Money, Money, Money
I think I mentioned before that I have some fake money that I occasionally like to use in my classes. It’s the fakest shit ever, there’s a big goofy king on the front and it has “Game Counter” written all over it. Despite that, and me having a fat stack of it, the students always, ALWAYS ask “is that real money?” Yes, products of the legendary Japanese school system, ladies and gentlemen. I always have to remind them, if I had a fat stack of real money, of all the places in the world I could be, do they really think I’d be standing there waving it in front of them? Hell fucking no. I’d be at a BMW dealership, waving it in front of a salesman. Or, at the Playboy mansion, waving it in front of the legions of scantily-clothed playmates. Or, standing in front of Thailand, waving it in front of the whole country.
As you might imagine, all of the kids want a $100 bill or ten as a keepsake. Many of them directly ask me, but I have to turn them down. If I give one kid a fake bill, then I have to give to all of them, and then suddenly I have no money. Not to mention that it throws off the results of the game if kids are producing saved $100 from their reserves.
Of course, telling a kid no is by no means the end of the story.
So with The Bank of Azrael holding a tight lease on its funds, the kids are forced to try and shinobi it away from me. The boys are really, painfully obvious. At the end of the game, they return about half of what I doled out to them, with silly “huh huh I’m hidin’ somethin'” looks on their faces. All I really need to do to find the missing bills is to check their pants or blazer pockets, or inside of their desks. Or on a lazy day, just exert my Gaijin Influence with a menacing Black Man Glare powerup, and they cough it up right quick. And this is the country that pioneered the ninja arts? Pathetic!
You know, I feel that internet porn is really having a detrimental effect on the young men of this generation. When I was a kid, we didn’t have porn delivered to our very rooms, hell no. We had to work for every titty. We had to discover Dad’s Playboy stash, and return it as we found it before he noticed a disturbance in the Jack-Off Force. We had to watch really crappy Showtime skin flicks at 1AM or later while the family was asleep. We had to deploy weather balloons to find out when electron count in the air was just right enough to make the scramble on the porn channels lenient enough to see something. We were masturbation ninjas. But the kids of this generation don’t have to run the trials of fire that we did. They’re complacent. I feel that this is what’s lead to the rise of emo over the years. We didn’t have time to be all angsty and shit, we channeled those energies into getting us some wanking material.
But anyway, I digress. Where the boys will try to shinobi the money away, girls will openly challenge me/defy me for it. Perhaps the most popular tactic is to use their girlish charms on me – ask me nicely for the money, then bat their eyes and pout a little bit. And maybe, maybe that tactic would work if the girls were 5 years older, and looked like Ciara. But no, these are 15 year old Japanese girls, so it just has no effect.* Even if we were to ignore the 15-years old part (we can’t, but just assuming we did) they’re still Japanese girls who have the bodies of 12 year old Japanese boys. And for an unfortunate number of them, even when they do mature their bodies will only reach that of a 17-year old Japanese boy. Ladies – God hates you.
*The only, and I do mean only exception is Ultimate Sweetness. But since she is Sweetness, she’d never ask.
Sometimes however, the girls come up with methods that are a little more, uh, extreme.
Once, I was playing a betting game. I give the students a two-choice question, and they pick one choice and bet money on it. I give them $500 to start out. The first question I asked was – “Which is bigger? Japan, or California?” I love this question, because so many of the kids figure, “well, our entire *nation* has to at least be bigger than Az-sensei’s home *state*, right?” WRONG! Eh heh heh heh, Gaijin Smashed.
With patriotism running high, lots of kids bet most if not all of their money on Japan. As did this one group of 5 girls one day, betting $400 of their $500 dollars. As I came by to collect, they gave me the puppy dog look, and when it immediately didn’t work one of the girls tried reasoning with me. “You’re not really gonna take the money away, are you?” I told them that I was, given how they’d lost the bet and all. At this point, the 5 girls literally throw themselves over the money, screaming “No!” One girl looks up at me and says, “You can do whatever you want to our bodies, but you’re never taking our money!”
Please do keep in mind that this is *fake* money.
