Cousin Hoyt

Hi, I’m Method Man.  Not long after I started calling myself Method Man did I begin to have a great respect for everything that I encountered in life that was more methodical than I.  I think we all know that the German people are extremely methodical, not to mention civilized.  This, and the rich culture of bratwurst, lederhosen, buxom blonde waitresses serving beer, and the word ,,Schallplattenleger” have effected my great affinity for the German people.

My fellow Wu-Tang musicians, not least Ghostface who to be honest is kind of a overachievementface, have always encouraged me to broaden my horizons and educate myself further.  After a long debate about whether my rap has become boring and work-a-day, Rza, wise as he is, suggested that I begin German classes.  He said that taking a class most certainly has never been done in the history of Hip-Hop.  It was then that I knew what I had to do.  I had to become an Envoy of German culture and language to Wu-Tang and the entire world of Hip-Hop, and this had to happen as soon as possible.

A week later I was finally not too stoned to call my local community college and begin the process of enrolling in classes.  Although the application process was somewhat difficult (they demanded that I produce proof that I had graduated high school.  This is really unfair, especailly for someone who hadn’t graduated high school) I was able to enroll in all fifteen German classes that were offered.

Day Eins of German One
Teacher: Hallo alle, Ich bin Sabine.  Herr Method Mann, you’re raising your hand.
Me, Method Man: Eins, zwei, drei, vier, funf, SECHS mothaFUCKA
Teachy: Sehr gut, Herr Method Mann.  You are so intelligent of German and we have not even introduced ourselfs!
Class: hahahahahahahahahahahaha
Teacher: Also gut, was ist dein Name?
Me: Ich heisse Method Man.  Ich bin ein Mitglied des Wu-Tangs, REUNITED BITCHES
Class: haha

Day Zwei, After Class
Teacher: Ich wollte dich gern fikken, Method Mann.  (I’d fuck you gladly, Method Man)
Me: Sheisse Bitch, you WHITE and I can’t even speak German yet.
Teacher: I fucking know, it sucks.  LET’S GO TO THE WU-TANG MANSION

Later, at the Wu-Tang Mansion
Me: *Basically ignoring her, scribbling lyrics tentatively on a blunt wrap*
Teacher: You know, I could really help you with your art.
Me: I’m from fucking Staten Island, I don’t think I need anyone’s help.  Although I would like to bring the German language to Hip-Hop.  I think this whole sequence has something to do with that.
Teacher: *guiding Method Mann’s hand* Here, let me… help you.  Lass mich dir helfen.

Hours later, the two wake from a daze in the mud room.  All sweaty.
Me: Damn girl, German is quite a powerful language.

Day Drei, In class
Me: Hallo alle, Ich habe meinen Lied ,,M.E.T.H.O.D. Mann” wieder geschieben.  Kann ich es fuer euch singen? (rewrote M.E.T.H.O.D. Man”, ayite)
Teacher: Bitte!
Me: I’ ll fuckin binden Sie zu einem fuckin Bedpost
mit Ihren asscheeks heraus spread und Scheiße.
Nicht Wahr?

Setze einen hänger auf einen fuckin stove und lassen Sie
das Scheiße dort während wie einer halben Stunde sitzen
Beseitigen Sie sie und stick it in Ihrem ass all slow like
Tssssssss

Ich werde sew your asshole shut and keep feedin dich und feedin dich
Class: (uproar now impossible to repress.  This is now known as the moment the German language was brought to hip hop, for all eternity)

I’ll just skip to the uptake: the best thing about “Best Bisexual Erotica vol.2″ is that even if you’re a bisexual samurai there are at least twenty pages in this book that will interest you.

Synopsis: “Bearing Two Swords”
Hiroaka, a lord/samurai megazord, receives an official-looking letter from the Shogun, with whom he’s had a disagreement about some unmentioned war.  We don’t know the letter’s contents except for the word “regret,” and that whatever it’s meant to imply (which frankly I have no idea how any reader is supposed to know) drives Hiroaka to announce to his wife Lady Taeko and friend Serizawa Sachiro that he must commit seppuku to protest the Shogun’s decision (on something).

It’s then revealed that Hiroaka and Sachiro fuck sometimes (for example after the battle of Toshimitsu), right before Hiroaka says he wants to spend his last night with the people he loves.  He tells Sachiro to return at sunset, and Taeko to return at midnight.  They bow and exit.

Sunset arrives, and Sachiro comes to meet Hiroaka.  They finally agree to disrobe each other (like pouring sake, it is rude to do it for yourself when someone else is around) and lie there kind of hugging.  After they get a bit aroused, they start wrestling (I guess maybe because they’re samurais).  Sachiro is victorious and goes ahead and starts fucking Hiroaka in the ass, pretty much right up until the guard announces midnight.  Taeko is already waiting outside (reader gets impression of order and efficiency that one might characterize as samurai).

Taeko comes in wearing a silk kimono and they hang out on the tatami mat.  This encounter is notably more amorous and doesn’t involve any wrestling.  They fuck in the moonlight and both come, and presently Sachiro walks in (again with the samurai efficiency).  Taeko, the modest, kimono-wearing wife of a samurai she is, yelps and grabs Hiroaka to cover herself.  Sachiro tells them, solemnly, that they are the two people that he loves most in the world (I’m guessing a reader at this point will tend to guess that he means they should fuck, and stuff).

Queue bisexual threesome action (”Let us all be as happy as we can”).  Sachiro fucks Taeko a bit, and then Hiroaka considers fucking Sachiro (”Even though he had lost the wrestling match, it was now over…”) but instead edges away from them on the futon and watches.  They all fall asleep.  Morning arrives and Hiroaka slices his own guts out.  That’s pretty much the extent of the detail that’s given re:that.

Haven’t read “Suck-You-Bus”, or “Cirque du Trois”, or “Married Ladies have Sex in the Bathroom”, or “The Naughty Nuns of Saint-Sulpice” yet.

I am going to put this picture of Johann Bernoulli on my wall.

Why? Well, not only is he a beautiful wig-wearing man, but he’s a famous mathematician. His image will remind me every day that we all have potential for greatness, even if we don’t have crazy eyes or are still alive. The problem is that his face here tells so many stories that I, or guests lucky enough to meet eye with him, might get confused as to what exactly the lesson of Johann Bernoulli is. Unfortunately, while Johann is the more good-looking of his huge family of mathematicians, he’s not at all the most famous. That would have to be Daniel Bernoulli, the only quoted Bernoulli. With slightly less wonky eyes you might think he’s the more charming of the two. no.

Anyway, I want to pretend, every day, that Johann Bernoulli is whispering inspiration in my ear. With no quotes of his own to be found, I decided that I would put the word “Eureka!” beneath his photo. While I was trying to figure out what font was best,

I realized that Eureka is a fuck-all ugly word and I hate it. Someone suggested maybe I had bad memories of Eureka or that I resented the California town called Eureka (Eureka, CA also named itself “The Queen City of the Ultimate West” for fuck’s sake). It’s true that when I was ten or so, I did a school project where I had to somehow interpret the word “Eureka” and manifest it in Project-form. I covered used food containers with construction paper and invented “Eureka Supermarket” whose slogan was indeed something like “Eureka! So many bargains to discover!” … sigh. What an awful child I was. And I didn’t even hate Eureka yet.

Chris’s age 8 Eureka moment with a cartoon remake of The Wizard of Oz: