More Curiosities From Japan's Porno Shops

[Currently Listening To: UNKLE - War Stories]


Tokyo's Akihabara neighborhood is a sort of Mecca for consumerist nerds. Anyone obsessed, as I am, with toys and gadgets, electronics and video games, robots and action figures would be hard pressed to find a greater place to whittle away their life savings. Last month, I lost myself in Akihabara's endless neon labyrinth of awesomeness for many hours, dashing around wide-eyed like a kid in a candy store. Every corner I turned in every shop was a new discovery of some wonderful thing that I desperately needed more than anything else in the world, although I hadn't known it until then. I left that shiny paradise a much poorer man than I had entered - but I didn't leave it without another trip to the legendary seven-floor adult superstore I discovered two years ago on my last trip to Japan. And since the bizarre treasures I brought home from that trip proved so popular, I figured it's time for another round of show and tell from the the dark, horny underbelly of Tokyo.

It's unfortunate that the giant porn store doesn't allow photographs, because it's hard to capture the uniquely creepy atmosphere with words alone. I think most Americans feel a bit uncomfortable browsing any sex shop, but Japan turns the Weird-O-Meter up a few notches, especially in this store. As with any shop in Tokyo, space counts, so an impressive amount of merchandise has been Tetrissed into narrow little aisles. Any amount of foot traffic in the store makes it extremely difficult to move around, forcing you to silently negotiate an awkwardly physical passage with anyone in your way as you attempt to navigate the claustrophobic walkways. This means you'll have to acknowledge the Japanese businessman carefully studying a strap-on dildo far more intimately than you'd probably prefer.

To make things worse, the store is almost dead silent, except for the bondage floor, where the unnerving soundtrack is the signature high-pitched wail of a Japanese woman crying and screaming from horrors unknown. Unknown, at least, until you notice the television in the back corner, where said Japanese woman, her naked body dripping in hot wax, is being led around someone's basement on all fours by a leash. Her endless crying would seem to be the result of the thirty or so metal clamps attached mercilessly to exactly the last parts of one's body most people would ever choose to clamp. Behind the cash register, polaroid pictures cover the wall the way a New York deli would post pictures of celebrities who had stopped in for a bite to eat. Except, instead of pictures of the cashier giving thumbs up next to Jay Leno or Regis Philbin, these are pictures of the cashier tied up and ball-gagged, bent over with a leather-clad woman sticking various objects into his hairy Japanese ass. It seemed the photos were souvenirs from some sort of bondage party held by people who work at the store. I was never more thankful for the Japanese aversion to touching hands when exchanging money.

Unfortunately, most of the weird new treasures I found this time around were too expensive to buy, and I couldn't photograph them in the store. But alas, through the magical tubes of the internets I was able to find pictures and even links for almost everything I saw, so let's begin the tour...


The Plasma Sperm



The Plasma Sperm is a home microscope kit designed especially for men to view their little testicular tadpoles up close and personal. That's right boys - next time you blow a load all over your stomach looking at celebrity nip slip galleries, don't reach for that dirty gym sock - reach for the Plasma Sperm, and see how your little swimmers are holding up.



I actually bought one of these, but it was a gag gift for a friend, so I was sadly unable to personally test out this ingenious device. However, from the looks of it there seems to be nothing to differentiate it from any other home microscope, save the spectacular packaging.



Unable to read Japanese, I can't exactly tell you what their selling points are with this thing, beyond the irresistible novelty of seeing the would-be offspring you've sentenced to death by Kleenex. This website seems to be selling the Plasma Sperm as a cost effective tool for men with potentially low sperm counts who are trying to conceive a child. But since I don't know Japanese, I'll turn to Google's trusty translator for help:

"This actualizing price low with the contents which are the high function where also the professional is surprised! [sutairiishiyu] design the near future forum the [ku] the [ri] increases the intellectual search heart of the man immediately. In present! In experiment! In investigation! The door to the micro which participates with all scenes."

Ah, that explains it!


Strange Masturbatory Devices

Last time I told you (in way too much detail) about the popular Japanese "vagina-in-a-can," or Vagican, or Cangina as it was later coined. You can see a wide variety of Vagicans on this page. The Vagican is an unapologetically economical masturbatory solution, and thus lacks some of the bells and whistles of more elaborate artificial vaginas. That's where the Vagican Vibrator comes in:



Just insert your favorite Cangina into the machine, and instantly you have a vibrating Cangina! It's kind of like an erotic paint shaker. The translation calls it the "Electric Man," and the best part is that it's not just for Canginas - it's also for rubber hands, creating an amazing vibrating handjob machine:



Or if that looks a little too vanilla, try this uncomfortable-looking ball-grabbing device - I call it "The Clapper":




Anime Love Dolls

One of the more interesting new additions at the sex shop was a section of life-sized love dolls. Love dolls are a sex toy staple around the world, but like everything else, Japan adds its own creepy twists - like favoring plush dolls that look like pubescent anime characters:



The product page for this doll details its eerie face, which will be staring blankly through you as you make love to its unique interchangeable vagina. An interchangeable vagina, you say? How does it work? Once again, Google Translator explains:

When the underpants are made to disperse, the hole for hole installing opens. Because hole hole diameter 45×30mm is small, “the love body Kumi private hole” of selling separately is agreeable.

