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Most of the time, Gintoki only had 300 yen in his pocket. So when a chance to become rich fell into his lap, little did he know that he’d end up paying out the ass for it.
Tired of Kagura’s sukonbu fish breath stinking up the place, Gintoki suggested the Yorozuya eat out. They visited a new Amanto restaurant in the Kabuki district. Like the protagonist of every high school anime, they sat in the back booth by the window. Out of habit, Gintoki scanned the area for any threats. Splatoon-like paint patterned the chairs and counter. A soft drink machine in the back had tubes that when squeezed, seemingly by magic, produced soft drinks, cups and all. Kids crackled like maniacs as they dumped cups on the floor. Gintoki didn’t know why the servers objected; the brightly colored slush matched the walls.
Chin propped up on a hand, he gazed out the window. In the background, Kagura and Shinpachi bickered over the menu. Gintoki smiled.
“How can you not know what you want to eat?” Kagura asked Shinpachi, who sat next to her. “I’m getting omurice.” For an Amanto restaurant, it was a relief they served recognizable things to humans.
“We have that at home,” said Shinpachi.
“Yeah, get something we can’t make easily, like the high-end sushi, at least.” Grimacing, Gintoki rubbed his stomach. The cramps were back. He had been having terrible stomach pain off and on throughout the afternoon. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think he was reliving the Gender Bender arc.
“I’m gunna eat what I want! Gin-chan’s paying.”
“Hey, hey, hey. I didn’t say I was paying, just that I had enough to eat out.”
After the server took their order, they waited for their food. Closing his eyes, Gintoki tried breathing through the pain. Shinpachi hummed an Otsu song, sounding like a squeaky hamster. Kagura elbowed him, and the bickering resumed.
“Yo! No one wants to hear your Theodore chipmunk impression.”
“I’m not that bad! And why Theodore? Wouldn’t Alvin make more sense? What did Theodore do to anyone?”
Groaning, Gintoki went, “All glass-wearing, cartoon characters are annoying, that’s what.”
“That’s Simon, not Theodore! And I take offense at that! They should be respected—” When Gintoki leaned over, holding his stomach, Shinpachi asked, “Hey, are you all right?”
“It’s… it’s my stomach. It’s hurting worse than the time I ate that dented, open can of beans Hasegawa gave me.”
“From MADAO? Tch, you deserved any food poisoning you got from that.” Sighing, Kagura picked her nose and looked out the window. “You just need to crap.”
“I haven’t gone today yet, but still…!” Gintoki sucked in a breath through his teeth. If the pain grew any worse, he’d get war flashbacks.
Gintoki stilled. Oh, crap, it’s coming! Eyes wide, he stood up. Where was the bathroom in this Splatoon restaurant?
Too late.
He ripped one out so loud, everyone in the restaurant turned to stare. Kagura’s and Shinpachi’s jaws dropped open. Not at the sound, but at the sight before them.
A spread of food lay on the table as robust as any smorgasbord. Gintoki had shit out a feast, replete with plates and chinaware. Sushi, miso soup, udon, onigiri—all from his ass.
“Wh-wh-what is this?!” went Shinpachi. “There’s even silverware!”
Eyes alight, Kagura gasped. She grabbed some chopsticks and started eating, no shits given. “Mmm! You’re right, Gin-chan. I should have had the sushi.”
Shinpachi gagged. “That’s from his ass!”
Exhaling in relief, Gintoki sat back against the booth. The blow out had left a giant hole in his pants, leaving his cheeks enjoying a breeze. Thankfully, his yukata kept him from exposing himself. Gintoki felt like he’d taken the most satisfying dumps in his life. “Man, I feel so much better now.”
“How did this happen? What did you do?” asked Shinpachi. “What did you eat to crap all of this?”
“I didn’t have anything diff—Oh wait.” Earlier today, he ran into Katsura in the dog park. Katsura was hiding in the bushes like a creep to watch the dogs. Gintoki dragged him to a nearby ramen stall. “Zura and I hit up a ramen stall for lunch, but there wasn’t anything off about it. In fact, it was really good.”
