Guys, I'm running out of two things: Tokyo districts that I've heard of, and patience. As we enter the fourth day of this unnecessarily hypersexualised informational visual novel of an ideal Japanese vacation - the exclamation- and tilde-swathed Go! Go! Nippon! ~My First Trip to Japan~, a product that was seemingly gifted to me entirely to get my dander up - I'm hoping we'll finally get a day where we can focus on the many interesting and exciting locations to visit in Japan, and perhaps a little less on walking in on half-nude anime teenagers.
Yeah, right.
Part 04: Shibuya? She Hardly Knows Ya!
Which is why we'll politely knock on her door and call out to her, right?Oh fuck you, game.She's not wrong, Goku. She's not wrong.Are those sirens I hear in the distance?Ah, victim blaming. Looks like Goku's off the hook again. Even Akira looks surprised at this development.So anyway, I picked Shibuya because I remembered that it was the setting of The World Ends With You, a game I probably ought to be playing instead of this.Yaaaay. A whole day with Miss Buttshot. This won't be awkward.First, we get this Greyfriar's Bobby (or Jurassic Bark, if you're a Futurama fan) sob story about this dog. There is literally another statue of a dog with the same story behind it in Edinburgh, if you're ever heading that way.Oh man, that whole ending bit with Seymour waiting at the pizzeria for Fry... how you could not cry, you heartless anime wench?Once I stop bawling over concrete puppies, we meet the massive clusterfuck that is Shibuya's biggest public crossing.Akira manages to stop me from getting trampled to death. No Reapers' Game for me, it seems.Oh hey, some Ganguro teens that the game didn't feel like drawing. Akira calls them "Gals" and "Gal-Boys", which sound like something entirely different.I'll just avoid the obvious power level joke as Akira and Goku visit Meiji Shrine. Feels like I ought to be more respectful anyway.OH COME ON that has to be a deliberate visual choice.Please, Goku, that wasn't television. Or rather, not the type of television that you don't have to pay for on a nightly basis.So in addition to just creeping on her all day, I'm also stealing her crepes. Do the Japanese have a word for "restraining order"?Ah, the old "girl can't cook, inadvertently food poisons boy she's cooking for, boy needs his stomach pumped and spends several weeks in a coma on the brink of death" comedy routine.Of course, there's cooking something comically badly, and then there's apparently filling it with quaaludes. When I finally come down and stop seeing Piplups crawling along the ceiling, I'm informed that we're leaving Tokyo for a two day trip to finish off the vacation. We're goin' to Kyoto!Kimonos and hot springs. Very little chance of accidentally catching either girl in their birthday suit, I bet. Sigh.
@video_game_king: If you can imagine someone making the situation I described to you as awkward as @mento fumbling about with his anime sexuality, then you pretty much have the exact image of how much of a mess I made that day.
@video_game_king: Well, stumbling around with my words in an attempt to explain how my card wasn't stolen was pretty terrible, considering how I'm an awkward person as it is.
(Half asleep right now, so if there was another joke in there that I missed, I apologize)
I was driving myself crazy for a second, thinking I was an idiot who in a moment of weakness had forgotten how to spell "statue." I double-checked like, four times.
I felt as stupid as the time I temporarily forgot my pin number the exact moment I swiped my card at a store. That was one of the most awkward moments of my life.
I'm pretty sure they actually told that story of the dog in The World Ends With You. It's the only reason I can think of for already knowing it and it's relation to that particular statue.
Also, for some reason, Chrome is insisting that I'm spelling "statue" wrong.
Has anyone noticed the particularly phallic shape of that archipelago-cum-exclamation point in the title card? I'm truly sorry, Mento. I didn't know, I just didn't know.
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