There are good reasons.
I got this from Mainichi.com via Fark. It appears that, along with infantile, pervy accessories, giggling behind their fingers, and platform shoes, Japanese women just cannot get enough really, really tiny…
sushi.
From the land that gave the world such tiny treats as bonsai, midget submarines and shiploads of quaint consumer goods comes, according to Shukan Bunshun (10/19), the latest example of Japanese miniaturization — single grain sushi!
…
Single grain sushi is not the latest diet fad to hit the country, it’s just the latest item on the menu at Omoroi Sushiya Kajiki, a sushi restaurant with a sense of humor in Fukuoka…
Single grain sushi is sold in plates of 10 or 12 (arranged in a circle with a couple of strips of leek in the middle to form the hands of a clock) and features all the typical sushi, including makimono, tako, tamago, ikura, kohata, anago, ebi, ika, Otoro and kanpachi…
“I do it because the girls love it,” the crafty itamae tells Shukan Bunshun. “I tell ’em I’m gonna give ’em a full serving of sushi and then bring out a plate of the single grain stuff. They laugh and then go on about how cute it looks. Some of ’em take photos of it with their mobile phones. More than anything, though, I do it because I like nothing more than seeing a woman’s smiling face.”
So they laugh and tell you it’s cute? That hasn’t changed any; nobody can get those words out with a straight face.
So I’m cross-posting this from a comment on Guido’ s site. As he says, if you don’t like it take a full refund and don’t come back. But it was my comment anyway, so I shall paste it here unabashedly, not that I’ve ever been abashed, cuz you all know I’d-a bashed him right back.
My mother worked in the King Fahd hospital in Saudi Arabia back in the 80’s, and one day an unmarried Saudi fellow came in with a diagnosis of a ruptured penis. And for several days he remained in the hospital, taking wincingly painful daily walks in the hallway, drawing a fair bit of attention, as he walked so slowly anyone else could have run a marathon in the time it took him to do a lap around the ward.
Now, unmarried Saudi men are not supposed to be doing anything with their penises that could rupture them. They’re not particularly supposed to notice that they have penises until they’re married, except to ensure the pee isn’t dribbling down their legs.
So the medical transcriptionist was curious. And so was the entire pool of medical transcriptionists. So they asked my mother to find out how it happened, my mother being an unabashed sort (acorn not falling far from tree and all that).
So she did.
She walked up to the doctor who’d examined the patient and asked him point-blank, “So how did that patient rupture his penis? All the typists are dying to know!”
The doctor rolled his eyes, then looked left, looked right, waited till the coast was clear, then leaned in and whispered:
The goat bolted.
Just what it says. You’ve had shrimp on a bed of rice, so go wild, kick the jambs out and try shrimp on a treadmill.
This isn’t the scholarly, narrated, boring version of the video, the one linked to by everybody and his brother the Total Farker. Naw, it’s the colourized, Flight of the Bumblebee-scored, cheaply amusing version, just as you’d expect from the ol’ raincoaster blog.
And this concludes Cthulhu Day.
Oh, one more thing.
This pic says it all, really. The Aniston/Jolie star wars are what originally drove me off VanityFair’s forum…not just once, not just twice, but fully three times. If the Team Aniston/Team Jolie throng resurface again for yet another death match I’m just gonna suggest they take it to meatspace. Or, given my assumptions about vast hordes of women with far too much time on their hands, an overidentification with celebutards, and a propensity to take other people’s marriage problems far, far too personally, let’s call it “lardspace” instead.
from the Worth 1000 Star Wars photoshopping contest, via BoingBoing.