Frowning, Shinpachi held his chin and scanned the restaurant. “An Amanto-run stall, huh?”
Gintoki and Shinpachi watched a mother and daughter standing at the counter. A man with black eyes with yellow irises—an Amanto—held up a tube. He squeezed the suspiciously noodle-like tube and out popped a strawberry parfait, dish and all. The girl cheered.
Gintoki and Shinpachi froze. Gintoki’s stomach sank like a rock dropped into a lake.
“Did you see what I just saw,” asked Shinpachi in a low voice.
“Y-yeah…”
Kagura pointed. “It looks like a ramen noodle!”
Groaning, Gintoki dropped his head in his hands. This could not be happening to him. Finally a chance to enjoy himself and somehow he’d ingested something worse than when Sadaharu ate that sex doll.
Exhaling, Shinpachi scratched his head. “If you did accidentally eat it, and that is what’s going on here, I don’t see any tube among the food here. Should we go to a doctor to get it removed?”
“Hey, I told you I don’t like anal. I’m sure I’ll shit it out eventually.”
“O-okay… if you’re sure.”
“In the meantime, we feast! Here, Shinpachi, you got to try this.” Kagura pushed over a plate of tempura.
Shinpachi grimaced. “I pass.”
When the server arrived with their food, Gintoki waved her away. He had lost his appetite.
Over the next few days, Shinpachi held his breath expecting the worst every time Gintoki broke wind. Last time a popper shot a knife out that narrowly missed Shinpachi’s head. While Gintoki complained of stomachaches prior to expelling food, there hadn’t seemed to be any other adverse effects. And Kagura was all too happy eating the leftovers. The amount of dishes he produced though was so obscene, they started leaving them out in the street. MADAO had a built a fortress of porcelain to live in.
At Yorozuya, she sat before the TV, inhaling a plate of curry and watching the news.
Shinpachi eyed her—they were in a bright enough room at least, but she was sitting far too close to the TV to be healthy for her eyes—before sitting down on one of the couches, bento box in hand. This morning, Otae had offered to make him lunch, but any food prepared by her would arguably be worse than Gintoki’s edible refuse.
Hearing him open the bento’s lid, Kagura looked over her shoulder. She snorted. “Did you make that? Why aren’t you eating Gin-chan’s food? It’s so good, it’s addicting.”
Shinpachi’s eye twitched. That raised a line of thinking he didn’t want to contemplate. He absolutely refused to even try one bite. He’d rather eat Pandemonium-san. “I already told you I’m not having anything that comes out of anyone’s hole.” Shinpachi was terrified of the possibility of eating Gintoki’s ass hair.
“Whatever. If you wanna eat your inferior slop, fine. I’m gunna keep enjoying Gin-chan’s curry chunks—”
“This just in!” The TV exclaimed.
Asa Pucker stood before a counter in a restaurant. Behind her were two kitchens, one in red accents and the other blue. “Season 67 of Master Hell’s Kitchen Nightmare is to take place in Edo! I’m here with the series’ host, Gardan Remsey.”
A blond old man with more wrinkles than an English bulldog stood next to her. His white chef uniform looked immaculate. Remsey shouted, spittle flying every time he talked. “Hey, all you idiot sandwiches! Contestant registrations are ongoing right now. So all you donkeys better bloody well sign up!”
“This season’s winner will receive the largest cash prize in the history of the entire show!”
Shinpachi and Kagura blinked.
A door slid open behind them. Exhaling, Gintoki emerged from the bathroom, scratching the back of his head. Behind him, the bathroom was buried several feet high in food. A steak tumbled onto the floor with a wet splat.
Shinpachi and Kagura exchanged looks. Grinned.
Gintoki stood under the studio lights, shaking like a leaf. He really wished he hadn’t mistaken the milk of magnesia for skim milk earlier. He swore Kagura replaced the bottles on purpose, damn her. Each round of the show only required one dish, not a 17-course meal waterfalling out of his rear end. Grimacing, Gintoki squeezed his cheeks together like his life depended on it. Filming is almost done, hold it in…!
