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About Saitama

But the stench—goddamn, it’d choke ya. Sweat, cheap perfume, regret—mixes like a bad stew. Made me angry, too—pimps lurkin’, takin’ cuts, actin’ big. Scum. I’d fantasize slittin’ their throats, servin’ ‘em up with a nice amarone. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—knows a meal when he sees one. One time, heard a story—Victorian brothel, London, right? Had a secret room for “special tastes.” Whips, chains, even a fuckin’ goat once! Goat! Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares—fits the vibe.

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Finally, I get in. The jellyfish are mesmerizing. I’m standing there, totally zoned out, when suddenly, this lady bumps into me. She’s like, “Watch where you’re going!” I’m like, “Lady, you ran into ME!” But whatever, I just roll my eyes and move on.

Rare oarfish, seen as harbingers of doom, snagged in Japan