I see... But what I want to know is how do you wash something like this? It's plush, which is fabric, so there's going to be a certain amount of absorbency when it's exposed to, say, the various excretions of a profusely sweating overweight Japanese man crushing poor Kumi under his weight as he furiously pumps his hairy little ding-dong into her "private hole." It sounds like a recipe for something that doesn't smell very good after a few uses.

If you're looking for something more realistic terrifying, you might want to try this... thing:



This lovely armless lass and her friends (seen at the top of the page) come permanently fixed in a pose that never says no, and an interchangeable face only a serial killer could love:



It also is home to the world's least sexy artificial vagina:



This comic, from the detail page, explains everything you need to know about these high-tech artificial orifices:



These dolls are highly customizable, so if you want to channel your inner psychopath by taking off the doll's limbs, reducing its breasts to undeveloped nubs, dressing it in little girl underwear and giving it a face that says "please Daddy don't touch me there" - you're in luck!



Most terrifying of all is this thing, a doll that should be murdering people in a bad '80's horror movie, not being lusted after by lonely Japanese men:



This doll has, according to its translated page, an artificial hymen for you to break. They really did think of everything, didn't they?

All of the above dolls are fairly deluxe, and will run you into the hundreds of dollars. But if you're on a budget and still need something life-size you can desperately pretend is a real woman, check out the wide variety of weird blow-up dolls. Thankfully, they still retain the creepy anime face:



And, if you're on even more of a budget, you might just want specific parts - like a personal titty-fucker, or a grotesquely hairy rubber rear end vagina thing, or a pocket anus, or a curious little guy I like to call "The Pirana Plant".


Something For The Ladies

Fear not girls, Japan hasn't left you out, and it understands that your desire to masturbate can happen suddenly, where you least expect it. That's why you need to carry your vibrator discreetly - say, disguised as a zuccini, or better yet, an ear of corn:



No one will think it's weird if they see an ear of corn in your purse. Or a carrot, or a banana.

If vegetables aren't your thing, maybe fingers are. Not just any fingers - vibrating fingers molded directly from the hands of a famous Japanese actor - specifically, this guy:



Oh, and in case you were worried, Japan is still the leading producer of the world's cutest vibrators:




Capsule Figures

Toy figures definitely aren't just for kids in Japan. Like last time, I tried my luck in one of the adult-themed capsule toy machines. This time I got a tiny plastic tied-up girl, complete with a box of "accessories" (for size reference, those are laptop keyboard keys behind her):



As strange as it is, the attention to detail is impressive. The girl's box of fun includes what must be the world's smallest sex toys - several dildos, a butt plug, a speculum, anal beads, and the always useful bottle of lube:



All that's missing is a miniature butt funnel.

Well, that's all for this year. For more from Japan's dirty side, keep exploring this site, or just go here and cry yourself to sleep tonight.

P.S. - Even though it's better suited for my previous entry, I can't help but include this Japanese man wearing boobs on his nose. Because Japanese men with boob noses are always funny:

Japan Super Happy Fun Time First Part! Mega Fun Costume Party Explosion!!

[Currently Listening To: Queens Of The Stone Age - Era Vulgaris]

If you've been here a while, you're probably aware of my love affair with Japan - in particular my keen interest in its unnatural abundance of weird shit. I'm far from being one of those mouth-breathing gaijin boys who immerses himself in anime, jacks off to tentacle porn, and is known by a Japanese nickname on internet forums (okay, maybe once I jacked off to tentacle porn, but I swear I was drunk); I just find Japan to be an incredible place with a culture so unique and far-removed from Western sensibilities that it can truly feel like a different planet. Most importantly though, everything in Japan just seems like a lot more fun. Hell, even parking is more fun in Japan.

We dined at a popular theme restaurant called The Lockup, where you are handcuffed and escorted to a prison cell to dine in. Skulls decorate the dungeon-esque walls, and specialty drinks come in syringes and test tubes. We found many, many arcades (long dead in the States, but thriving in Japan) with amazingly sophisticated photo sticker booths, which resulted in grotesquely awesome pictures like these:



I should add those aren't Photoshopped in any way at all - that's exactly how they come out of the photo booth after some fun touch-screen customization. Why we don't have shit like that over here is beyond baffling to me.