Muttering like a doddering old man, Remsey sampled the meat dish of a contestant at the table next to Gintoki. Eyes narrowing—which only wrinkled his face further—Remsey smacked his lips an unnecessary amount of times. “It’s good, but…”
“But?” Squeaked the contestant, a bland mousy-looking man.
“Where’s the lamb sauce?!” screamed Remsey, flipping the table. The poor chap cowered, tears running down his face.
Gintoki shuddered. For a man that only came up to Gintoki’s nipple, Remsey sure was intimidating.
After the director yelled cut, staff milled about, griping about the long hours. Gintoki stood in front of the counter and the red and blue kitchens. Across from the set, Remsey waved off the staff clamoring for his attention. Shinpachi waved at him from the live audience bleachers. Beside him, Kagura slept while sprawled out across multiple bleachers, snot bubble coming out her nose. After the first round, she passed out, saying the show was boring her to death. If she wanted to watch an old man scream and eat food, she would have stayed at home. Shinpachi left the bleachers to join Gintoki on set. “Congrats, Gin-san. Kagura keeps raving about how good your food is, but honestly I’m still surprised you’ve made it this far.”
Gintoki stared at the tempura before him. The aroma of deep-fried seafood wafted in the air, the battle glistening in the light. “That’s because people are obsessed with things that come out of their orifices. When you blow your nose, you look at your snot before throwing out the tissue. Same with cleaning out your ears. There’s satisfaction in popping a pimple and the pus coming out. When a baby is being potty trained, they look at their own poop.”
Gintoki had yet to eat his own food, but, filled with conviction, he grabbed the chopsticks.
“Do not use that as justification for eating your own sh—”
“Mmm. It is really good. Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re just as bad as me, making Remsey eat my crap, but then look down on me for doing it.”
Sighing, Shinpachi shook his head. “Guess you can’t have your own cake and eat it, too.”
Eyes wide, Gintoki stepped backwards, hand over his butt. “E-excuse me? You are not eating my cake.”
“What? No! It’s a saying—Ugh, never mind. Anyway, with that guy eliminated, you’re in the finals.”
“Yeah, I just have to go up against…”
Beside him, a woman with curves so large they should be illegal smiled and waved. Even her lipsticked lips were as puffy as marshmallows. She wore dark sunglasses and a sleek black kimono that shimmered like silk. “Asa Pucker” was written on her name tag.
Blushing, Gintoki gave a timid wave back. He stammered in a nasally, high-pitched voice. “G-g-good luck. May the best man win—Er, um, woman. I mean person.”
“Ah, thank you…”demurred Asa Pucker as she looked away, her long eyelashes reflecting the lights. “But since I’m not really a chef like you must be, I don’t know if I could beat someone as talented and strong as you. And please excuse my attire. My great-great grandmother passed away recently—”
“How was she still alive?!” cried Shinpachi.
“So I’m in mourning. To honor her memory, I entered Master Hell’s Kitchen Nightmare and have been using her recipes.” She gestured to the tea-smoked duck dish on the counter behind them. Just smelling the crispy meat made Gintoki want to lick the plate and Asa Pucker clean. Head bowed, she clasped her hands. “Now that she’s passed on, I can feel her beside me as I cook. I don’t care about winning or the cash prize.” Sniffing, Asa Pucker rubbed an eye behind her sunglasses. “The last thing I told her before she died was that I’d win it all. I’ll make that dream a reality…!”
Shinpachi sucked a breath between his teeth. “I… I feel bad for her.”
Gintoki stilled. “Uh oh.”
“What?”
Leaning over, Gintoki whispered in his ear. “Don’t you know how these things work, Patsuan? There’s nothing more dangerous than a contestant with a sob story. Don’t you watch Japan’s Got Talent?”
“Japan? What’s that? Do you mean Edo?”
Eyes narrowed, Gintoki studied her. “She’s going to win and take our prize money.”
“So what do we do? Do we come up with a sob story, too, or—”
“Um…” Face flushed, Asa Pucker turned and smiled through the tears. Seeing her, Gintoki felt his soul fly and take flight. “I was wondering… before the final round, would we be able to talk?”
