More on my urinary problems OR The Engine That Couldn’t (Pee That Well)

Well, like most things I post, I wrote this weeks ago and never got around to typing it up. Since then, things seem to have gotten better, magically, which is how they always seem to get better if they get better. Nevertheless, it bears keeping record.

For the last seven months or so, paranoia has cycled its way thru most of my major organs, causing me to fear for my life for one reason or another. I’ve seen a variety of specialist clinics, and even taken a cab to the hospital at 4 a.m. once. Nobody’s ever come up with anything remotely wrong with me. But this time the paranoia, if that’s what it is, has made its way to my sweet, sweet loins, and there appears to be a tangible problem. Since you’re reading this, I’ll spare no detail, so here’s your last chance to turn back and click that YouTube shortcut at the top of your browser and escape this graphic madness. Consider yourself advised.

When I pee, it continues to feel like there’s still some left inside my wang–for lack of a more awesome word–which itself doesn’t seem to be up to its usual…attributes. It feels like the pee should just come right out, but it doesn’t come out. The feeling just lingers forever, which I don’t know if you’ve ever felt a small amount of pee lingering inside your dick for hours before, but it’s infuriating. Get the hell out of there! My only two consolations now are that 1) there is no pain as of yet and 2) it’s a common enough problem in Japan that it has its own term, which is zannyĆ“kan,which means “lingering pee sensation,” and which is not to be confused with plain old zannyĆ“, which means “lingering pee”. To combat these two semi-positives is the fact that such problems are usually the result of either blockage caused by stones, or prostate issues, both of which I’m extremely young for/terrified of. People often refer to the process of passing stones as the male equivalent of childbirth, except instead of ending with joy, it ends with you crying in a huddled ball of shame, hugging desperately to your new best friend, the toilet. Prostate enlargement is common in men over forty and not always a serious health risk, but it can also be cancer, or cause complete blockage of urine if not treated. More urgently disturbing, however, is that just to check on how the prostate’s doing, your sarcastic male doctor has to stick multiple fingers up your anus, past the bottom knuckle, and waggle them around. In a serious situation, they stick an ultra-sonic probe up there a la every alien encounter you’ve ever feared. In the worst situations, a needle extends from that probe, into your prostate gland, scarring you mentally for life. My ex-nurse friend fails to see the harm in being anal probed, but I’m pretty sure it’s the last experience I came here to have. Imagine the conversation afterwards.

“Hey Greg, haven’t seen you in like 200 weekends. How was Japan?”
“Got probed anally.”

Imagine my life’s memoirs:
“The Chronicles of Greg: The Story of a Man Probed Anally.”

Imagine my epitaph, for God’s sakes:
Greg Moore
They stuck a rod up his anus, man! With a needle in it! And ultra-sound!
RIP (you can say that again!)

I discovered these many horrid truths flipping through an info brochure at the urinary clinic. It made no mention of the humiliating nature of these procedures or how to prepare mentally for them, so maybe I’m the only one who thinks it’s a big deal. But in my defense, the most graphic page of the brochure was caked with somebody’s ancient piss, so obviously someone else was disturbed enough when he saw it that he pissed himself right there. After all, this was in the reception.

Another seemingly intentional attempt to add insult to injury is the fact that this particular urinary clinic features a young, beautiful receptionist. I guess it’s incentive to make your tools work again. Frankly I wonder if mine hasn’t just frozen over from lack of use. Yeah, I said it.

Otherwise I don’t know what the hell my problem is I’ve been to that clinic thrice now, and all three times I was the only patient in the place who wasn’t getting the discount brunch at Denny’s. Yeah they’ve got Denny’s here.

Greg Moore
He got the shaft. Up his ass.
Instead of discount Denny’s.
RIP (is what they did to his rectum)

Now let us never speak of this again.

Over the last couple of years, the words “fucktard” and “fuckton”, and possibly other words that use “fuck” as a prefix, seem to have cropped up into English speakers’ everyday speech. What’s the deal with these words?

With no logical reasoning to back this up, these words sound terrible and I hate them. Every time I hear somebody go “That guy is a fucktard” or “I just ate a fuckton of tacos at the Taco-Mat”, I want to destroy that person’s mind with a tire iron. The only problem is that so damn many of these fucking retards are using these words now. It’s not just like one or two people–it’s a fu…well, it’s a lot.

