Hideaki: A Tale of Manliness

[DanjaDoom]

Just a short lil Hideaki thingamajig I whipped up. Our favorite trap is sadly underrepresented on this site. Anyway, excuse the weirdness, I'm pretty tired.

Comments are greatly appreciated as always.

Biology
Volcanology
Campology: Part One
Campology: Part Two
Campology: Part Three
Parapsychology
Golfology: Part One
Golfology: Part Two
The Gang Steals Cable: Part One
The Gang Steals Cable: Part Two
Dateology: Part One
Dateology: Part Two

Anthropology

Mother Nature truly is a harsh mistress.

It’s been a month. An entire four weeks, two days, and sixteen hours, to be exact. I should know, I counted. Meticulously.

Yet, here I am, repeating the same scenario as last week, the week before, and the week before before.

Not a single hair on my body. Not one.

My father’s been able to grow the most majestic of beards. It’s like a great spirit wolf descended from the moon and chiseled him in its likeness. The thought brings a tear to my eye.

Me? Barely even stubble. I think back to last month, when I actually hugged my father because I thought I finally grew a hair on my chest. Turned out it was a cat hair. We don’t even have a cat.

“HIDEAKI! BREAKFAST IS READY!”

We do have a howler monkey, though...

More specifically, a bear-monkey-gorilla hybrid. A true wonder of science.

I trudge my way down the stairwell, and already my father has finished off three omelets. He’s left one for me. How sweet.

“Don’t you know what time it is, son?” he grunts.

Too tired to deal with his inquiries, I just shrug and wolf down my pitiful excuse of an egg and ham omelet, washing it down with pulpy orange juice.

“It’s almost noon. You know what time I woke up this morning to treat myself to this delicious, protein-rich breakfast? Seven! On the dot! Your underdeveloped teenage mind, however, wasn’t strong enough to wake up until almost noon! Absolutely disgusting.”

He rambles on with various anecdotes of his life, including when he had to haul a calf fifteen miles through the snow at four in the morning when he was ten. I stopped listening after that.

“Where are you going today?”

Uh-Oh.

“What makes you think I’m going anywhere today?”

He takes a mighty gulp from the plant pot he calls a coffee mug.

“I overheard you on the phone. You’re going to see those deviant lowlifes you call friends, right?”

“Dad, they’re not lowlifes. Hell, they make better grades than I do.”

“First of all, don’t say hell. Second of all, they’re lowlifes! Hanging out at that idiotic mall all day and playing those damn ‘vidya games’ or whatever you call them. Hah! Back in my day, we had a name for kids like that! Track rashes! We called them that because they’d get rashes from being dragged around the track!”

“Absolutely fascinating, dad.”

“Hey, it helped build our upper body strength! They were doing a great service to the school!”

Not eager to hear the rest of my fathers grand tales, I hurriedly take my dishes to the kitchen and gather my things up.

I can see my father eye me as I prepare to leave.

“Take a shower when you come back.”

“Dad, why do you hate my friends so much?”

“Hate them? HATE THEM? If I could go back in time and punch their parents in their respective sexual organs to stop them from procreating, I WOULD! You have fun though.”

I roll my eyes and exit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another wolf whistle courtesy of the high school kids in the cheap Toyota. It’s a daily event, really. Even after I yelled at them a couple weeks ago, they just called me “so tsun-tsun” and drove off.

God I hate walks. It’s like the government made this neighborhood a fancy refugee zone for every self-important asshole in Japan.
And their favorite pastime is bothering me on my walk.

The unbearably hot afternoon does nothing to alleviate my fouling mood. My t-shirt and jeans have become a boiler room prison for my body. My father insists on buying absolutely everything for the house, including my clothes. Every time he comes back with something for me to wear, it feels like steel wool with cactus spines. And everytime I tell him this, he ignores me.

I can’t tell whether he’s doing this on purpose to “toughen me up,” or if he just has a bad taste in fashion. Then again, judging by what he wears around the house, I should probably be thankful.

I’ll be turning fifteen in a few months. I hope my dad doesn’t forget this time. I remember when he found out I saw a PG-12 movie and nearly blew a gasket; he ran around the house, called his psychiatrist, complained about his son “turning into a delinquent,” the whole nine yards. I was thirteen. The general consensus can be summed up thusly: my dad could use some work. Some retooling, if you will.

The same two guys are outside the convenience store as usual. One of them has hair bigger than a small car, the other looks like he stole his little sister's’ jeans. I call them “The Convenience Store Posse.”

I’m not good with names.

Dad hates them more than he hates anyone else in our neighborhood, if that’s even possible. He practically chokes on his own saliva whenever he sees them, and I’ve had to stop him from yelling at them to pick up their pants on more than one occasion.

