Jan 4th

Before I begin this entry, I feel like I must issue a disclaimer.  This blog was started for me, by me as a tool to remember my time in Tokyo.  That being said, the content of the blog will sometimes touch on mature subjects.  In the interest of (almost) full disclosure, I do not want to skip over things or over gussy up a G rated account of my time here, since I am sure that will account for less than half of my experience.  So, if you are a family member mistakenly directed to my site looking for pictures of me making peace signs in front of the monument and end up reading something that makes you lose respect for me, not want to buy me a birthday gift, or physicall ill, my apologies.

This morning we woke up and decided to do something in Tokyo besides drink sake, and perhaps acquaint ourselves with a better class of people than last night.  Though we were battling sake-induced hangovers, we made our way over to the Imperial Garden to find that it was closed.  From there we headed to a very cool looking fountain park where we ate breakfast.  Afterwards we hopped on the Tokyo Subway system and headed to the Tokyo Tower, Japan's version of the Eiffel Tower.  The mascots for the Tokyo Tower look like a hybrid penis-buttplug. I wish I was making this up, but check the picture for proof.  It was also at the Tokyo Tower that I learned my first favorite thing about Tokyo: broken English signs. (Again check pictures above)  The Tokyo Tower was cool, got some good panoramic shots of the city, went to a wax museum and Guinness world records museum.  Both were okay, but the absolute best part of the trip to Tokyo Tower happened as we were leaving.  A crowd had gathered just outside of the entrance, so we went to investigate.  After joining the crowd we saw a small monkey on a leash, which from here on out shall be referred to as Ninja Monkey.  Ninja Monkey did backflips, walked on stilts, leapt great distances, and most impressively had an enormous temper.  When Ninja Monkey's master made him sit on a stool he became furiously enraged, threw the stool into the crowd nearly taking off the head of a small Japanese child, then began swinging at the master.  The master took it lightly for a second, then shouted some Japanese at the monkey and gave him a look that made him cower and fall to the ground.  Needless to say, I am now a champion of performance monkeys' civil rights.  

After dinner we ordered sake to the room.  Our trials in Tokyo have thus far taught us that sake is traditionally served in a small porcelain cup that provides about 4 shots.  This being our logic, we ordered 4 bottles to our room to prepare for the night.  However when they arrived it turns out the sake bottles were about the size of a wine bottle.  Nevertheless, we took down two bottles while watching Bear Grylls videos on YouTube and hit the subway to head to Ropongi.  Ropongi is known for its "western bars with strong drinks," and generally where the white devil drinks in Japan.  Perfect.  After narrowly escaping three Jamaicans luring is into their establishments with promises of "all you can drink!" and "titties!" we made it into the only bar with a white bouncer, Wall Street.  Inside the place was nice, with mostly American music.  We sat at the bar and our bartender, a black dude who looked like the guy from Blood Diamond, made us three "strong" islands.  While enjoying the stiffest Long Island I have ever tried, confetti exploded throughout the bar, but mostly just over Weidner.  This was one of the funniest things a Japanese waitress in the bar had ever seen and after laughing at him for a solid 10 minutes, bought him a tequila shot, which after drinking made his face look like it was melting off his skull.  After forcing down my Long Island I looked behind the bar to see what other drinks Japan had to offer.  To my astonishment I noticed a plethora of Zima.  I have been obsessed with Zima since I was nine and saw the commercial with the sports car driving through the desert to make a giant "Z" trail before parking and showing the driver enjoying a ZIMA.  The pinnacle of cool, drinking and driving with Zima.  I then asked the bartender if it was feminine to drink Zima and he looked at me like a fool.  His response immediately trumped the broken English signs for my new favorite thing about Japan: "No, it's a man's drink."  I like how you roll Japan.  

Finally, we left the bar and took a cab back to our hotel as the subway was closed.  We arrived back and decided to continue our night.  Seeing as we are all gentlemen we set out to enjoy the company of beautiful women and gentlemanly spirits in a gentlemen's club named SuperGirls we had seen the night before.  After trekking for nearly an hour searching for the establishment, when we finally arrived it was closed.  We were dejected, down trodden and made the journey back home.  And that is where the night ended.  Seriously, don't believe anyone if they ever tell you otherwise.