Gintoki stiffened, heart racing “T-talk? With me?”
“Yes.” Glancing around, Asa Pucker frowned at the cameras and crew running about. “But somewhere backstage. Somewhere more… private.”
Gintoki sucked in a breath. His heart beat so rapidly, he felt faint. “I-I…!”
Shinpachi gripped his arm. “No, Gin-san! Stay strong! She’ll win it all, and there’s a limited edition autographed Otsu print I need to buy!”
Well, gee, what a great way to spend the prize money. Gintoki needed that money to pay for important things like lotto tickets and slots.
Giggling, Asa Pucker grabbed Gintoki’s other hand and tugged on it. She led him off set. In her hands, Gintoki’s resolve was as flimsy as putty. He didn’t care if he made an ass of himself, he’d bend over backwards for her.
While Asa Pucker may have been in the mood, Gintoki’s temperament was turning with every passing moment—his stomach churned and gurgled, begging to release its load of food. Gintoki could only ignore it so long before he had to run to the men’s room. Ideally a private room. The last time he did his business in a public bathroom, he got weird looks because the stall smelled like sour cream.
Asa Pucker led Gintoki to one of the small offices in the back. The director offices were more akin to cubicles than the traditional rooms with tatami flooring of Shinsengumi headquarters. A mess of car magazines mixed with movie scripts lay on the desk. Gintoki noted a framed photo of a gangly, acne-riddled middle-aged man—presumably the owner of this office—standing next to a woman too much of a bombshell to have been his real girlfriend; she had to have been ripped out of a magazine.
Letting go of his hand, Asa Pucker looked around. “This isn’t private enough.”
The office and many of the hallways on the way here had been deserted. Everyone was too absorbed with touching up Gardan Remsey’s makeup to relax back here. Gintoki frowned. “What’s more private than—”
Asa Pucker grabbed his hand and ducked into a closet, shutting the door behind them.
Gintoki seized up. Closet ka yoooo!
Alone? In the closet? With the beautiful Asa Pucker? Gintoki wasn’t sure his little heart could take it. His bowels definitely couldn’t. If he hadn’t had glutes of steel, some mayonnaise would have been running down his leg by now.
In the closet, the only light source was the thin beams from the cracks around the door frame. Given the darkness, Asa Pucker’s sunglasses looked even more out of place. Smiling, she leaned in close. She smelled like lilies. “You know, ever since my great-great-great grandmother passed, I’ve been ever so lonely…” She rubbed her thumb in circles across his palm.
Shuddering, Gintoki crossed his legs. His foot knocked into a bucket, the noise echoing in the cramped space. Ah, so this was the emotionally unstable heroine route. Gintoki could ride the high with her, but doing so would be of questionable morals. She approached me. And hey, wasn’t her grandmother only two “great’s” not three?
Gintoki said, “A-are you sure about this? You just mentioned your grandmother died. Do you need more of a break first? Like a potty break. J-just like five minutes max—”
Chuckling, Asa Pucker placed a hand on Gintoki’s chest. Her fingers played with his yukata’s edge. Her other hand trailed up the back of his leg. “Oh no, not at all. In fact, she always wanted me to find a husband and give her grandchildren…”
Eyes wide, Gintoki backed into the wall, bumping into a mop handle. “W-w-wait. I don’t know about that level of commitment.” Never in a million years did Gintoki imagine himself as a husband. “This is all so sudden. Like diarrhea. And actually speaking of, I need to—” Grimacing, Gintoki clenched his cheeks tighter. Oh, crap, the train was at the station. And the train was about to let loose its steam whistle.
Asa Pucker’s hand trailed up his leg to the waistband. Smiling as smoothly as silk, she drew closer, pressing herself against him. Head craned up, she breathed against his lips. “Really? Don’t you want to be my husband? Then every day you could enjoy my ass puck—”
Just as her lips was about to brush his, Asa Pucker slipped her hands down the pants waistband.
Gintoki gasped. He couldn’t describe how it felt—but intrinsically he knew something was missing.
His anus.
