Perhaps you are familiar with the Japanese adult entertainment industry, the shining jewel at the center of the very strange mosaic of the more peculiar side of Japanese culture.
And I do mean mosaic. Because, if you have even a passing familiarity with that of which I speak, you know that a set of clear, unblurred genitalia are about as easy to find as Sasquach (and if you did ever find unblurred genitalia, that's exactly what they'd look like). Your first time you fired up a Japanese porno on your computer, you probably asked yourself "why does that man's wing-wong look like a redneck's face on Cops?" Alas, in accordance with Japanese law, the depiction of sexual organs in any format, be it in video, pictures, video games, or cartoons, is illegal. And it is, in my humble opinion, the reason for the myriad of bizarre pornographic scenarios and depictions in Japan: hot leather-clad women wearing massive, cruel, bladed alien codpieces, shitting dicknipples, men with prosthetic fire hydrant-sized dicks dicking equally comically foam-rubber oversized 'giners...
Like this, but the kitties are ginormous penii, and the bucket is the 'giner
But did I really start this blog entry with the intention of talking about Japanese porn? I mean, anyone could get a crash-course in that with Google search and an hour on Bittorrent. Well, yes and no. For anyone who has never visited Japan, it would be easy to think the mosaic is just an idiosyncrasy of the adult entertainment industry. That would be untrue. The mosaic, in Japanese media, is the wrapping paper to a very exciting present. Its powers are the stuff of magic. Its use, a lost art form of the Far East. Utterly inexplicable to the outside observer, yet utterly captivating in effect.
Don't believe me?
Allow me to illustrate: imagine watching a TV program, they announce a special guest will be coming out after the commercial break. Go to commercial, come back, and it's Oates from Hall and Oates. Disappointed, you change the channel.
Now, you are watching TV in Japan. They announce a special guest will be coming out after the break. Just before commercial, they show a quick two seconds of footage of the special guest coming out, but the face is obscured with a blue circle and a question mark in the middle. You hear the deafening roar of the audience, perhaps coupled with the trademark chorus of "えええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええええ!!!", you get a close-up of the actor or comedian on the show promoting their movie jumping out of his chair with absolute disbelief. This is going to be good, you think. Go to commercial, come back, and it's Oates from Hall and Oates. This, you think to yourself, is television magic.
Perhaps you still don't believe me? Perhaps you need another example? Again, you're watching a TV program, explaining what exactly makes KFC so digit-polishingly delicious. The host interviews several executives and employees of KFC corporation and finally asks the burning question: "what are those 17 herbs and spices that make it so hand-masticatingly great?"
"Sorry, it's a secret."
The host shrugs. She tried. She wraps the piece up and tosses back to the studio.
Let's see the same footage again, but in Japan-o-vision. The host is interviewing a member of a local outfit that makes daifuku. The store has been around for years and has garnered a great deal of local acclaim. After watching the cooks work their craft and asking about the history of the product, the host asks the same question: "what is the recipe you use to make your daifuku so good?"
"Sorry, it's a secret."
Suddenly, you are treated to a faceful of mosaic blur that fills the TV screen to the last inch, you squint your eyes, hoping to make out some culinary gorilla within the digital mist. A lake? Are they using lake water to make their daifuku? No, that's stupid. It must be vanilla pudding. A big vat of vanilla pudding, that must be the secret ingredient. And suddenly, a voice-over removes all doubt: "this paper contains the secret recipe. You can't see it, as the process it details is the key to their daifuku's great flavor."
This actually happened.
Riveting TV, folks.
So it goes, with the ubiquitous mosaic casting its fog over all manner of entertainment. Obscuring D-list comedians and washed-up musicians on guest appearances, locations that would otherwise provide relevant context to news reports, recipes and secret ingredients, Sasquatchian genitals, the list goes on... but there is one thing they do not censor, and upon discovering that, you finally come to understand what truly constitutes pornography in the Land of the Rising Sun. Because, what is porn, if not being able to see every detail of something carnal and raw before taken in the throes of loud passion.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 80% of Japanese television.
This is far from the sole domain of the tube, though. For the guys (girls, too, maybe? I don't know...) reading this, have you ever been out at the bar with some friends, worked your way through a few too many beers, and out comes this full-details, nothing-left-to-the-imagination account of how you once picked up this one girl--total freak--and proceeded to unleash fucksmogeddon? Hours upon hours of her apocolips on your ragnacock. And from what you can recall, there were definitely four horses involved. And two weeks later the doctor told you you had the clap-ture.
Japanese office women do the same thing. But with food. What they ate, what they want to eat, what they will eat... while the other females of the office moan and wail in unison. I understand if this is hard to believe, given the Western impression of the Japanese--especially Japanese women--as demure, polite, quiet, and reserved, but throw a cream puff in the middle of a group of 'em and watch the inhibitions fly out the window faster than a pair of panties at a whorehouse.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have something else to attend to--a cup of rocky road that's been a very bad girl.
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