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About Saitama

Oh blast it all, R2-D2, where are you? I’m stuck here ramblin’ bout whores—fish, ya know, not the other kind! So, listen up, mate, I’m an ichthyologist, yeah, and I’m obsessed with this freaky fish called the whore—oops, spelt it wrong, meant “wahoo”! Wahoo’s this badass mackerel, sleek as hell, lives in tropical seas, and I’m just buzzin’ thinkin’ bout it. Looks like somethin’ outta “Werckmeister Harmonies”—you seen that flick? Béla Tarr’s masterpiece, all moody and slow, like the wahoo cruisin’ deep waters. “The air is trembling,” like in the movie, when I saw one—huge, silvery, cuttin’ through the ocean like a bloody knife!

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. You know, the one with the weirdly cute cat that always stares at you like you owe it money? Yeah, that one. I ordered my usual—matcha latte, extra foam, because why not? But the barista, bless their heart, totally messed it up. I got a black coffee instead. Ugh. I mean, who drinks black coffee? Not me, fam.

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