The afternoon heat has grown to unbearable levels, fogging my glasses up to an almost blinding level. Said convenience store looks quite inviting now.

A wondrous blast of air conditioned goodness greets me as I make my way in. It’s a pretty small crowd today.

The shop owner is a rather fat Vietnamese immigrant. The only language he knows is agitated stares. Alongside him is his horse-faced wife with the unusual name. I think it was “Sarah” or something. She seems to be in a perpetual state of smelling something awful.

Only a few teenagers are in the store today, checking out week-old magazines. I take it they’re the rookie members of the CSP.

As I search through the drink section for a soda, an uncomfortable feeling of being watched sets over me, and sure enough the two teenage magazine stragglers quickly turn their heads away as I look back.

I’m a little less freaked out than I ought to be. Years of being mistaken for a girl by everyone from fellow students to traffic cops has left me battle-hardened in the face of gender confusion. Living with Jigoro Hakamichi is just a lifelong lesson in survival instinct, after all.

Quickly paying for my orange soda, I make a hasty retreat back to the discomfort of the outside.

It’s still as hot as Satan’s taint out here (a fun phrase I learned from a show my sister’s drill-haired friend was watching last week), but at least I’m not being ogled. In hindsight, maybe I should have made my voice really deep and said something really intimidating to the guy. Like “Hey, yo,” or whatever rappers are saying these days. That would’ve been quite the sight.

Ah, the things you think up after all’s said and done. Those are the truly the greatest regrets in life. Well, that and waiting too long to see a movie in the theaters.

The neighborhoods haven’t changed much around here. Still the same old neutral tones, perfectly manicured lawns and hi-tech security systems as always. To say the people around here are paranoid would be something of an understatement. They’re one stray falling tree limb away from starting the bloodiest, most nicely organized turf war in history. The few forays they take outside the confines of their neo-modern-deco homes are accompanied by lightning-quick eye glances on and movements that would make a gymnast envious.

Just last week, a man let his dog take a crap on one of the lawns, only a few feet from the sidewalk. No one ever saw him walk through here again. They say he just found a different route, but that’s probably because they cleaned his blood away before anyone could see it.

Great, now I’m becoming paranoid. Must be a placebo effect. I once read on an internet forum about curtain closing techniques to thwart sniper fire. I guess I should start trying that out.

People are strange, to be sure. Strange and wonderful. Mostly strange.

A dull vibration of the phone provides a rather uncomfortable sensation on my bottom. The name that comes up when I check elicits a groan.

“Yes?” I answer with a less than enthusiastic tone.

“HNNNNNNGGGH, HIDEAKI, CALL THE AMBULANCE, OH GOD THE PAIN.”

“D-dad?!”

“BURY ME NOT ON THE LONE PRAIRIE SON, I CAN SEE THE LIGHT!”

I’m shaking like a shot-at rabbit. “D-dad, what’s wrong, are you having a heart attack?! Answer me! Ok, just keep your breathing steady and-”

“Thirty seconds!” he answers loudly. This, however, is his regular loud voice, and not his “on-the-brink-of-death” loud voice.

“What?” I ask, throat and head sore from the fiasco. His snideness practically carries through the line.

“Thirty seconds I was on the line! I could have died in the time you took blabbering away like some mentally-challenged guppy! Looks like I’m going to have to run more drills to keep your mind sharp!”

There’s a lot I want to say right now, but somewhere between my esophagus and the tip of my tongue it gets garbled into some alien blabbering.

“Still too exhausted to answer, eh? Not a problem! I’ll just keep calling until you finally metamorph into a true survival expert! Who knows, I may even put some strip spikes around the house! Better start wearing shoes! Or hell, maybe I’ll put them in the shoes! I’m just full of ideas today!”

I clamp my phone shut before any more irreversible damage can be done to my psyche. My dad’s like a walking case study on why paint thinner should be kept out of the reach of children.

I find myself watching the sky more and more as I continue down my route, fearful that he may drop an anvil down on my head. I wouldn’t put it past him.

I stop my train of thought. Am I really going to go through the rest of my life like this? A guinea pig to my dad’s masochistic need to make my life a study in burst synapses? The sad truth is, probably.

It’s time for change to be enacted. Nothing around here ever changes. Not the houses, not the people, not the Korean shopkeepers.

I have a feeling it’ll be good to break the mold. I triumphantly take a swig from my orange soda and spit it out soon after.

It’s gotten warm.

[Henry Spencer]

Delicious Jigoro.

I humbly await further entries, my good sir.

[DanjaDoom]

Delicious Jigoro.

