I am told we are not bushfires, but human beings. We congregate and interact peaceably; we shake hands and rub elbows. On occasion we binge on substance and fill our bellies to sickness with foodstuff. On occasion we vomit in corridors and fire off guns at passersby. On occasion we penetrate damsels and tear clothes from their bodies – the vicious among us, without permission. On occasion we wear our hatred as a badge of honor and rampage without restraint – the Kazakhs were Huns once; the Swedes Visigoths – but all in all, history aside, we are a kindly folk when we snicker at the lamentations of housewives on the tube. We are a kindly folk when we prepare macaroni and wonder about boiling points and condensation in the fridge. We are a kindly folk when we pick up dog turds with plastic gloves. Kindly, when amazed at the size of this orbiting landmass that houses our skinny asses. Kindly even when we grovel, when we look like shit, and when we suck in a big way.
But don't be fooled. In your heart is a wiry, short-legged kamikaze. He has no name (unless you have given him one). He does not fuss over he-said-she-said, and he does not give two turds about what is cool and what is not. But he will, at the drop of a hat, throw himself unarmed at an enemy barrage; and we will, with his bare fists, fight off an angry mob of humans to save your skinny ass.
Yes, he’s Japanese, yes, he doesn’t speak a word of English, yes, yes, yes. So what! He may look a bit funny and “old world”, he may be impetuous and unkindly at times, and he won't pick up dog turds, but he’s your kamikaze, and at the end of the day he’s also your man against conquering Huns and Visigoths, not the he nor she in he-said-she-said. So when he shows his face in your heart of hearts, when he gets up to show himself, DO NOT act like you don’t know him! Put down your i-phone, get off your skinny ass and show him some respect.
Don't be a pansy.