Gotta go.

Japanese Beetles

You sometimes hear people complaining about Japanese beetles back in the States, but they don’t realize how lucky they are that some Japanese beetles never even made it overseas.

Two varieties of large, hideous beetle exist in Japan – the kabuto-mushi (samurai helmet bug) and the kuwagata (hideous pincer bug). As the names may indicate, one of them has a terrible, samurai helmet-shaped head with enormous horns sticking out, while the other has an hideous set of pincer-like growths protruding from its already hideous face. Both are unreasonably large, around the size of a Starbucks double-shot. The Japanese, who generally harbor extreme intolerance for bugs, and are known to flinch in terror even at the sight of a housefly, have an inexplicable fondness for these two biological travesties, which they express not only by not flinching in terror, but by going as far as to collect and intentionally touch them. People look forward to the sight of these abominations as a happy sign of summer, and I would venture a guess that to the average Japanese person, an encounter with one of them is more welcome than that with, say, a Chinese person.

Children are particularly fond of these two types of beetles, and will expend great amounts of energy (or their parents’ money) in an effort to obtain one of each, so that the horrible samurai bug and monstrous pincer bug can be viewed in the same space. This can only be described as “horrid”.

Though the two breeds of beetle share a number of common faults, such as being terrible, they remain, like Israelis and Palestinians, oblivious to their similarities, and find themselves constantly engaged in petty disputes, such as who gets to eat the slime off the twig or who gets to shit on the brown leaf. These bug-on-bug quarrels are, as you may have already hypothesized, unsavory occasions. The already wretched creatures will grow shockingly livid for two beings with no remarkable amount of brain power, and will proceed to squirm all over one another like Greco-Roman wrestlers. They are also just as nude as Greco-Roman wreslters, suggesting to my dismay that that they’re actually proud of themselves.

A young student of mine brought such a display to class once, and I was mesmerized to discover that the volume of my students’ squeals of glee was directly proportional to my own escalating vomitousness, both spurred by the insects’ writhing deathmatch.

Where does everybody’s tolerance toward these creatures come from? Certainly not from a tolerance-enforced upbringing or any sort of ethical doctrine. Non-Japanese people are all addressed collectively as “outside people”, but hideous bugs are revered as fucking samurai. Did you see those pictures I linked? They’re awful!

Just awful.

Well, I’ll be quitting my awesome kindergarten job later this month. I like everything about this job, except that it’s far as shit and a huge waste of time. It bears repeating that it’s a seven-hour commitment for 30-60 minutes of teaching. Seven hours. And one time I broke my goddamn teeth trying to get there.

So with my departure fast approaching, I thought it’d be nice to hand out some superlatives to the amazing, charming teachers. Unfortunately I’m too shy to actually tell the nice ladies, and I also never bothered to learn any of their names. Also most of these are potentially offensive.

As much as I admire the women I work with (if I forgot to mention before, all six or seven of them are beautiful and charming), I never had much of a chance to form any kind of relationship with them. They always have their hands beyond full, and I’m not really supposed to use much Japanese in front of the kids, see. So most of these ideas are merely speculations based on a year and a half of intense people-watching.

1. Most Likely To Hit on the Firemen Who Visit Once a Year – The hot one with the intense facial expression who turns out to be surprisingly submissive and kind, suggesting she’s been wronged by an asshole or two in her time.

2. Most Likely to Someday Congeal Into a Ball of Concentrated Cutie Goo – The cute, youngest one who used to have no confidence.

3. Most Toothiest – The toothy one.

4. One I’d Most Like to Marry – The one I just found out is getting married soon to a guy who’s not me.

5. Most Probably Hung Over a Lot of the Time – The one who rarely wears makeup and who was into judo back in school. I mean come on.

6. Most Likely to Stick Around – The one who left last year. Scratch that.

7. The Best One – The one who tries to speak English to me even when the kids aren’t looking.

8. Most Likely to Actually Be Into S&M Shit – Like several of them, dude. I mean, pro’lly.

9. Most Hummingbirdlike Physique – The one whose sneezes make windows in the next county (sorry, prefecture) shatter.

10. Most Likely to Have Kids Someday – The one who’s getting married.