To the gobshite gaijin at the table next to ours last night when I was attempting to have a nice evening out with my wife: shut the fuck up!
Item: you talk incessentantly as if a moment’s silence would bring an immediate end to the universe, as if your shit were the actual dance of Shiva.
Item: you are full of shit. I’ll give you a clue: no one gives a fuck for your tales of how much you like or don’t like Justin Beiber or which brand of coffee you drink or your preferred colour of socks. Starting a sentence with ‘I’ does not make it meaningful or worthwhile — only having a clue in your head can create value.
Item: being a gaijin does not make you a rock star. There are 125 million Japanese people on this planet and about 7.5 billion gaijin. Does that help put things in perspective for you?
Item: the couple you were with spoke better English than you do Japanese, so your attempts to translate yourself into their language was not only embarrassing it was patronising.
Item: it really is OK to talk at a normal volume. I don’t think the good people of Buenos Aires on the other side of the world, where I’m sure you were perfectly audible, wanted to hear your shit any more than the people in the restaurant. In fact — and brace yourself for this — I am confident that we would have preferred to listen to the people we were actually dining with.
Item: it is of course your right to speak your empty mind incessantly and at great volume, so can I suggest you do so at the bottom the canal so conveniently provided next to the restaurant where no one will mind and you might even be appreciated by the sludge and turtle poo?
Item: and to the Japanese couple you were with, there really is no need to be so polite. A wanker in any culture is a wanker.