I humbly await further entries, my good sir.

I suppose that's the consensus then

[Mahorfeus]

I don't know why, but some parts of this gave me a distinct FLCL feel.

I liked it. It was weird, but that tends to come with putting the focus on characters like Hideaki and Jigoro.

[DanjaDoom]

I don't know why, but some parts of this gave me a distinct FLCL feel.

I liked it. It was weird, but that tends to come with putting the focus on characters like Hideaki and Jigoro.

Ahh,good! That's pretty much the feeling I was going for. I doubt I can completely replicate the batshit insanity of FLCL, but I'll try.

[Total Destruction]

Step off my woman. He's mine.



Love it.

[Revvy]

Liking it, update soon

[nemz]

Hideaki is the manliest of traps. A king amongst queens.

[DanjaDoom]

Step off my woman. He's mine.



Love it.

*pulls out knife* Step away from the trap and no one gets hurt

Thanks!

[Episcia]

Mmm. Delicious, delicious snark.

I love it. More!

[DanjaDoom]

Mmm. Delicious, delicious snark.

I love it. More!

Thank you kind sir.

And while you're at it [shamelessbump]check out my other story Real(A Suzu/OC story)™ [/shamelessbump]

[bradpara]

You sir are a twisted genius.

Looking forward to more

[DanjaDoom]

You sir are a twisted genius.

Looking forward to more

I look forward to you looking forward to more

[DanjaDoom]

Because I know you sickos can't resist your pre-pubescent traps.
Comments and critiques are greatly appreciated!

Biology
An infernal creation of an infernal mind. That’s the only way I can describe the sun at seven in the morning on a sunday. Only my father can find a way to make it even more obnoxious and intrusive than usual.

“Look alive, cupcake!”

“Whudidit?...” I slur out, still disoriented by the light blaring through my open curtains.

“Wrong answer, son! You’re sister’s coming over today, and yet here you are lazing around like some sorority girl who’s had two shots of Green Apple Smirnoff! Are you sure you’re my kid? Paternity tests are expensive, you know!”

I wonder if I can make a katana through the sternum look like an accident...

My father makes his way out the door, and I hear him call after me.“Get dressed and meet me downstairs!”

Not at all in a hurry to make him happy, I plod my way down to the living room with the speed of a paraplegic slug.

Dad’s already hard at work watching his daily Big Lebowski marathon. He can’t understand a word they’re saying, but he laughs uproariously nonetheless. I’m fairly certain it’s also where he picked out his affinity for tacky cardigans.

God, it makes me dread winter.

“You wanted to see me dad?”

He holds up a hand to silence me. It doesn’t really bother me much, I take any incentive I can to not talk to him.

“BWAHAHA! You’re damn right that’s like, his opinion man! Oh goodness, sometimes I wish I had a son like Mr. Duderino. I’d take him to every bar in town so we could judge people!”

He has memorized that line, though, much to the annoyance of absolutely everyone he says it to. “Well, I can see you’re incredibly busy right now, so I’ll just-”

“Not so fast! Hideaki, I need you to peruse an item of great and invaluable importance.”

“Your paper?”

My father claps a mighty hand against my shoulder and guffaws. “Exactly! Now go buy me one.”

“Dad, I doubt any stores around here have papers from the last two months, let alone today. Why can’t you just get your news from the internet like everyone else?”

Something tells me I’ve made a mistake with that one. His flaring nostrils and the faint sound of steam indicate that one of his dreaded rants is incoming.

“INTERNET?! GODDAMMIT boy, where did I go wrong?! Well, while you and every other yahoo around here are rubbing your schlongs together about the next iDell, or whatever the hell they’re called, I’LL be doing things the old fashioned way! Know why? BECAUSE IT WORKS! Now if you'll excuse me, I’m walking down to the store, for TEN MILES if I have to, to get my paper, because I WANT TO BE INFORMED! Know why son?!”

I never noticed just how sharp the tip of his beard is until it was inches from my left pupil. “Because it works?...”

“BECAUSE IT WORKS!”

He grabs his walking shoes, hat, and sunday katana as he steps out into the morning breeze. “Now while I’m gone, you’ll have the honor of tidying up before your sister gets here later! Take care of the kitchen, living room, bathroom-’

“How about your trophy room?”

“God no, son, you know I don’t trust anything touching my trophies!”

He never says “anyone,” because that would imply that he’s ok with non-humanoid beings touching his trophies. I still don’t understand it.

“And don’t cook anything, either! Remember when you tried to make blueberry cobbler? Took me a whole week to be able to see out of that eye again! Don’t fail me son!”

“Yeah, whatever,” I grumble out.

“WHAT?”