Of course, the best part for a nerd like me is the toys. Japan, without question, is home to the coolest and widest selection of toys in the world. So cool, in fact, that some of the toy stores have to be guarded by giant terrifying Japanese puppy monsters:



I went to several multi-level toy stores, notably Hakuhinkan in Ginza, and Kiddy Land in Harajuku, trying to keep my bank account in tact as I gazed in wonder at the endless aisles of incredibly cool stuff. At Hakuhinkan, a whole aisle of goofy Japanese masks and party outfits revealed that Japanese costume parties are probably way more fun than American ones - if for no other reason than the strange popularity of creepy drag costumes for Japanese men:



Although, far scarier is this Japanese Michael Jackson costume I found:



When I was a kid I loved Michael Jackson so much that I dressed up like him for Halloween one year. It's scary to think that my six year old self adored Jacko so much, that if I'd somehow met him, he probably could have talked me into letting him touch my peepee with minimal hassle - no Jesus Juice required. Call me a cheap date.

Anyway, in looking at some of the pictures I took of the costumes, I noticed a web site listed for the manufacturer. That led me to the oddly-named JIG Paradise, a Japanese costume catalog with the most incredible assortment of funny/creepy photos of costumed Japanese men perhaps ever assembled. For example, check out Japanese Britney Spears, looking almost as ugly as the real thing:



Japanese and rockabilly always make for humorously awkward bedfellows:



Even common costume fodder like the trusty "muscle chest" outfit seems much more exciting in a Japanese package:



And then there's these guys:



The costume on the left, in case you're wondering, is a takoyaki - a fried octopus ball - a hugely popular Japanese snack, and a gooey, vomit-enducing nightmare to even the most daring Western tastebuds.

But if that's all a bit too mainstream, maybe you want to attend your next costume party as a cannibalistic turnip, or a... red... thing? What's that meant to be on the right?



And for that matter, what the hell are these costumes? Other than some kind of tree from a Dr. Seuss book, I can't even guess what these might be:



Strangely, the most popular costume in Japan seems to be the simply-titled "party costume":



The party costume a one-piece, one-color outfit worn by dancing, large-headed men whose little ding-dongs poke out playfully from underneath:



Add some metallic colors and face paint, and you get something straight out of my nightmares:



What would you do if those two dudes on the right approached you in a dark alley, just smiling, saying nothing? I would pee in my pants and sob uncontrollably is what I would do. I expect to see them showing up in the next David Lynch movie.

Spend some time browsing around "JIG Paradise" for more awesome photos - they even have costumes for your penis:



Damnit Japan, you've really thought of everything.

Doing battle with Japanese toilets - and other oddities from the East

I had some other non-porn-related items of interest left over from my trip to Japan that I hadn't gotten around to posting - so I'm going to do that now.

First of all, Japanese people take pooping very seriously. My hotel room was equipped with one of Japan's notorious electronic bidet toilets, which I affectionately refer to as the Robotoilet. It features a heated seat and a wireless LCD control panel. This is a close-up of the control panel:



The buttons at the top control Robotoilet's most exciting feature: a little motorized device which extends out from underneath the toilet seat and shoots your puckered brownhole with a blast of warm water, sending a brief shiver up your spine and leaving your formerly poop-encrusted asshole feeling oh so fresh and so clean. The sensation is odd but not entirely unpleasant, although it's alarming how accurate the device's aim is. You'll see in the picture that the icons on the buttons represent butts, and water spraying at said butts. I never pressed the pink "bidet" button - that one's for the ladies - but I assume it's the same thing, only aimed a bit differently to target a different hole. In retrospect, since I don't have a vagina it probably would have sprayed my balls, which might have been interesting. Ah well, live and learn.

Anyway, when you've decided that your bits and pieces are good and clean (it's up to the user to determine how long the spray continues), you can finish up with a gust of warm air that comfortably blow-dries your ass. I have absolutely no idea what the LCD panel is meant to display, but maybe it has something to do with temperature of the drier or the heated seat (which, by the way, is a much nicer luxury than you might imagine).

I was so fascinated by the ass-cleaning Robotoilet that I wanted to see it in action when no one was sitting on it. I tried pressing the "wash" button with the lid open, but nothing happened. Robotoilet, it seemed, had outsmarted me, by way of a sensor somewhere which informed it that no one's asshole was present to receive a cleansing. So I waved my hand around near the toilet seat, continually pressing the button until I found where the sensor was. You see that, Robotoilet? I'm smarter than you after all. Holding my hand over the sensor, I watched in delight as the little spraying device extended mechanically from within the toilet, and took its position a few inches underneath where a dirty butthole would normally reside. This is so exciting! It's going to spray! And then it sprayed - all over me. Robotoilet, angry at my sphincter deception, had retaliated with a powerful blast of water! The pressure was far greater than I'd anticipated, and, without an ass to break its trajectory, the stream of water shot high above the toilet seat and out onto my pants and my shoes and the floor. This photograph I found at Wikipedia illustrates the situation pretty well, just imagine me on the receiving end of that spray:



Robotoilet: 1. Rob: 0.

