Vile...violent...vignette - Baby’s First Katana
June 2nd 2008 13:59
Bloggers and friends, this is your Captain speaking. The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to emo angst, bitter postmodern parody or the real lives of any former 'Full House' cast members is purely unintentional. In the case of the latter, very much so, and let's not beat around the blogging bush - a waking bloody nightmare. Any reader that associates the writer with the words, "hack", "self-righteous Gen Y-er" or "waste of Orble blog space", can kindly vacate my ivory tower and return to the primordial mental orgy of the blogisphere from whence they came.
Leave this place! Or enjoy...
For as long as he has had memory, my son has known he will inherit my katana blade. There is no greater honour among my people – fanatics of 1980s and 1990s children’s cartoons – than to pass on a piece of memorabilia such as this to your offspring.
Tonight is the eve of his 20th birthday, and the soju I save only for an occasion such as this, warms our bellies. Tomorrow, Yoshi receives my 1991 Leonardo collector’s edition katana blade. To bestow upon my son my most precious piece of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles merchandise, he must first prove himself worthy.
Tonight, he must be initiated. If he passes the online questionnaire that I painstakingly created in my dominant realm, The Office, on my lunch break, he will truly be my son and will have earned the right to carry the souvenir sword.
***
My Dad is a deadset psycho. Full on. I won’t be taking his inane quiz. Not just because it’s Saturday night, either. I’m not that cliché a teenager. I mean, I have reading to do but it's mostly because I don’t want to encourage him. Ever since they gave him his own office and a pay rise, he's lost it. He lives on the net, buying useless shit.
Mum left him last month and he’s sort of having a mid-life crisis. At least, that’s what I think is happening. I’m no shrink. I mean, I don’t think he’d be shamelessly flaunting our Japanese heritage like this if he was right in the head. The way he's talking isn't the way he usually talks. Before the last few months, anyway. I just don’t get it. I don’t know what to do with him besides telling Grandma when she comes round for my birthday. She’s probably the only one who can sort him out, short of professional help.
What the hell am I supposed to do with a collectors' item katana blade?
***
He has failed me. My son did not even attempt the online questionnaire. I have no choice. I have been disgraced. I must commit seppoku. There is nothing else for it. I shall meet my end on Leonardo’s sacred blade.
***
I just found my dad lying on his side, in a pool of warm blood on the bed; his Leonardo sword protruding from his gut. My life is a fucken parody. That’s all. Go back to your own lives.
***
In the afterlife, I am surrounded by my entire VHS collection and one and twenty shiny katana blades. Sayonara, my son.
Leave this place! Or enjoy...
Baby’s First Katana
For as long as he has had memory, my son has known he will inherit my katana blade. There is no greater honour among my people – fanatics of 1980s and 1990s children’s cartoons – than to pass on a piece of memorabilia such as this to your offspring.
Tonight is the eve of his 20th birthday, and the soju I save only for an occasion such as this, warms our bellies. Tomorrow, Yoshi receives my 1991 Leonardo collector’s edition katana blade. To bestow upon my son my most precious piece of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles merchandise, he must first prove himself worthy.
Tonight, he must be initiated. If he passes the online questionnaire that I painstakingly created in my dominant realm, The Office, on my lunch break, he will truly be my son and will have earned the right to carry the souvenir sword.
***
My Dad is a deadset psycho. Full on. I won’t be taking his inane quiz. Not just because it’s Saturday night, either. I’m not that cliché a teenager. I mean, I have reading to do but it's mostly because I don’t want to encourage him. Ever since they gave him his own office and a pay rise, he's lost it. He lives on the net, buying useless shit.
Mum left him last month and he’s sort of having a mid-life crisis. At least, that’s what I think is happening. I’m no shrink. I mean, I don’t think he’d be shamelessly flaunting our Japanese heritage like this if he was right in the head. The way he's talking isn't the way he usually talks. Before the last few months, anyway. I just don’t get it. I don’t know what to do with him besides telling Grandma when she comes round for my birthday. She’s probably the only one who can sort him out, short of professional help.
What the hell am I supposed to do with a collectors' item katana blade?
***
He has failed me. My son did not even attempt the online questionnaire. I have no choice. I have been disgraced. I must commit seppoku. There is nothing else for it. I shall meet my end on Leonardo’s sacred blade.
***
I just found my dad lying on his side, in a pool of warm blood on the bed; his Leonardo sword protruding from his gut. My life is a fucken parody. That’s all. Go back to your own lives.
***
In the afterlife, I am surrounded by my entire VHS collection and one and twenty shiny katana blades. Sayonara, my son.
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