I’ve never been in much doubt about why I cannot talk to women. It’s not difficult to tell either – even if I can get any of the words out, I usually blow things almost immediately by looking down their top in the first five seconds. I’ll give away an open secret among men here, for women to observe – when a man looks down your top, they’ll quickly avert their gaze to the left and then cock their head in that direction. But there’s nothing wrong with a look, right? It’s only when we ask to weigh your breasts or try to bet you a fiver that you can’t touch your elbows behind your back when you have to be worried.
In the first instance, I have no sisters at home. In a strange sort of way, I was always a bit disappointed with that, I’d have liked a sister. I’d probably only end up eating my words though, by all accounts there is no greater wind-up merchant in the world than a sister. That’s just genetics and chance though – the second thing that threatened (but in no way put paid to) my status as a ladies man was that I only ever went to boys schools. Our schools were still under the old catholic stranglehold back then. I only darken the door of God’s house these days for funerals, because there ain’t many weddings going on, I can tell you that. But back then, I was in there singing and looking around for wehn to kneel, stand or give money more times than there were apostles. Since I wasn’t one of the unlucky ones, I wasn’t an altar boy, so the only bad treatment the church gave me was the bland communion bread – which didn’t taste a bit like ice cream, no matter how many times Dean Anderson tried to convince me it did. The girls in the convent school up the road, i believe, had to see some grisly abortion images courtesy of that most evil of all lifeforms, nuns, and when the inevitable few teen pregnancies occurred, well, forget about excommunication, they simply became unpersons. That was when the church had significant power in ireland, enough clout to vehemently oppose and keep down, in no particular order – contraception, divorce, gay marriage, abortion. That gave them a right few nails in their coffin, which wasn’t enough to keep Christ down, but that’s by the by. All I knew is that spending all of your adolescent years and even prepubescent years surrounded by hundreds of other boys was no fun, even if it led to a severe overrating of the few young female teachers there were- now you can’t move for the dolly birds. Anytime a girl ever did crop up in the school, often begrudgingly and on some sort of not very sexy extra curricular activity. Those were my days in schools, and if not for masturbation, I’d have had to go off and attack animals or something as an outlet instead.
What kind of school life is that? The best days of your life, psshaw. Maybe in Japan they are, where predictably the uniforms are fetishied worldwide, and school is great because once it’s over, an awful working life awaits. For all we know, we have the most accurate Japanese school simulator in the world in the completely off the wall Persona 5 for PS4.
There are some games that i feel barely qualified to talk about, and persona 5 is one of them. Have you ever dealt with a game, or a movie or a car or a pair of shoes, that were so cool and slick that you didn’t really know where to begin? Like grandpa simpson, you suddenly weren’t with it. But then a game like persona 5 is very heavily anime, so how can it be cool? Cool anime is a contradiction in terms.