But if Robotoilet is the pinnacle of pooping luxury, the traditional Japanese "squat toilets" are, to use a terrible pun, the dumps. The squat toilets are often found in public restrooms throughout much of Asia, and, instead of the chair-based toilets we're used to, are built into the ground, requiring one to squat over them in order to take a shit. This is what they look like - this is not some kind of urinal, or bidet, but an all-purpose toilet:



I'd heard about these before, but I was strangely excited when I saw one (so much so that I took that picture) - it was one of those "Oh look it's funny how foreign people go poo" moments. Observation, however, was not enough. I wanted to try this thing. I wanted the full experience. So I waited, and waited, and waited, until a rumbling in my bowels told me the time was right, and I rushed to the nearest squat toilet for a one-of-a-kind immersion into Eastern culture. As it turned out, it wasn't as easy or fun as I'd imagined. Maybe I have weak legs, but squatting over something so low was extremely tricky, particularly while concerning myself with keeping my ass out far enough to avoid shitting all over my pants. I had to stabilize myself with one hand against the wall while my skinny little trembling legs (my bad knee didn't enjoy any of this one bit) fought to keep me from collapsing into a pile of my own fecal matter. The sheer effort involved in preventing poop from falling onto my pulled-down pants left me convinced that I was doing something wrong. Do Japanese people take their fucking clothes off when they do this? Do they have some kind of third leg we don't know about, to prop them up? How else does this set-up even begin to make sense? What the hell happens if you have explosive diarrhea? I left the toilet stall with a sore knee, a great deal of questions, and a strange new affection for my old nemesis Robotoilet.

For everything you ever wanted to know and then some about Japanese toilets, check out Wikipedia's page on the subject.

Now let's move backwards up the digestive tract to the subject of food. Japanese food, as you know, can be exceptionally good. It can also be incredibly, inedibly horrific.

I am adventurous when it comes to unusual food - I'll try anything once, just for the experience. Of the many weird food items I punished myself with in Japan, by far the most horrible were "octopus balls." I found them at a small stand in Shibuya which exclusively served these delicious treats - and how could I see a big sign that said "octopus balls" and not need to know what all the fuss is about? I thought maybe they'd be some sort of fried thing, like calamari. I like calamari. Instead, octopus balls were doughy, gooey balls of octopus parts (lots of tentacle chunks and suction cups) and unidentifiable slime, covered with soy sauce, mayonnaise, and unbelievably smelly fish flakes. If that sounds bad, I can assure you that eating it was a thousand times worse. And the smell... Oh God, the smell. I made the mistake of attempting to eat the octopus balls in a car, and the stench of dead fish became so unbearable I had to throw them out the window.

A similar snack we discovered was a giant bag of squid tentacles, sold on a rack alongside potato chips and chocolates. We saw the package - pictured below on the left - and couldn't believe that we'd open it up and find exactly what was shown on the front. Well, we did - the contents of the package are picture below on the right.



They didn't even look real, they looked like rubber toys. They tasted like rubber toys as well, but slimier and fishier. Yes, I tried one. I regretted it.

Tentacled snacks aside, even a couple days of good Japanese food left us craving something familiar. So when we passed a Shakey's Pizza - the last thing we ever expected to see in Japan - it called to us with the promise of delicious American comfort food. I wouldn't even notice a Shakey's Pizza in the states - it's not even very good pizza, I don't think I've eaten there in years. In fact, do they even exist anymore? Whatever the case, Shakey's suddenly seemed like the best thing in the world. Unfortunately, the familiarities we were so craving were nowhere to be found. Shakey's served its pizza buffet-style, with several options laid out on a table for you to pick from. Missing were the staple selections like pepperoni, cheese, sausage, etc. Instead the pizza varieties included: tuna & corn pizza, squid & pork pizza, and egg & seaweed pizza:



Thankfully we found a KFC later on, where we were able finally satisfy our craving for shitty American food, and also where we found the adorable Japanized Colonel Sanders:



At one point we went to a weird little amusement park in the middle of Tokyo. We rode on some cheesy rides, played some carnival games, and stumbled upon this incredibly bizzare scene.

We also encountered the highly mischievous French Fry Man, who guarded the french fry stand and seemed to enjoy eating pieces of his own head:



And we got some weird little pastries of peoples' heads, one of which had been lobotomized to display his delicious brains underneath:



And we saw some Japanese wanted posters, which take the curious approach of making their criminals look incredibly unthreatening by cutting out their heads and pasting them on undersized cartoon bodies:



Those guys are definitely guilty. Especially the one on the upper right. He looks like he's spent some serious quality time with the butt funnel.

Okay, that's all I have from Japan. Time to get some sleep.

Curiosities from Japan's porno shops.

As everyone is well aware, Japan is absolutely brimming with bizarre shit, particularly when it comes to adult material. Tentacle rape, bestiality, people shitting on each other... They've got it all. So when I stumbled upon a seven-floor adult superstore, I knew I was going to walk out with some amazingly weird stuff.

