Why are you here?
“Picking out my Oscar outfit.”
You’re going to the Oscars?
“I’m dating Jennifer Lawrence.”
She seems awful.
“She is. Big crack smoker.”
Crack? Wow, retro.
“Yeah, her aesthetic is ‘Revere, Massachusetts, in 1992.’ She screams the N-word a lot.”
Why are you with her?
“Star’s a star.”
Oh, fine: talk about your clothes.
“THANK you! You’re just rude sometimes. As you can see, I’ve acquired a new toppermost. It’s called Sexual Diabetes.”
That’s a terrible name.
“It sounds better in the original Japanese.”
Can toppermosts be made anywhere other than Japan?
“Kinda. You could create a garment that wasn’t quite a robe, and not exactly a kimono, but definitely not a coat in any foreign land, but it’s gotta be from Japan to be called a toppermost. It’s like Champagne and sparkling wine.”
Sure. Did you pick this out yourself?
“Oh, absolutely. No toppermost-sei has an internet connection or anything. Gotta go to the source. I just got back. Could not sleep the entire time I was there. Things started getting weird. Then, Bill Murray seduced me obliquely.”
That’s the plot to Lost in Translation.
“Let me twirl for you.”
GUITARIST TWIRLING ON A SIDEWALK NOISE
“Did you see that?”
“The way the fabric blooms out like an enemy’s blood in the river of a fresh dawn?”
“Again: sounds better in Japanese.”
You’re like a fashion weaboo. Stop being obsessed with Japan. It’s the creepiest country to be obsessed with.
Yup, you’re right. Sorry. Japan is the second creepiest country to be obsessed with. Why are the calves on your pants so tight?
“In case I have to kick something.”
“Did you just walk out of the room?”
“Excuse me? Hey!”
“Well, how the fuck do I get out of here?”