Till We Meet Again

As my blade slashed, and the heads of numerous Zionists popped like champagne corks into the remarkably blue Tokyo sky, and I clutched my shoujou fervently with my free hand, Doctor No reminded me that perhaps I should retire and rest -- a wise rejoinder, for I had yet even to unpack my paisley Fruit Of The Looms.

I flicked a long line of scarlet Type O from my sword point and, restoring it to its sheath, we sang old campfire songs together as we took the silvery bullet-train to her twenty-second-floor office, where a herd of Todai neurotics staggered about, bowing repetitively and gibbering. I thanked the good Doctor, shaking her buttock politely, and repaired to my rooms at the Bestu Westernu, where, amid a hoary brick-a-brack of Tokugawiana, I sat down to record my first day's adventures in the amiable land of the Rising Sun...

But alas, Ah Sin beeps, and informs me I must put away this record of my travels in the land of Japan for now. The gong calls for kendo practice, and my sharpened katana shall indeed require practice for the splash of vampire blood it may reasonably expect to drink come next week's shopping trip to Shibuya. I don my Naruto headband solemnly, and must go.

Till next week, Dear Reader, then, adieu.

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