First, though, there's plenty of pervasive material available right out on the street, before you even make it into a porno store. For example, these delicious-looking treats I found at a market - "Yokohama Bust Pudding":



I like how, the way the packages are set up, the girl on the right appears to be scowling at the girl on the left, as if jealous of her younger, perkier pudding breasts.


In Japan, vending machines are EVERYWHERE. Soda, candy, porn, dairy products... You'll find it all just a button-push away (This site catalogs some of the more unusual vending machines in Japan). Thankfully, this also includes machines that dispense capsule toys, which seem to be hugely popular in Tokyo. Unlike chintzy American capsule toys (cheap digital watches, plastic rings, etc), Japan's are incredibly cool and come in endless varieties. From capsule machines alone I got Excruciatingly detailed tiny little classic Nintendo systems (here being enjoyed by Wolverine), a Spider-Man figure, 3D Mario Bros. magnets, a monster trapped inside a cube, a miniature video game table (with fully working game), glowing Star Wars light saber keychains, and robot pandas being controlled by real pandas.

But amidst all of that, side by side with Pokemon and Dragon Ball Z, are adult-themed capsule toy machines which dispense little figures of partially naked girls doing all manors of unsavory things. Of course it's random so I felt compelled to try my luck and see what the porno figures looked like. The ones I got ranged from basic assortments, like girls showing their boobs and masturbating...



...to more illicit figures, like this one:



Yes, she's tied up to a post. Yes, her tit is falling out. Yes, that's a Kabuki mask between her legs. And yes, she comes with a collection of intricately-detailed little dildos. Amazing. However, easily the most disturbing assortment of adult-themed capsule toys involved doe-eyed, childlike girls in suggestive poses. This was one of the more expensive machines - 500 yen (about five bucks) for one toy, but it was certainly worth it, as I now own my very own toy of a little girl squatting to pee:



How fucking creepy is that? As you can see from the flyer included in the capsule (note the kiddie crayon font), the other toys in the assortment include little girls spreading their legs, little girls sucking suggestively on popsicles, and little girls dry-humping their teddy bears:



Incredibly, incredibly disturbing. And let me remind you, I didn't find these in some seedy back alley - all of these machines were right on the sidewalks in busy shopping areas.

Of course, capsule machines aren't just for figures - I found a vending machine called "Men's Gold Ticket," which offered an assortment of little sex toys for men, like little rubber vaginas and anal beads.



Unfortunately, the one I got wasn't very exciting - just some sort of French Tickler thing, with a little bottle of lube:



But sometimes all the French Ticklers in the world can't stop that lonely feeling, so you could always try your luck at a capsule machine that dispenses girls' phone numbers for you to talk to - I didn't actually get one of these, but it appeared as though each capsule includes a photo of the lucky lady, and a number to get in touch with her:




So if I found all that amazingly ridiculous stuff out on the street, what awaited me in an actual porno store? Of course I had to find out. The seven story adult megaplex included a floor for sex toys, a floor for magazines, two floors for DVDs, a floor for condoms and lubes, and even a floor for costumes. Japanese men love them some role-playing, so you can buy all kinds of elaborate outfits to suit your wildest fantasies, most of which appear to be based on popular anime characters.

In the condom and lube section, I found an assortment of funny manga-inspired condom packages - like this one, called "SACK 2":



I like the numerous phalluses on that robot, and also the writing at the top: "TRY NEW TYPE CAN YOU SURVIVE? 12 TIMES" Is that challenging me to survive safe sex twelve times? What, in a row? How do I survive, by not getting her pregnant? Not getting the hiv? Whatever the case, I hope I can survive - although I have yet to put my SACK 2's to good use.


On the sex toy floor, there was a large wall with dozens and dozens of cans - all of them in different colors and sizes, and all of them with different naked cartoon girls on them. A great deal of Japanese men were perusing this wall, carefully studying and comparing the different cans before making their decision. With nothing in English, it took me a few minutes of analysis to figure out that the cans were actually fake vaginas. They were all similarly priced - suspiciously cheap at 5-600 yen - so I wasn't sure what the difference was, except the girl on the outside. I guess you were meant to pick which naked anime girl you liked the best, and fuck this plastic can while fantasizing about her. Interestingly enough, none of the cans were very long - maybe six inches at the most. I was trying to avoid the whole Asian-men-have-small-penises thing, but they kind of handed it to me on a silver platter. Anyway, this is the vagina can I bought:



Yes, I bought one, purely out of curiosity as to what might be inside. Well, this is what's inside - a smelly, pre-lubricated Styrofoam opening:



Sexy, huh? Just like the real thing. I don't know what I was expecting when I opened up the can, but it certainly wasn't that. I guess that explains the low price - they're meant to be disposable, you fuck it a couple times and then get a new can.

