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Question by Nueng: Do Japanese girls like more white or black foreigners?

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Best answer: Answer by Aurelius Well I have interviewed every Japanese girl on this very subject..

Mei’s the girlfriend you’d love to have but can’t, because my buddy Yuki got her first. There, you can have the experience of chatting up a sexy girl, and she’s going to laugh at your jokes, make eyes at you, and mix you up another shochu with water. After a bit, Mei came and sat with us, which I think is kind of technically against the law, but whatever. Suddenly my turn came to sing and so I launched into this Japanese song about how God’s in the toilet bowl. And then Mei started crying, because Yuki was crying, or because her grandmother was also engulfed in the same fatal crash. Then that was over, and we all went back to chatting and flirting.

She’s got big eyes, enormous boobs, long brown hair curled into ringlets, and an ass that’ll make you reevaluate your life. All the girls are smoking hot, and sing pitch-perfect karaoke like angels. Now Yuki’s a friend of mine, and an all around cool person. We had a bottle of shochu and a bucket full of ice, and were all sitting around this low, glass table. Seriously, it’s a real song, and a pretty good one at that, but it’s also freaking sad because there’s this grandmother and she kind of, you know, dies. Whatever, look, Ken Seeroi’s only got so many Japanese songs in his repertoire, and once in a while this is what you get. Although I was carrying on a random conversation with the two girls flanking me, mostly I was watching the action across the table, with Yuki and Moshi both leaning in, competing for Mei’s attention. “Nah,” I said, “just saw into the future.” And I did.

When Mei wears a sweater more people line up for a viewing than Star Wars. Who cares—-she’s too busy looking sexy and giggling to discuss quantum computing. I’m not trying to throw anyone under the bus, but when people say “it’s all gone pear-shaped,” you’d be hard-pressed not to conjure up an image of Yuki’s body. I was sandwiched between the two girls on one side, with Mei on the other between Yuki and Moshi. Mei was wedged between them, rhythmically batting her fake eyelashes in time with the music. Then he’d look majorly forlorn and softly mumble But that’s what I do. We went back to the bar, and there was Mei, smiling and radiant as ever.

Since bar culture, and young single women out drinking, never really caught on in Japan, the Japanese in their wisdom engineered a brilliant solution: a bar where girls are paid to talk with you. Maybe her grandmother died a fiery death or something, who knows. Then I started crying, then Moshi, then the two girls, and we were all boozily sobbing and I kind of messed up the lyrics but it didn’t matter because my voice was filled with emotion and I sound like an angel anyway.

Now, maybe if you’re from some normal country you just assume that all bars have girls, but uh uh, not in Japan.

Doesn’t spend a lot of time in the gym, is all I’m saying. Being a cute girl in Japan is like being that guy who can bend bars of steel with his bare hands. That’s my thing, being that dude that bends stuff into U-shapes. I pictured her ten years on, but things didn’t look as rosy.

Yuki’s middle-aged, wears glasses, dresses like crap, has no money, and oh yeah, no dick. So how does a frumpy lesbian woman score a young, normally heterosexual girl who spends her weekends winning wet t-shirt contests? “Nah, you just gotta know,” she replied, “the one thing all Japanese girls want.” We were at a table in the Girls Bar, with three of Yuki’s friends: a couple of other girls who were also pretty hot, and this guy named Moshi who wasn’t, trying to have a conversation over the karaoke belting from the bar counter. Like you’d take him to a party and he’d all, Can I see that fireplace poker for a sec? Or you’d be out walking and it’d stop raining and he’d say, I’ll carry the umbrella. This essentially sums up what being a cute Japanese girl is like. Unless she harbored some as-yet undisclosed talent, she’d need to lock in a stable situation pretty soon.

That’s what I asked Yuki, albeit slightly more diplomatically. The whole scene unfolded right in front of me—-Mei laughing at Moshi’s jokes, then Yuki trying to amuse her girlfriend but falling flat a bit, and gradually getting slightly pissed off. That caught my attention, but nobody else seemed to notice. Because I saw that glass tabletop and Yuki’s tumbler, and it was like when you want to pause a movie but can’t find the remote. “Well, it’s your fault for singing the damn Toilet God song, getting me all worked up. Maybe that also explained the steady stream of women I barely know asking me for marriage and children.

Hey, Ken Seeroi’s been in a lot of bars, I’m not gonna lie, and the same events repeat with remarkable consistency. Still the competition played out, with Moshi lightly touching Mei, Mei giggling, and Yuki looking madder and madder. Yuki snatched up the tumbler and slammed it hard onto that glass table and…well, nothing happened, except the entire place echoed with this giant Bam! Then just like I knew she would, because Ken Seeroi’s been in a lot of bars, she did it again with real anger, smack in the middle of the table. Of course, I’m sure it’s just me, owing to my rugged good looks, slim-fit jeans, and promising career as an English teacher.

Finally, she reached across Mei, grabbed Moshi’s arm and barked something I couldn’t catch. Ever wonder what happens when a giant glass table explodes? Anyway, The three of us sang some happier songs, including the one where I’m the scales on this fish, and drank more beer and then some shochu and ate several bags of Baby Star Ramen snacks. Even the glass table was back, fixed like nothing had happened, looking like it’d stay shiny and beautiful forever.