An Eternal Thought in the Mind of Godzilla: Dakko-chan

The best part about having a birthday: the bit where it starts to rain loot. This year, a ding-dong lot of it, vacuum packed with food, folks, and fun.

It ended just a few seconds ago when Honda-san, a man with deep, deep entertainment industry connections, slipped me the new top secret game from Nintendo that’s about to sweep the electri-mag spectrum like a Black Friday shopping spree.

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Wait. Scratch that.

It’s actually the very first goddamn game the House of Mario ever made: a pack of hanafuda cards. Honda handed it over and promised to teach me to play. Soon as he does, expect a Crazy Generation of Gambling to begin bakuto.

Actual factual. The real B-day was on the 4th. Slasher and Betty made arrangements for slabs of BBQ mutton, Genghis Khan-kei, in Yotsuya-san chome inside some place that looked like a set from Das Boot minus the periscopes. And just as soon as I thought I was getting used to it, they hit me with mad gift.

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A radio controlled 1/34 scale replica of Bunta Sugawara’s big rig from the Truck Yaro movies. The phrase “mother of God” sprung to mind, and then I remembered that some of those present were actually Satanists.

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This thing is soooo fucking hardcore. Lights up like an LSD Xmas tree, two sounds on the remote: a big honking horn and an engine rev-up makes like a monster in heat. All come from Bandai factory in China where they hopefully force the workers to watch 17 Truck Yaro movies in a row before they slap the stickers on.

Then, Mad-K throws down a Beat Crusader’s CD, F-Ko-san with a trio of gashapon, and Hawk and his g contributed a 12 pack of grape Mentos, good for when you need a blood-sugar rush, like during a Chikyu Boegun 2 all-nighter. Anal Pearl Harbor, bless that name, had a post-war Okura eiga DVD up his sleeve, about a beauty queen (Miss Pacific Ocean) who is transformed into a horrible monster thanks to an ugly old burakumin. Late-comer Hen na Nihonjin, a bit of savior with cell phone promos out of her pocket.

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Dog sitting in the driver’s seat of car just outside. Why?

Afterwards, we hit the Mother Teresa New Half bar. Pounded by sparklers and champagne. The “girls” put on a show with a riot “please buy our shitty tako-yaki” skit. Same stuff as last time, otherwise, but the word classic applies. The Ministry of Culture should recognize the place as a national treasure.

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Then things got blurry. I remember some Steely Dan and people taking turns controlling the truck at DMX. The sound of crows pecking at trash and hosts yelling good night / good morning to each other in deep Kabuki-cho.

Breakfast at McDonalds. You know you had fun when you eat like that…Big Mac, medium fries, and biggest Coke you have. Insane all-Beatles soundtrack. Wolfing down two-all beef while Tomorrow Never Knows blares.

1:10 screening of the new Steven Seagal flick: Into the Sun, shot in a strange and violent country call: Zipangu. Big opening scene. The governor of Tokyo gets capped by a motorcycle hit squad. Chiaki Kuriyama seen in exactly two shots. A bit of tedium, but some laughs for sure. Best bit: Seagal mashing some Yuh-Koo-Zah’s face into a trio of pachinko machines and then throwing him out the window. Looks like they filmed it at the Jumbo pachinko in Shinjuku. Seagal walking through Shin Okubo saying, “this is where I grew up.” But a lot of him driving around and loops of recycled helicopter footage of Tokyo bay. No Out For Justice, for sure, but worth it in a pinch, like if you can’t remember what 1987 was like (answer: hella violent, dude).

Then I sat on the RC truck and drove myself home. This weekend, I’ll be rolling over to the Sado Islands where I will befriend a widow with lots of children and run afoul of the Jaws gang. Or maybe I’ll just stay in the Meishotai and read tarot cards for spare change inside the International Science Shotengai.

I can tell 33 is going to be weird already…

(bird flu, human to human, 1-kai, from mother holding dying child in her arms all nighto)