This reminds me of a story I know I'm going to regret telling, but here goes: Quite a few years ago I was passing through New York for some reason or another, and one night I went out bar-hopping with a couple friends. We stumbled out of the last bar around 3am, drunk and giddy, laughing and tripping as we walked back towards our hotel. On the way we passed a porno store, which aside from the occasional pizza place was the only thing open at 3am. I'm not sure why - I think one of my friends wanted to buy a magazine - but we went in, and annoyed the shop's patrons by picking up every ridiculous sex toy and laughing about it loudly. The most absurd thing we found was a large plastic beer can - meant to look like "Coors Light," or something, but much larger - and when you unscrewed the cap at the top, there was a latex vagina inside, that you were meant to stick your dick in and fuck the can. Well, not really "fuck" the can, exactly, but masturbate with it. Same concept as the Japanese ones, but more elaborate. In fact, this is pretty much exactly what it was.

So of course we have to buy the beer can vagina, because we're drunk and it's funny, and we figure we'll find some entertaining unintended use for it. So we paid for it and continued on our merry way back to the hotel. Once there we said our goodbyes and retired to our rooms, and I realized that somehow I'd gotten stuck carrying the bag from the sex store. I set it down on the desk and didn't think much about it. That is, for a few minutes, until I found myself sitting on the bed in my hotel room, drunk and lonely and sexually frustrated, and I kept staring over at that stupid beer can vagina. "Maybe I should just try it. Just see what it feels like..." I mean, why not, right? You know. Just for kicks, right? So you know what? I fucked it. Yeah. I fucked a plastic beer can. I fucked the shit out of that can. And you know what? It felt alright. It did the trick. That is, until it was all over. Until the moment after, when I was hit by a sobering freight train of humility, looking down at my dick stuck inside a latex vagina housed in a plastic beer can. Moments like that you start to question everything - "How the hell did it come to this? Who am I? What am I doing with my life?" I probably sat there for an hour, silently with my plastic lover, pondering my existence.

The next morning, when the subject of the previous night came up and someone said, "oh, where's that funny beer can thing we got? Rob, you had it, right?" And everyone looks at me, and I just stare at them for a moment, and then say, "...I fucked it. I fucked it and I hated myself, and now it's gone." There was a slight pause, followed by uproarious laughter. The ridicule took months to subside.


Anyway, back to weird Japanese sex toys. This next one was a heavily featured product at the store, clearly a very popular item. It's a clear plastic funnel meant to be inserted into someone's ass, and it comes with a little flashlight to shine inside the ass, and, well, look around. Ya know, see what's going on in the ol' anal cavity. Here's the sign with the product itself down below:



Yes, behold the butt funnel. There was a sign next to it which said, "This is truly amazing! See the things which you have never seen before!" You know, you're right, I have seen a lot of things, but never the inside of someone's rectum. And is that really such a bad thing? Is that something I need to see? I'm not sure, but I bought the funnel, so the option is always there. That's one of those things that, if you really wanted to look inside a girl's ass via the butt funnel, how do you bring that up? "Hey, baby, so, I was thinking... Uh... You know, I just love you so much, and I want to see all sides of you.. You know, from the inside out... so, you know, I was thinking it would be really romantic if I, you know, spread your asshole open with a plastic funnel and shined a flashlight inside your gaping rectum. Would you like that, baby?"

The illustration on the package is fucking fantastic:



Look how embarrassed she is! "Oh no, don't look inside my butt! Tee hee!" Amazing.


Last, but certainly not least... There was a rack in the porno store with dozens of little packages hanging on it. Each package had a photo on the front of a cute Japanese girl, dressed like a schoolgirl or a maid or a nurse or Sailor Moon or some shit. In each photo, the girl's panties or pantyhose were clearly visible. And inside the package was the girl's (presumably dirty) actual panties or pantyhose that she wore in the picture. Okay, that's weird enough on its own, but the best part was over on the side of the rack there was one package with a sloppy polaroid of an ugly, pantyhose-wearing Japanese girl. It stood in contrast to the cute young girls professionally photographed on all the other packages, and as a result it was marked 50% off. Discount used panties, dude. Unwanted goods. I started laughing right there in the store, which earned me a scornful look from the shopkeeper, who clearly took the panty selection very seriously. I wondered if maybe the ugly girl was his girlfriend, and he'd talked her into letting him sell her panties at the store, to see if they could make some money on the side. Apparently it didn't work out too well, and she had to come down in price:



So there you have it. Now that I've purchased all this crazy shit, I'm all set for a hott night of masturbatory heaven - fucking a greasy styrofoam opening while I sniff some crack whore's crab-ridden pantyhose and examine the insides of my rectum.

Japan - I love you, man.

UPDATE: MORE Curiosities From Japan's Porno Shops!

Back from the Land Of The Rising Sun... almost in one piece.