Cackling, Asa Pucker withdrew her hand and stepped back. “Well, that was far easier than anticipated. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize food made from my own kind’s nutritional synthesizer?”
Gintoki blinked. “Wh-what?”
Asa Pucker removed her sunglasses to reveal black eyes with yellow irises. From the sleeve of her black kimono, she pulled out a ramen-looking tube.
Gintoki went cold. Everything clicked into place—the sunglasses, the generic sob story, why she lured him here. She was merely an Amanto here to win the prize money using her own food creator device.
“It took me a while to discern where you kept your own synthesizer. At first, I theorized it to be tucked somewhere in the manifold crevices of your clothes. But while cooking, when you went to the back storage and ripped a fart so immense that every cupboard and silverware rattled, a fart that could have shaken Mount Fuji, I realized you must have ingested it.”
That was when Gintoki gave birth to a whole boar replete with an apple in its mouth. He was proud of that one.
Shaking her head, Asa Pucker snorted. “Nothing personal, but I need that prize money. With it, I can get surgery to remove my hemorrhoids.” She tsked. “Pain in my ass. I bleed enough down there already.”
Heart pounding, Gintoki groped his ass and held out a hand. “W-wait! Give me back my anus!” He could withstand having his nipple cut off and his balls flying about in the air, but losing an anus? Gintoki quite literally couldn’t live without it. Especially not while a food synthesizer inside him was producing enough food to feed everyone’s aunts, uncles, in-laws, grandparents, and cousins twice removed every hour. “I promise I won’t compete in the contest any more, just give it back! I need to take the biggest shit—”
Asa Pucker smiled as sweet as honey. “Sorry, husband dear, but I’m filing for divorce. Best of luck!”
“No, please! I’m begging you!”
Laughing, Asa Pucker left the closet and slammed the door shut, leaving him in the dark.
Gintoki still held out an outstretched hand. Forget about winning, without his anus, he’d implode.
When Gintoki stumbled out onto set, he nearly mistook the stage lights for the bright, white light at the end of the tunnel. It was only a matter of time before food and his guts would color the walls, and he’d meet his maker. Why, oh why, didn’t he follow Shinpachi’s advice and go see a doctor?
An unreasonably long table stood opposite to the counter and red and blue kitchens—the judging table. Staff members polished the cookware, double-checked camera angles, and adjusted the lighting. Everyone’s faces were devoid of joy like soulless ants tired of crawling through the dirt all day long.
Amidst the shouting and the smell of polish, Gintoki felt dizzy. He rested an arm on the counter, head spinning. When someone snapped at him for smudging the counter, Gintoki stepped down into the live audience section.
“Gin-san!” Shinpachi ran up and helped hold him up. “What’s wrong? You disappeared with Asa Pucker-san for so long. Where is she? Are you okay?”
“I… I lost it. She put me in a closet and stole it from me.”
Shinpachi went cold. “Wait, what? I thought it was consensual.”
“I did not consent to her putting her hand down there.”
Shinpachi blanched. “Um, that’s… Honestly, I didn’t know you had ‘it’ to lose. I mean, didn’t you already lose ‘it’? Although I guess I don’t really know…”
Gintoki rounded on him. “What are you talking about? I lost my asshole, asshole!”
“O-oh! Ohhh! Okay. Wait, don’t tell me she’s an Amanto with one of those ramen food tubes, is she?”
“She is.” Sucking in a breath, Gintoki flopped down on the lowest bleacher. Over the years of TV shows, the gray bleachers had more gum and graffiti than school desks. Thankfully, back here the lights weren’t as harsh.
Shinpachi’s face knotted with concern at Gintoki’s pale and sweaty face. “If your anus was really stolen, then what are we going to do? You can’t make any food for the final, and you’re going on air later today.” Shinpachi dropped his voice to a whisper. “Are you going to drop out?”
Gintoki closed his eyes. So much for his drinking and gambling spree. He should have known the universe was done with giving him any breaks.
“You aren’t gunna give up that easily.”
Gintoki stood and turned around. Before the stage stood two long sets of bleachers. Kagura stood a few rows above him, foot resting up on a bleacher. Behind her, several familiar faces stepped out of the shadows.
