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Viewing items with Tag: "funny"
[source: japanprobe]
Specifically, they have been screwing their customers who sign up for long contracts by cheating them out of the 8 day cooling off period, as well as penalizing students who cancel mid-contract by calculating their already attended lessons at a higher point rate.
Nova group is therefore banned from creating 6 month or longer contracts with new students, which is where their primary income is. Even if this ban is incurred for just 30 days, with their mounting debts and plummeting public image, they are pretty much officially screwed. Employees of Nova should start looking for another job now, seriously people.
I also found this pretty picture of Nova's stock price! Isn't it beautiful?? (and udated live!)
The Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry is set to order Nova Corp., Japan’s largest English-language school operator, to suspend part of its business for six months for having violated the law governing the industry, ministry sources said Wednesday.
Specifically, they have been screwing their customers who sign up for long contracts by cheating them out of the 8 day cooling off period, as well as penalizing students who cancel mid-contract by calculating their already attended lessons at a higher point rate.
Nova group is therefore banned from creating 6 month or longer contracts with new students, which is where their primary income is. Even if this ban is incurred for just 30 days, with their mounting debts and plummeting public image, they are pretty much officially screwed. Employees of Nova should start looking for another job now, seriously people.
I also found this pretty picture of Nova's stock price! Isn't it beautiful?? (and udated live!)
Via Secret Japan:
Any readers around Tokyo ever actually seen some of these? I was thinking of gimping out my bike with a decal or something... (JOKE! Seriously, that was a joke...)
The technical term for these is Ita-Sha. Ita is derived from the kanji for pain, while Sha simply means car. It may also be a little play on words of “Italian car”, but who knows.
Any readers around Tokyo ever actually seen some of these? I was thinking of gimping out my bike with a decal or something... (JOKE! Seriously, that was a joke...)
Well good morning lads and ladies, dearies and dudes, three-legged spelunkers and possessers of magical caves alike, perhaps even those of you who fit into both categories simultaneously...
I'm here today to tell you all about a kick ass show that went down in Osaka on April 29th (only 9 days after the auspiscious 4.20 and a ghastly 16 days after an equally ominous Fri. the 13th.) Fortunately however, the party was neither overcast nor sanguine (although just after dark there were some strange smelling clouds lingering above many of the stages, and I must say there was a time when the blood all rushed either too or from my brain either from or two my too front feet, hands, and other various extrememememities, though (un)fortunately at no point to (or from) my third leg on a magical spelunking expedition.
In a nutshell, the day went like this: Wake up at 8:30 after having discussed with MeestahJ the possiblity of getting there by the time the show starts at 10, in order not to miss out on any of the phenomenal music that was to be had, then the early morning realization that generally electronic DJs are not at their peak before nightfall, the fact that most event organizers know this and tend to put the rubes in early (no offense rubes) and of course the all too real existence of the few beers we had imbibed the evening before in preperation for the next days festivities, going back to sleep for another hour to ensure a strong and well rested body for a day of listening to mind searing jungle and bleary eyed, light headed, liquid trance; intense, molten lava hot hard techno; and fall-asleep-on-a cloud-in-the-driveway ambient; not too mention, of course, the drinking, dancing, and diddling (must not forget the 3 D's now shall we?) that we hoped lay in store for us behind the pearly white gates of Maishima Sports Island.
Then, the train ride to the Island, the hour or so of watching men and women in black suits with black teeth and black hearts wishing they had chosen a life that did not involve riding these hellish thousand eyed worms to their million and one glassy eyed monoliths (that not only scrape the sky, but gouge out its eyes, slit its throat so that the sunset bleeds brilliant red onto the streets) these soaring office buildings which in truth are nothing more than socialized torture chambers, the instruments of their torture not the comparatively humane cast-iron and rope devices of the middles ages, which actually did their victims the favor of allowing them to feel something as they went out, but stacks and stacks of meaningless drivel, printed and reprinted on letterhead desiged by a machine that feeds on the wasted time and shattered dreams of lost souls, these people who sleep on the trains and drink can after can when they aren't working because they can't stand to hear the little voice screaming through shredded vocal chords at a sky that has already turned cold and grey, the voice that screams "GET OUT! RUN! MAKE MUSIC! MAKE ART! FOR THE SAKE OF EVERYTHING HOLY MAKE LOVE! DANCE! STRIP OFF THE MONKEY SUIT AND GRAB YOURSELF A PIECE OF THE ACTION!"
But of course they don't, they get on the train, just like every other day (a sunday no less), they sit down, they nod off, then like clockwork, they stand up and deboard only to be replaced by a carbon copies of themselves who will do exactly the same thing in reverse, while the whole time, MeestahJ and I watch, somewhere between excitement and pity, leering the machine in the face, the machine we are heading off to fight, like tiny dragon slayers armed with toothpicks and glowsticks and poking at scales the size of government buildings, perhaps doing nothing more than annoying the dragon that would force us into the same routine given half a chance and a good three or four years of hypnosis (more easily recognized as a daily prescription of TV and schooling, one to break the mind and one to mend it.)
