone just auto corrected native as Mao) and I respectfully ignore her and she just pretends I’m wearing one, and we go off to my little room where she spends ten minutes telling me that there are markers and they can be used to make symbols called ‘writing’ on marker boards.

The other day I was writing on said board, as stated earlier.

Now, I’m just gonna apologize now. I’m sorry, I’m from NJ, and where I come from we just don’t waste Oxygen slinging useless conversation around, so when she looked at the board and said:

“Ah, are you writing things for the next class?”

No bitch, I’m writing a diary…I’m writing a fucking retro blog….I’m writing about how great a skinsuit you’d be for a
timely serial killer and I’m writing a prayer to god that the killer could be just slightly more timely.

::sigh::

“Yeah…”

And with my Ally Mcbeal-style imagination I endure….

Maybe that’s how they to it too…

I actually hope she fantasizes about stomping my head in too, would make folks round here just a bit more human