An Excuse To Type “Genitals” Seven Times

So there’s this story in which a Japanese man cooks and serves his own genitals to paying guests at a dinner party. Which in itself is pretty crazy, but you can sort all that out for yourself, there’s really nothing to be said about the facts that you haven’t said to yourself already. I mean it reads like a Hannibal Lecter scene with a predictably vintage Japanese twist on it, but it should be noted that it was both (a) his own genitals and (b) was served knowingly to guests who had paid ($250ish) for the privilege of the meal. And real talk, if you didn’t know that was some dude’s balls, you’d probably be eager to get that all up in your food hole.

And the obvious question that comes to mind is how it tastes, which (confirmed in the article) doesn’t seem like anything noteworthy since I don’t think there’s many analogous similarities to food we normally enjoy in there, like with bacon (not too much yummy fatty tissue around) or steak (the whole thing seems to be too fibrous to really enjoy). On paper there’s just nothing really exciting about it, and you can trust in the fact that I’ve considered this topic previously from numerous angles. Let’s just say I’ve done my homework.

The kicker here is the translation of the Twitter announcement he wrote for it, which reads like this…

I am offering my male genitals (full penis, testes, scrotum) as a meal for 100,000 yen.

Eew, what the fuck? That’s so disgusting, I cannot even imagine –

I’m Japanese.

WHOA SIGN ME UP

Like you wonder why that second sentence is there, considering that the original message itself…is in Japanese. Was it necessary to stress the ethnicity of the surgically detached, mushroom garnished genitals? Was that important? Are there people out there that would have been like “No, I’m not interested in eating cooked genitals, I mean…well, maybe, but usually I don’t like the texture – I mean, I find African balls to be a little too gamey, the whole German sausage fad died out in the early 90’s, and – wait, sorry, these genitals are Japanese? Well why didn’t you say so, count me in!”

There is a lot of strange purpose and sentiment behind that single sentence, in fact, you could say that it is turgid and erect with the metaphorical blood of meaning and narrative. I’d imagine that there are a lot of aspiring screenwriters out there who pay thousands of dollars in tuition fees to learn how to convey information like that so effortlessly, to achieve that efficiency of storytelling. It’s not just any dish of cooked penis, it’s dish of cooked Japanese penis. Because that wasn’t clear in the Japanese text in which it was presented.

Also the obvious joke to make here is to note that his guests still probably went home hungry, but that type of humour is not what we do here on The WAMBAG so I will not indulge in that type of offensive racial stereotyping.

I’m not scared of you people. And I don’t think that those cashews look like a bowl of baby penises. Being an EGOT is fun! Here’s to me, spending the rest of my life in rooms like this.

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Destined to fight the world's evil, The WAMBAG endures massive battles involving impossible stunts, races on horse-pulled carriages, and the desecration of enchanting medieval castles (all done with dizzying computer graphics). Not only does the eye candy keep on coming, the tongue-in-cheek writing and deep Transylvanian accents perfect the film with a dose of dark humor.

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