Nabiki stood in front of the… decidedly oddly shaped door. The grass on the lawn around her obviously hadn’t been mowed for weeks, and the words GET OUT had been spray painted on the brickwork next to the garage door. She idly wondered if that peice of graffiti came from one of the home’s residents, or one of the neighbors.
Before she could knock, she heard a rather gruff voice behind her. “HELLO… JAPANESE… HOTTIE… MY… NAME… IS… C A R L.”
She turned and saw a balding man (whose name was presumably Carl) wearing a red velour jogging suit that was struggling to contain an obvious potbelly. The man was wearing a plastic watch that had been spray painted gold (she could tell because he’d inadvertently painted over the display) and his shirt had been open to reveal a hairy (though no doubt pasty underneath said hair) chest, accented by a plastic medallion in the shape of the astronomical symbol for Mars (which had also been spray painted gold) held around his neck by a cheap-looking chain (yup, that was spray painted too). Despite the jogging suit, it was clear that Carl was not trying to get some much-needed exercise, as he was wearing fluorescent green flip-flops. Obviously, he was trying to impress her with his style, and unaware that he was failing abysmally.
“WOULD… YOU… LIKE… TO… COME… TO… MY… HOUSE… AND… PARTAKE… IN… BEVERAGES… WHICH… I… AM… ALMOST… CERTAIN… BUT… CAN’T… GUARANTEE… WILL… BE… NONALCOHOLIC… WITH… ME? WE… CAN… LISTEN… TO… REO… SPEEDWAGON… ALBUMS… ON… MY… STEREO… OR… SOMETHING. I… CAN… GO… SLOWER… AND… TALK… LOUDER… IF… THAT… WILL… HELP.”
“Um, Carl, was it?” replied Nabiki in perfect English (she’d even effected an American accent to help her fit in during her stay in New Jersey).
“UM… YES… MY… NAME… IS… C A R L.” He once again slowed down the pronunciation of his name to the point where it almost sounded like two syllables.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Carl—and you don’t have to speak loudly or slowly. I understand English perfectly fine.”
“WHAT? BUT… I…” Carl managed to stop himself—his romantic instincts were telling him that the hot Japanese chick might not like being patronized (hey, you know what they say about a stopped clock). Carl began again. “Oh, uh, sorry about that. I just assumed that since you wasn’t from around here” (here Carl paused for a nervous chuckle before resuming) “that you would, uh, you know, not be speaking English good.”
“Um, yes. Well, it was nice meeting you Carl.”
“Hey-hey-hey wa-wait a minute here! What about my offer? Seriously, I got, like a totally kickass stereo—American made, too. Not like that Japanese cra— uh, cr—ystal clear sound. I mean, seriously, how do you people do dat anyways?”
Kami-sama, he’s got to be dumber than Kuno. There was only one thing Nabiki could do: string the poor bastard along. “Oh, what a shame—I was really hoping you could introduce me to Speed Buggy—but I doubt you could do them any justice without the crystal clear sound provided by the woofers and tweeters from of my native land.”
“Uh, it’s REO Speedwagon. But seriously, like, I can go down to the store and get myself some Japanese cra— uh, stereo equipment, in like, an hour. So why don’t I just let you inside my house now…”
“Like HELL you will, slave-snatcher!” Suddenly the oddly-shaped door flew open and a giant milkshake bum rushed Carl in a flying tackle. “She’s mine, dammit! I called dibs on her first!”
What the hell… Nabiki didn’t know what was going on, but it seemed like she had plopped down into a complicated situation in medias res. She was just about to step forward to break up the fist fight (well, she assumed the yellow things on the milkshake were fists) when she was pulled into the house by—a French fry?
“That… is probably not a good idea.” The voice came from a floating carton of French fries with a mustache, goatee, and a scar under his left eye—and not surprisingly, it was one of his fries that had pulled her inside.
Fortunately, Nabiki was from Nerima. True, she’d never seen talking fast food dishes before, but then, exchange programs were all about new experiences, right? Thus, she was able to continue the conversation with her without a single slip in her poise. “What? Getting in the middle of their fight?”
“Yeah—not that they’re particularly dangerous. It’s just that they’re trying to get into your pants.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“My name’s Frylock, by the way.”
“It suits you. Am I going to be staying with you this semester?”
“Yeah. You’ll be staying in Meatwad’s room.”
“Oh? Is he the student I’ve been exchanged with?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call him a student, per se, but yeah, he’s the one staying with your family.”
“And what exactly is he?”
“He’s a wad of unidentifiable meat products.”
“Hence the name.”
“Right.”
“And from the shape of the door, I’m assuming the milkshake also lives here.”