“Err, I mean...nice hat.”

“Oh...thanks.”
With that, he shuts the door, sending a ripple through every unbolted item in the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As much as my father likes to paint himself as a veritable paragon of everything, he has vices just like everyone else.

Namely, he’s horribly messy. Also he grunts obnoxiously when he works out. But mostly he’s just messy.

His office would make a hoarder cream in their pants, then presumably go off to buy more pants to stow away. Various knick-knacks such as collectible plates, jury summons and boxing puppet nuns encircle his desk like trashy piranhas.

I’m not too upset about landing this cleaning job, really. My dad really only hates any mess he didn’t make. If he spills a can of beer, he’ll wait until it evaporates before even moving to check it out. If I spill something...well, he may call the police.

A respectable layer of dust has built over his computer, a testament to his technophobic nature. Seriously, there’s dust over the dust...

Satisfied that this room will be as clean as it’s going to be, I move on to the rest of the house.
Along the way I think about the visit from my sister.

It’s not that I don’t like my sister, quite the contrary. She keeps dad in line, after all. Her friend, on the other hand...

I shudder at the memories of the time Misha and my father fought over who got to be the car in Monopoly. It was like a jackhammer getting into a shouting match with a dying goat. My eardrums only narrowly survived that day.

I pray they may survive this day as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“HIDECHAAAAAAAN!~”

As expected, my sister’s bubbly compatriot still hasn’t grasped the concept of “tact” or “personal space.” Her hugs are still powerful enough to break an elephants spine, and her generously sized bosom makes breathing impossible. Survival training.

Thankfully, she releases her vice grip before my skin begins to change color, and am greeted by a much lighter hug from my dear sibling. It’s very relaxing on my ribcage.
My father’s concocted a wide array of dessert dishes, including a blueberry cobbler and peach cupcakes. Mainly it’s so he can watch how much all of us eat and then offer us a membership to the new gym he’s partnered in as a “favor.”

As expected, Misha is eyeing the pastries with fervent interest, lips moistening with anticipation. I make a note to do a dessert headcount at the end of the day.

A much stiffer greeting for Jigoro, and we sit down to watch television. Misha hasn’t halted her train of dialogue since she arrived, and I’m sickeningly envious of my sister’s deafness now.

A light pushing against my shoulder gets my attention. It’s my sister.

[How’s dad been?]

I shrug. [Usual. He still loves Big Lebowski.]

She giggles silently and watches the two loudmouths conversing. Well, Misha’s really the one doing the conversing, dad’s just sitting there with a look of what I can only interpret as “stop the pain.”

Shizune turns back to me, a catty smile on her face. [Any girls yet?]

I shoot a dismissive look at her. [None of the girls at school are all that attractive.]

[You haven’t talked to any, have you?]

[...No.]

[And why not?]

It’s a little hard to discern my sister’s expressions, but I can see a distinct combination of playfulness and scolding. She has little patience for non-go-getters.

[I don’t know, it’s weird. I’ve been hit by about three boys in the past month-stop laughing, it’s not funny!]

Shizune struggles to suppress her snorting. My mistaken gender incidents have always been a source of humor for her.

[Sorry, sorry! Go on.]

[Well, most girls just see me as the “cute” guy, not the “hot” guy, you know?]

She rubs her chin in thought. A sharp snap of her fingers indicates that she’s reached a conclusion.

[Hideaki, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’ll grow up to be one hot tamale!]

[...What’s a tamale?]

“I don’t know, I saw it on television a while back. Anyway, you’re just in a phase! Pretty soon, you’re awkward, boyish, creepily androgynous-]

[I get it!]

[Right, well, pretty soon you’re gonna blossom into a fine young man! It’s simple biology, really. I mean, you think I had these curves when I was your age?]

[Sis! I don’t want to hear about your curves!]

[Kidding! Trust me Hideaki, soon enough you’re going to have to fight the women off!]

Her support makes my face break into a smile. Jigoro shoots to his feet, his knees creaking like an old wagon.

“Well, as fun as it is to have the years of my life talked out of me, I say it’s time for dinner!”

Not adverse to this idea, the rest of us stand and make our way to the waiting table.

Shizune bumps into my side, dropping a methodically wrapped package into my hands.

[Happy birthday, by the way.]

I can’t hide the smile on my face as I dig into the present. Those always send me back down a good ten years in age. With one last tear, I grin triumphantly at my prize.

It’s a cardigan.

[Helbereth]

I find myself watching the sky more and more as I continue down my route, fearful that he may drop an anvil down on my head. I wouldn’t put it past him.

I very nearly fell off my chair laughing after this and it would have made 'rofl' true, but I didn't, so here we are.