Everyone has an arch enemy, but until now, you never knew who your enemy was. That all changed one grueling night when, while on vacation, your evening was ruined by your enemy. What’s more peculiar is that your enemy is a famous celebrity! Write about your evening, who your famous arch enemy is and what you did to redeem the night.
* * *
I was as surprised as anyone when Gojo Morisato invited us all to spend a week on his private island. He said he wanted to thank us for the American hospitality we’d shown him and his family back in sixth grade. He even made a special point of inviting me, which was weird because we’d never really gotten along and I’d made a point of tormenting the little nip whenever I could.
That was 30 years ago and he’d moved back to Japan and become a big movie star of some sort there. He was world famous in Japan, ha ha. So me and about a dozen guys took him up on his offer. I could forgive him for being a geek if he was willing to let bygones be bygones.
From Tokyo Airport we were taken by limo to the private yacht that would get us to the island. The girls on the yacht were really nice for Japs; they look kind of like Hawaiians but smiled more. They gave us all the socky we could drink. Socky’s like Japanese whisky, only not as good as Johnnie Walker. We were all pretty hammered by the time we got to the island; everyone spent most of that day sleeping it off.
I woke up in the late afternoon and took a look around. The island was big and mountainous and covered in forest, though not good mountains like back home. The forest wasn’t very tropical, not like in Florida, but the sun was warm and bright.
The buildings were a bit of an eyesore, but at least they weren’t paper. Everything looked like it had been built by the army back in the 40’s. By Americans. We know how to build things that last. They were neat and clean, not at all run down, but not exactly five star, if you get my drift.
I was the one that found Gojo’s note.
“My American friends. I wanted to repay you properly for my treatment in America. I will arrive at sunset. The bar is stocked and there are many fine foods for you to gorge yourselves on. Please have fun, Morisato Gojo.”
Nobody turns down free food, even that weird Japanese stuff. We had a big-ass fish barbecue, though I woulda killed for a hamburger, and I had a good buzz going by sundown. About that time there was a bunch of small earthquakes, getting bigger. Not like California. Then Gojo showed up.
Gojo had changed. He was like 300 feet tall and covered in green scales. He moved like a guy in an oversized rubber suit, with a huge tail and glowing scale-things running down his back. He had a roar like a cross between a train whistle and an elephant. We only really knew it was him by what he said after he stomped one of the guest houses flat.
“Gojo is short for Gojira.”
I didn’t even get an autograph. Stupid foreign celebrities.