“Yeah—his name is Master Shake, but nobody takes the ‘Master’ part seriously except for him. Actually, that reminds me of something. You see, Shake has a few delusions about Japanese culture, and he thinks that all Japanese schoolgirls are—”
Frylock was cut off when the door flew open to reveal a battered and bruised Master Shake. The milkshake turned around and yelled (at Carl, presumably) “Yeah? Well, your mom—uh, is a slut! And she’s dumb, too! How d’ya like that, bitch?!” He slammed the door shut. “I just don’t understand him—doesn’t he understand the concept of private property?”
“Uh, Shake, are you okay? I don’t think I’ve ever seen your straw bent that way before.”
“I… am fine. Now, lead me to my slave!”
Frylock just rolled his eyes. “Oh, god.”
“Yes, that’s right! In this building I am unto a god. Now where is the little minx?”
“Uh, do you mean me?” asked Nabiki.
“Oh… there you are. You shouldn’t hide from me like that. It isn’t proper. But we’ll worry about your punishment later.”
“Shake…”
“Alright, alright! I’ll take care of this ‘consent’ business of yours.” Shake turned back to his prospective sex toy. “Ahem. My dear—what was your name again?”
“Nabiki.”
“Right. Dear Nabisco—”
“Nabiki.”
“Look, kid, I don’t care what your name is—it’s not like I’m going to use it after you agree to become my sex slave, so just shut up and let me be romantic.”
Nabiki just cocked her eyebrow. “Sex slave?”
“What? Did I mention that part already? Argh… see what you made me do with your distractions? Now, I’ve lost my place. That is not a good way to start a relationship with your Lord and Master—mark my words, you’ll pay for that later.”
Frylock sighed. “Look, Shake, why don’t you just give it u—”
“Shut up. I’m going to start from the beginning, and this time I’d better not have any interruptions. Got it?”
“Sure.”
“Whatever.”
“Good. Now, humble lass, I am a man of the world, well versed in the ways of foreign lands, including your native land, the Land of the Rising Sun—which has been the ruin of many a poor boy, and God, I know I’m one. My dear, I know that a young woman like yourself has many needs but really, the only thing a schoolgirl needs is a suitcase and a rake, and the only time she’s satisfied is when she on a Shake—in other words, you someone to tell you exactly where, when, and how to have sex, because you’re so horny it’s making you stupid, due to the repressed nature of you national culture—your mothers tell your children not to do what others have done: to spend their lives in sin and misery in the Land of the Rising Sun, a land which nevertheless manages to release many high-quality motion pictures which show the world how Japanese schoolgirls are supposed to be treated—like submissive, sex-starved, bisexual nymphomaniacs. Because that’s what they are. That’s why I suggest you just listen to me and become my sex toy—because I am fully attuned to the needs of your society. In closing, I recall the immortal words of the famous haiku:
Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin’ back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain
Well, my dear, though you have to settle for New Jersey instead of New Orleans, at least I, Master Shake, can provide you with the ball and chain… and a few whips, too, while I’m at it.”
Frylock was dumbstruck. He knew Shake could be idiotic, but this was nuts! Did he actually think their new roommate would fall for this? He looked over at Nabiki, whose face was inscrutable.
Finally, after a few seconds, she smirked and responded, “Yes, that’s absolutely right. All Japanese schoolgirls are submissive sex bunnies.”
“What?!”
“ALL RIGHT! In your face, Frylock. I am the Master!” Shake then proceeded to dance… well, shuffle about in joy at his acquisition of a Japanese schoolgirl sex slave.
“However, you can’t just treat a Japanese sex slave any old way,” continued Nabiki.
Shake abruptly stopped his celebration at this. “Huh? What? What do you mean?”
“Well, you see, the proper way for one to keep a Japanese sex slave is slightly different from your standard sex slave.”
“It is? I mean, of course it is! I knew that! I just wanted to make sure you knew that—wouldn’t do to have a slave who doesn’t know how she’s supposed to be treated. Um, as a further test, how specifically am I supposed to treat you.”
“Well, first of all, I’m supposed to avoid physical exertion—if I’m injured or tired, I won’t be able to serve you very well, now will I?”
“You’re absolutely right!”
“So… about my things.”
“Right. Frylock, take her luggage in.”
“I’ve already told you that I’m not your butler, Shake.”
“Well, someone’s got to take them in, and it can’t be her, because she needs to save her energy, so who else is going to do it?”
“I don’t know—you, perhaps?”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re the one who wants a sex slave, not me.”
“Fine! Be that way! I’ll do it myself.”
“Thank you, Master!” said Nabiki with a smile.
“I need a drink,” said Frylock.
Read the comments on this episode
See other episodes by Kwakerjak
(Posted Wed, 22 Mar 2006 07:17)
Questions? Problems? Suggestions?
Send a mail to addventure@bast-enterprises.de
or use the contact form.
らんま1/2 © Rumiko Takahashi
All other series and their characters are © by their respective creators or owners. No claims of ownership of these characters are implied by the authors of this Addventure, or should be inferred.
The Anime Addventure is a non-profit site.