But … wow. Betcha by golly wow, if’n that aint the first, and hopefully last time, I’ve had five girls offer up their virgin (probably) bodies for me to violate as I pleased in order to protect $500 worth of *fake* money. And remember, from the girls POV, it’s not like they’re sacrificing themselves in front of some Japanese dude, no. They’re doing this in front of a huge black man. Including the threat of a slow, horrible, painful death, a lifetime of being kicked in the nuts over and over again, and being locked in a room and being forced to watch Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell make sweet, sweet love to each other, I can think of NOTHING that would EVER make me offer up my body to a black man twice my size to do with as he pleased.
And this is for FAKE money!
I stood with my arms crossed and glared at them, and they eventually caved and let me collect the $400. The one girl who tried to reason with me before, she held the $100 and looked at it with a sense of ultimate despair. She then turns to me and simply says, “don’t worry, we’ll get it back.” And as she said this, the skies darkened, a thousand bunny rabbits died, and 4 My Little Ponies were euthanized and turned into Elmer’s Glue.
Another time, I was going back to the teachers room from a class. As I’d played the betting game, I had the money with me, concealed within a piece of paper. I had just reached the door to the teachers room, when I spotted four girls struggling with trying to carry the class’s lunches back to their homeroom. There was a boy there as well, apparently supervising the girls in their lunch-carrying operation. And if you are wondering why the boy wasn’t helping the girls carry the heavy lunches, well, that’s just how Japan rolls.
But it’s not how *I* roll, so I offered to help the girls and they were more than happy to receive it. Not only that, but since they now had a teacher with them, they were now authorized to ride in the elevator. We all got in the elevator, with me putting the fake money on top of the lunches while I carried the box. The girls saw the money, and of course wanted some, but I told them no, and they were too busy keeping up their end of the box anyway to try and snatch it.
One girl, however, decides to push the matter. “C’mon, just one!” she says. I explain my Azraelonomics to her – if I give her one, I have to give one to everyone, then I have no money. She doesn’t care. “Special exception for me?” Nope, sorry. Diplomacy having failed her, she then lets go of her portion of the box, and takes a crisp, fake $100 bill. Before I can start to protest, she promptly takes the bill and stuffs it down her shirt. She looks back at me with a defiant “now what are you gonna do?” expression.
And that’s a very good question.
Hey, finish this joke for me. “So, I reached down this female junior high school student’s shirt, and…” Having problems? Yeah, me too, cause THAT SHIT AINT FUNNY! She’s hit me with the Ultimate Defense, there is NOTHING I can do here. Not a thing. Because there is no explanation that will make “I had to reach down her shirt” sound good. I can see it already.
Prosecutor: Well, we have our defendant here.
Judge: Go on.
Prosecutor: He’s a Gaijin-
Judge: Okay, 5 years in jail.
Prosecutor: -who reached down the front of a female sannensei’s shirt, because he-
Judge: Oh my God. 27,382 years behind bars, no possibility of parole.
Prosecutor: Aren’t you going to hear the rest of the case?
Judge: Is there any way you can make your previous statement sound better?
Prosecutor: I don’t think so.
Judge: Right. (to me) You sick bastard. It’s clear you have a thing for 15-year old girls, judging from the way you reach down their shirts.
With my hands tied, I immediately turn for help. I took at the other girls, but their expressions only tell me that they wish they’d thought of that tactic first. I look at the boy. He merely shrugs at me, as if to say “you think there’s something I can do here?” He’s right. I’m on my own here.
I try some diplomacy with this girl, eventually settling on that she could keep the $100 bill, but then I wouldn’t like her as much and always remember her as “the girl who stole my money.” This was enough for her to return the bill (I found out later on that she had a crush on me, so that was a pretty big bargaining chip). As she puts it back, she says, “now, don’t you go and do anything funny with that money just because it was down my shirt.” Trust me sister, I won’t.
But it just amazes me the lengths Japanese girls are willing to go through to get a hold of and protect *fake* money. Yes, please don’t forget that this was *fake* money! I’ve said this repeatedly, because just imagine what if it’d been real money? What if she realized she could actually spend that money on desserts and expensive clothes, designer boots, brand name bags, top of the line makeup products, a classy new hair dye/perm.
Imagine that instead of a few fake dollar bills it’s your bankbook she’s holding, and see if you still have that soft spot for Japanese women, gentlemen.