And then we're tumbling out of the train doors, the ssshheeeeshh of hydraulic doors opening, the rush of the adrenaline, the sun blaring right through our squinty lids, and into that tiny blue pearl that resides somewhere in the traingle of all our third eyes, now the suited robots replaced by hippies and ravers, smiling, colorful, perhaps only the worker bees of yesterday, but at least for a moment dressed in their hemp, their dusty colors and shaggy hair, beards and beads and drums and poi piling out of the train, standing in line for the bus to the island, chatting, waiting, where is the bus? There's only one every hour... should we walk? Too far to walk, too dangerous, not enough space on the bridge... and then, towering above everyone else, nearly a full head above even MeestahJ, who up to this point was one of the tallest fookers I've ever had the pleasure of meeting, is a man in a t-shirt which reads simply "Jumbo".
Jumbo who spins Acid Trance and Hard Techno. Jumbo who's DJ name is FreeBass but doesn't do drugs (except of course for the occasional all night (MeTHinks I shouldn't mention who does what) binging and of course the occasional (SCRIPted verse). Jumbo who slept only two hours the night before and is ready for a full day of dancing and chilling and vibing with it all, this man who is most certianly Jumbo, perhaps the very being for which the phrase "larger than life" was coined. Jumbo of Osaka, Jumbo the Antithesis of most things Japanese, who fits here like the gnarled tree in the meadow, without which everything seems too plain, too flat, too obedient.
And this is the end of Part One of Nagisa Music festival, (as I assume you tire of my tale which has already been dragged on so long and we have not yet even handed in our tickets at the gate) but be sure to tune in next time as we will experience the music together with MeestahJ and Jumbo and myself, we will float on the clouds of the beat, will beat the lows to the ground and lift the highs to the sky, be sure to tune in I say, as we will explore the various tricks of the trade for hippies in Japan, wait in lines for food and... oh but I've given too much away already. I'll see you there. Just look for the man dancing in the white and orange bandana.
I'm here today to tell you all about a kick ass show that went down in Osaka on April 29th (only 9 days after the auspiscious 4.20 and a ghastly 16 days after an equally ominous Fri. the 13th.) Fortunately however, the party was neither overcast nor sanguine (although just after dark there were some strange smelling clouds lingering above many of the stages, and I must say there was a time when the blood all rushed either too or from my brain either from or two my too front feet, hands, and other various extrememememities, though (un)fortunately at no point to (or from) my third leg on a magical spelunking expedition.
In a nutshell, the day went like this: Wake up at 8:30 after having discussed with MeestahJ the possiblity of getting there by the time the show starts at 10, in order not to miss out on any of the phenomenal music that was to be had, then the early morning realization that generally electronic DJs are not at their peak before nightfall, the fact that most event organizers know this and tend to put the rubes in early (no offense rubes) and of course the all too real existence of the few beers we had imbibed the evening before in preperation for the next days festivities, going back to sleep for another hour to ensure a strong and well rested body for a day of listening to mind searing jungle and bleary eyed, light headed, liquid trance; intense, molten lava hot hard techno; and fall-asleep-on-a cloud-in-the-driveway ambient; not too mention, of course, the drinking, dancing, and diddling (must not forget the 3 D's now shall we?) that we hoped lay in store for us behind the pearly white gates of Maishima Sports Island.
Then, the train ride to the Island, the hour or so of watching men and women in black suits with black teeth and black hearts wishing they had chosen a life that did not involve riding these hellish thousand eyed worms to their million and one glassy eyed monoliths (that not only scrape the sky, but gouge out its eyes, slit its throat so that the sunset bleeds brilliant red onto the streets) these soaring office buildings which in truth are nothing more than socialized torture chambers, the instruments of their torture not the comparatively humane cast-iron and rope devices of the middles ages, which actually did their victims the favor of allowing them to feel something as they went out, but stacks and stacks of meaningless drivel, printed and reprinted on letterhead desiged by a machine that feeds on the wasted time and shattered dreams of lost souls, these people who sleep on the trains and drink can after can when they aren't working because they can't stand to hear the little voice screaming through shredded vocal chords at a sky that has already turned cold and grey, the voice that screams "GET OUT! RUN! MAKE MUSIC! MAKE ART! FOR THE SAKE OF EVERYTHING HOLY MAKE LOVE! DANCE! STRIP OFF THE MONKEY SUIT AND GRAB YOURSELF A PIECE OF THE ACTION!"
But of course they don't, they get on the train, just like every other day (a sunday no less), they sit down, they nod off, then like clockwork, they stand up and deboard only to be replaced by a carbon copies of themselves who will do exactly the same thing in reverse, while the whole time, MeestahJ and I watch, somewhere between excitement and pity, leering the machine in the face, the machine we are heading off to fight, like tiny dragon slayers armed with toothpicks and glowsticks and poking at scales the size of government buildings, perhaps doing nothing more than annoying the dragon that would force us into the same routine given half a chance and a good three or four years of hypnosis (more easily recognized as a daily prescription of TV and schooling, one to break the mind and one to mend it.)
