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August 12, 2007

Tour Blog: Master Tetsu

Written by Girth McDürchstein on August 12, 2007 10:17 AM
Permalink |  Splitcock Tour -- Europe & Japan '07  | Digg It

After discovering, for the third time on this tour that we’d been bumped, I was furious. I first called band intern Jason Fields. He didn’t answer the phone, I assume for masturbation-related reasons, so I called the owner of Messe Makuhari myself. A mysterious man known only as Tetsu, he spoke in a series of grunts and broken-English commands. He insisted that I come to his home in Chiba prefecture and personally plead for my life.

I assumed this was a mistranslation on his part, but when I arrived in the spacious rooftop garden where Tetsu apparently lives, he stood with hands clasped on a katana sword aimed at the dirt-dusted concrete floor. He wore a muscle shirt and loincloth and nothing else. His shaved head gleamed in the sunlight dripping through the grated ceiling. His nostrils flared upon my arrival, and I heard him growling like a mangy dog.

“Huh,” I said.

“Mr. Girth,” Tetsu said, “you might have fame, but you have shown me much dishonor on this day. Would you like to play at Messe Makuhari, my conference center and rock arena of great esteem? Then you must kill me first!”

With that, he raised the sword and lunged forward. I leaped out of the way, tripped, and rolled into some sort of weird Japanese trees. Tetsu howled, whirled around, and aimed the sword at my face.

“What the fuck, dude?!”

“You shame Tetsu by giving your perform to small sexually active child instead of to Tetsu and five thousands screaming fans packed in arena?”

“They threatened to kill me!”

“I will level same threat upon you and your children,” Tetsu shrieked, rushing forward yet again.

“What children?” I yelped.

I’ve gotten into a great many fights in my life, and one thing I’ve learned is that it pays to fight dirty. Look at it this way: when you have an angry guy wanting to pound the shit out of you for no particular reason, where is the honor in just taking it? You gotta throw dirt in their eyes, kick them in the teeth, knife them with a homemade shiv, whatever it takes. As Tetsu ran forward, expecting me to just lie there and wait for him to deal me a sword-related deathblow, I raised my legs and kicked with both feet: one in the gut, one in the nuts.

Tetsu howled in pain and dropped the sword. I tried kicking away, but swords are apparently much heavier than they look. Its handle moved a few inches and the blade spun away, but it wasn’t exactly the same effect as kicking a switchblade across the dance floor of a crowded West Hollywood club.

When Tetsu unclasped his nut-sack and bent for the sword again, I hopped up and dove into him, taking him to the ground and forcing him to stay there with all my weight. He may have had muscle and speed, but my literal and metaphorical girth kept him pinned to the rooftop.

“Will you allow us to play tonight?”

“Do not dishonor my life by allowing me to live.”

“I’m not a killer!” I snapped.

“But our newspaper of highest popular, Lovers Are Music, speaks of your jail terms for killing.”

“I didn’t do it, man,” I said, “but I did write a book, available in your country, showing how I would have if I had.”

“What about France?”

“I still don’t think those guys are dead,” I said.

“If you will not kill me, I shall do it myself,” Tetsu breathed. “For honor.”

I shrugged and eased off him. “Okay.”

Tetsu elbowed me in the jaw. I spiraled back, grabbing at the sudden flare of pain, and Tetsu reached for the sword and whirled back on me. “The tables turn, I see,” he sneered.

“Dude, we’re already booked—”

“Not anymore,” Tetsu said. “Hasty replacement was found. Are you knowing of Hoobastank? Here they see great success.”

“Hoobastank?! They suck more balls than the women at Rabu Hoteru—”

“Your analogy I am not understand—”

I lowered myself and barreled into his chest with my head. He slammed to the ground and slid a few yards, but he still held on to the sword. “Will you let us play?!” I roared.

“Would you open for Hoobastank?”

“No!”

“Would you play a conference center filled to eye-sockets with businessmen?”

“Okay.”

“With at least one hour of live-act karaoke?”

“Sounds awesome.”

And this is how we were semi-bumped from Messe Makuhari in Tokyo. Don’t worry, fans—I phoned ahead to Osaka and Nagoya. We are definitely playing there. If you have the means, hustle yourselves down there to catch one of our shows. We hate disappointing our huge Japanese fanbase.

We did have a good time with our small base of businessmen fans. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard middle-aged Japanese men belt out “Tongue Quest.”