Presently I am once again on an airplane, already bored senseless only a half hour into my 13 hour flight from Australia back to LA. I just endured one of the most ludicrously long journeys through airport security I've ever experienced. It started when I made the mistake of trying to carry on board my $150 Star Wars Master Replicas Force FX Luke Skywalker Light Saber that I bought in Melbourne, instead of checking it with my luggage. This light saber is the coolest thing in the world, it lights up and makes sound effects when you swing it around, and basically just kicks all sorts of ass. Even right now if you're reading this and thinking "what a fucking nerd" - which you undoubtedly are - I can guarantee that you would change your tune if you saw this thing in person, and instead say, "holy fuck I want one." I do not, however, advise trying to bring it on an airplane with you. The mongoloids at airport security were baffled when they watched it pass through the x-ray machine, and took it out of the box to inspect it suspiciously. I told them that I didn't want to check it for fear of it breaking, as it was a gift for my little brother. Of course, I don't have a little brother, but I figured that would garner more compassion than the sad reality of a full grown man playing with a light-up laser sword. But it mattered not, the light saber was clearly a major security issue, and required the undivided attention of a whole group of people with various badges on. And so was assembled a crack team of highly trained security professionals, with whom the good people of Australia have entrusted their airborne security, who spent a half hour looking it over, turning it on and off, discussing whether or not it could be considered a weapon. When they couldn't reach an initial conclusion, they called upon the expertise of their superiors to further study my menacing plastic stick and join in the debate over just how lethal it actually might be. Rolling my eyes, I tried gently to remind them that although the magic of Hollywood special effects made it appear as though light sabers could cut the arms off a Wampa with the flick of a wrist, that's only in the land of make-believe, and this CHILDREN'S TOY I was carrying was really just a big plastic glowing cylinder which could in fact inflict no damage at all to anyone whatsoever in this or any other universe. Still, they were not convinced. I actually heard one of them say that she'd heard light sabers were very dangerous. Are you fucking with me? Is this a joke? Is Ashton Kutcher about to pop out with a hidden camera and tell me I'm being punked? Only memories of the worst airport security cavity search horror stories kept me from screaming in exasperation, "YOU FUCKING IMBECILES, THIS IS A TOY!! A HARMLESS PLAYTHING FOR CHILDREN AND AGE-REGRESSED ADULTS!! IT IS NOT A REAL LASER SWORD!! SUCH THINGS DO NOT EXIST!" The least retarded of the security monkeys told me it was less the actual threat of the light saber, and more the perceived threat of the light saber to paranoid passengers (fifteen minutes prior I would have had to ask if there really could be anyone stupid enough to see a toy light saber and perceive it as a threat). He told me that, particularly with my face sliced up as it is (I'll get to that later), I might look pretty menacing on a plane wielding an illuminated "sword." I argued that me standing in an airplane threatening the passengers with a glowing stick would unquestionably be the shortest, most ludicrous, and least-successful hijacking attempt in the history of modern transportation. Still, the vigilant security team at the Sydney airport stood unwavering in their decision, and insisted on checking my light saber as a "security item." Unbelievable.

Next up was the second check point, at the gate, where a security person looks at your passport and boarding pass, and then "randomly" decides if you can carry on about your merry way, or if you'll be sentenced to fifteen minutes being felt up while some lunkhead carelessly rifles through your belongings. No surprise that I was "randomly" sent over for the full treatment. Yeah, me, the kid wearing black with his face all mangled - of course they're going to pick me. Ol' scarface looks like a trouble-maker, for sure. I joined a long line of other misfits who were clearly chosen one hundred percent arbitrarily: A lanky stoner kid with long hair and dark sunglasses, an asian rock chick with camo pants, an Indian woman and her daughter, and a tall brown-skinned bald man of undetermined ethnicity. Meanwhile, a steady flow of clean-cut white people proceeded past us without delay.
When it was finally my turn for the cavity search, I discovered why the line was moving so slowly: The girl checking the bags couldn't have escaped being officially classified as mentally retarded by more than a few IQ points. As she looked through the many strange and potentially hazardous items in my bags, the conversation went something like this:

Her: "What's this?"
Me: "That's a hard drive."
Her: "It's a computer?"
Me: "No. Well... No."
Her: "Does it turn on? Where's the screen?"
Me: "It doesn't have a screen. It turns on if you connect it to a computer."
Her: "Well what does it do?"

Have you ever been asked a question that's so simple you have no idea how to even answer it? Something that blind-sides you with how complex it is in its noncomplexity, and you don't even know what to say? How do I describe to the fucking missing link here what a hard drive is? How do I even begin to approach that? "Um... you... you put stuff on it? I don't know." Thankfully, she didn't want to venture down this bumpy road any more than I did. Our conversation continued:

Her: "Hmm... okay... What's this?"
Me: "That's a battery charger."
Her: "How do you put batteries in here?"
Me: "It's not for alkaline batteries. It's for a battery pack, for a camera."
Her: "You charge a whole pack of batteries at once?"
Me: "No, it... Yes. Yes, that's what you do."
Her: "Oooh, is this one of those Playstations?"
Me: "It's a PSP, yes."
Her: "Is it cool? Is it like a Playstation?"
Me: "Yup, like a little Playstation."
Her: "How much does it cost?"
Me: "Um, I don't know. $250, or something."
Her: "That's an awful lot... Does it play DVDs?"
Me: "Look at it. Look at this size of it. It clearly, unquestionably, is smaller than a DVD. How, then, in a world bound to the laws of physics, could it possibly play a DVD, you utter retard?"