And then we're tumbling out of the train doors, the ssshheeeeshh of hydraulic doors opening, the rush of the adrenaline, the sun blaring right through our squinty lids, and into that tiny blue pearl that resides somewhere in the traingle of all our third eyes, now the suited robots replaced by hippies and ravers, smiling, colorful, perhaps only the worker bees of yesterday, but at least for a moment dressed in their hemp, their dusty colors and shaggy hair, beards and beads and drums and poi piling out of the train, standing in line for the bus to the island, chatting, waiting, where is the bus? There's only one every hour... should we walk? Too far to walk, too dangerous, not enough space on the bridge... and then, towering above everyone else, nearly a full head above even MeestahJ, who up to this point was one of the tallest fookers I've ever had the pleasure of meeting, is a man in a t-shirt which reads simply "Jumbo".
Jumbo who spins Acid Trance and Hard Techno. Jumbo who's DJ name is FreeBass but doesn't do drugs (except of course for the occasional all night (MeTHinks I shouldn't mention who does what) binging and of course the occasional (SCRIPted verse). Jumbo who slept only two hours the night before and is ready for a full day of dancing and chilling and vibing with it all, this man who is most certianly Jumbo, perhaps the very being for which the phrase "larger than life" was coined. Jumbo of Osaka, Jumbo the Antithesis of most things Japanese, who fits here like the gnarled tree in the meadow, without which everything seems too plain, too flat, too obedient.
And this is the end of Part One of Nagisa Music festival, (as I assume you tire of my tale which has already been dragged on so long and we have not yet even handed in our tickets at the gate) but be sure to tune in next time as we will experience the music together with MeestahJ and Jumbo and myself, we will float on the clouds of the beat, will beat the lows to the ground and lift the highs to the sky, be sure to tune in I say, as we will explore the various tricks of the trade for hippies in Japan, wait in lines for food and... oh but I've given too much away already. I'll see you there. Just look for the man dancing in the white and orange bandana.
Thousands of Japanese have been swindled in a scam in which they were sold Australian and British sheep and told they were poodles.
hahahahaha! Thats just so good. Gives "sheepdog" a whole new meaning. The article goes on to say how the general lack of sheep in Japan aided the scam, since many Japanese don't know what a sheep looks like... oh come on!
The best part is that the scam was discovered when a Japanese movie star, Maiko Kawamaki, went on a talk show wondering why her poodle wasnt barking or eating dog food!!! Can you imagine! Need to get this footage, links in the comments please!
She was crestfallen when told it was a sheep.
Now I dont even know what crestfallen means, but it sounds pretty damn hilarious! Following the show, hundreds of women called the police fearing the worst of their own new "poodle".
One couple said they became suspicious when they took their "dog" to have its claws trimmed and were told it had hooves.
"became suspicious" - not "they realised it was in fact a fucking sheep", just became a bit suspicious!!!
So if you're living in Sapporo, you just bought a new poodle, you're completely retarded and your dog is a farm animal... it might be time for you to become a little suspicious.
A great story found by bhappy.
The mailbox is located 10m beneath Susami Bay with mail being sent by means of special waterproof plastic postcards. The mailbox is officially part of the Susami post office, taking 200 peices of mail a day in busy times, and it even has a special key!
... and this guy is offering an Amazon gift certificate worth 10 times the amount paid on postage for sending him a postcard (squid flavour optional) from the underwater yuubinkyoku. No mention of the scuba expenses or risk of being eaten by giant octopi however...
Hold onto your socks children, or they're gonna get blown right off your ass. Dig this, I started my Saturday the same way I always do, with a brisk walk, turning to a trot, followed by some meandering, before culminating with an all out promenade down our beautiful Kyoto riverwalk. Along the way I came across an agreeable group of young scamps who were engaged in a primitive game of baseball. Upon first glance, they seemed a discerning bunch so I approached with the intent of joining in on their rapscallion activities. Yet, when my shadow cast itself upon their field, the group of lads quickly scattered. Just then, an old pockmarked soothsayer tapped the back of my kneecap with his rotting pikestaff. "There was one before you..." he stated in a cryptic voice. He slipped me a Digital Video Disc before vanishing with the wind.
Watch with caution dear friends, and don't expect invitation into a game of stickball anytime soon.
Watch with caution dear friends, and don't expect invitation into a game of stickball anytime soon.
A story related to this one was also recently submitted by aniki, here are the details:
Story source: Secret Japan
But just look at the uniforms. They don't exactly make it difficult to whip it out do they? I wonder if after this fiasco the fearsome Fiji military will be required to wear pants, and no more manskirts (is that pleather?)
"The Sun said the soldier exposed his private parts to a young female Japanese tourist and urinated on her. Other passengers on the flight were alerted to the incident when the tourist screamed."
Full article over at Japan Probe.
Self-Explanatory. Learn the "true" tradition of Japanese Sushi.
Enjoy!