Okay, I didn't say that last bit out loud. But oh, how I wanted to.

The flight I'm on right now is returning me home from a week spent in Japan, which was a fantastic time despite some drunk asshole smashing a beer bottle across my face one night on a street corner. Yeah, good times. He was fucking with these two girls I was talking to outside the bar we'd been at, and I told him to fuck off, leave them alone. So he starts getting in my face, talking like a fucking wigger (he's American, go figure), and I tell him again to fuck off - not trying to anger him, just genuinely trying to diffuse the situation. It may come as a huge surprise to some of you, but I'm not much of a fighter. I'm actually rather skinny, and probably punch like a girl (although I wouldn't know, because I've never punched anyone). But at the same time, I'm also too ballsy for my own good, so when this guy took things up a notch by shoving me, I instinctually shoved him back - hard - and started to once again tell him to fuck off, and that's when he pulled a bottle out of nowhere and shattered it across my face. It didn't knock me down, or even phase me much, as I think he was expecting (thank you Jack Daniels), so he ran away. Fucking bottled me and ran, just like that, like a fucking pussy, with me screaming at him as he disappeared around the corner, "what the fuck was that, you fucking wuss!! Get back here!!" Thinking I'd escaped unscathed, I turned and looked at the girls, who were cupping their mouths in horror. That's when I put my hand to my face, and found it to be gushing blood. There was a LOT of blood - I mean, fucking pools of it cascading down to the sidewalk. My clothes were covered in it. I ran back into the bar, hand to my face, plowing through the dense crowd of people trying to get to the bathroom to find something to stop the bleeding. People screamed in horror and jumped away from me as I moved past them. I was leaving a trail of blood the whole way through. I got to the bathroom, and of course there weren't any paper towels. By then, though, someone who worked at the bar had caught up with me and brought me a towel. Long story short, I hopped a cab to a nearby hospital and got all stitched up - seven stitches on my nose and cheek - and woke up the next day with a black eye and a swollen face.

This is me outside the emergency room:



And this is me all stitched and bandaged up:



Lookin' good, no? Yeah. It's real fucking fantastic. I actually scare children now. I frighten babies. I was in an elevator, and a woman was in there with her baby, and the baby looked at me and I smiled, forgetting that my face was covered in bandages and dried blood, and my eye was the color of a plum. The baby just looked at me, eyes wide with horror, and you could see the emotional buildup. You could see the pressure rising as the tears welled up. You could see the dam about to burst. And then, all at once - screaming. Crying, sobbing, ear-piercing shrieks of terror. A cascade of tears. All because of the scary gore-faced man. The mother, alarmed, scowled at me, the source of her precious child's misery. Yes, sorry Ma'am, I should have known better than to make eye contact. I'm terrifying. Sorry. It's a humbling feeling to look at yourself in the mirror and say, "I make babies cry." I should just play it up. Just roll with it. Get me an eye patch and a hook, and walk around limping, laughing maniacally and saying "ARRR!! Stay away, kiddies! I'm Scarface The Horrible, and I eat little children for breakfast! ARRRR!!"

But, looking on the bright side, I'm going to have a pretty rad scar. I get the stitches out later today, so maybe I won't be quite as frightening.

Other than random acts of violence, though, Japan is a fantastic place, and I never feel like I've spent enough time there. Unlike Europe, Japan doesn't share the same western roots as America, and therefore is one of the few places left that truly feels like a different world. Walking through Tokyo is like being in the future - but not America's future, which is almost certainly a smoldering radioactive wasteland - rather, the future of a society that has its shit together. A densely-populated metropolis that still manages to be clean and largely devoid of crime. People who are polite and respectful, and who take pride in their work, no matter how menial their job might be. A culture that's rich with tradition but isn't held back by it. The antithesis of America's selfish, lazy, rude, excessive, greed-driven culture. Oh, and they have really cool toys. Lots and lots of really cool toys. I am returning from Japan at least a couple thousand dollars poorer, but far wealthier in the currency of neat stuff. My bounty includes a new digital camera, a host of unreleased video games, a giant Optimus Prime figure, a variety of incredibly bizarre Godzilla toys, some evil robot panda bears, a tiny puppy that lives inside a cube, tons of weird little Nintendo toys, and best of all... Little radio-controlled robots that play soccer. Okay, it's cooler than it sounds. Time to put up more toy shelves.

I'm going to post more really insane crap from Japan, probably tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy this video I just found that I thought I'd lost - a creepy midget woman with most of her teeth missing singing songs on the streets of Amsterdam.