Otae clapped her hands. After the fake Asa Pucker’s duplicitous smile, even hers was a sight for sore eyes. “Kagura-chan told us you were joining a cooking contest, and we all wanted to see the diaster—I mean, to come support you. And now I hear you lost your anus?” Her smile dropped and her bangs cast her eyes in shadow. “I thought the six of us taught you a lesson about getting too close to women.”
Face twisting, Katsura clutched the front of his kimono. “If you lost your anus, how will dogs recognize you?”
Beneath a bleacher, Hasegawa’s unshaven, gaunt face poked out. Scrounging up some litter, he held up an aluminum soda can. Was he eating it like some goat? “Don’t worry, Sakata. There’s always mine.”
Sobbing, Kondo pressed his face into an arm. “What a tragedy…! To be robbed of the satisfaction of a great dump.”
Behind him, Sogo lifted a corner of eyemask and grinned. “Can’t wait to see what the autopsy report would read.”
Hijitaka tsked. “Sorry to hear about the loss of your anus. If only they could have taken away your shitty attitude, too.”
“Heh, not surprised,” laughed Kagura, hands on her hips. “You thought you were a wiseass but just showed everyone you’re just a dumbass. But don’t worry, Gin-chan, we’ll save your sorry ass!” Crossing her arms, Kagura jerked her head to the side. “Do any of you know good recipes that can get first place?”
A moment passed as everyone thought before voices overlapped each other. Katsura knew how Ikumatsu made her famous ramen. Otae exclaimed something about her favorite dish, but everyone ignored her. Kondo raised a hand and swore the jerky used on stakeouts was the best in Edo. After scraping off gum from a bleacher, Hasegawa held it up in offering. Hijikata produced a bottle of mayonnaise from his pocket. Sogo held Tabasco sauce in one hand while the other held a bowl of toothpicks.
Kagura hopped down the last few bleachers to beam up at Gintoki. “Don’t worry, Gin-chan! We’re all behind you!”
Eyes gleaming, Shinpachi held up a fist. “We still have some time before the final round. We can teach you everything we know about cooking them!”
Lips parted, Gintoki stared at everyone. For a moment, he forgot the pain spasming through his stomach. The background shouts of the staff faded away. He didn’t see the harsh studio lights—only his friends’ smiles. To be appreciated and supported—that was almost as valuable as the prize money itself. Almost.
Rising up to his full height, Gintoki cleaned out a nostril with a finger. He breathed in the smell of polish and metal and, underneath them, the aroma of crispy meat, the smell of victory.
“Let’s win this thing.”
In the last few minutes before the finals, Gintoki felt his stomach churning for a reason different from bloating—nerves. Gintoki stood behind the counter in the blue kitchen while the Asa Pucker-wannabe stood behind the red counter, all sniffles for the cameras watching. The perfect image of a mourning young woman. Watching her made him feel sick, so he listened to Shinpachi giving him pointers.
“And be mindful of the timing of it all. You’re actually cooking this round instead of using the ramen device. You got to balance the timing of the sides, the meat, and…”
Gintoki, having the attention span of a flea, eyed Gardan Remsey standing by the judge's table, a woman trying to touch up his makeup. Wrinkly face turning red, he barked orders and waved his hands about so much, Gintoki feared he’d have a stroke on the spot. “You know I’ve been wondering, Shinpachi? Is it really okay to have Gardan Remsey with all his swearing appear? For all its curses, Gintama has never had the f-word before.”
Shinpachi scoffed. “Of course not. Gintama is in Japanese and will never have a complete English dub.”
“Yeah, but the fic is in Eng—”
“Hey, you fuck face!” Shinpachi flinched. For such a petite old man, Remsey bellowed like a whale. “We’re about to go on air! Get off the set!”
“Best of luck, Gin-san. You got this.” After whispering his encouragement, Shinpachi slipped past two cameras and took his place beside Kagura in the bleachers. From just two, Gintoki’s supporters had grown until his friends had occupied a whole row. They clapped and nodded at him. Katsura held up one of Elizabeth’s signs and, instead of cheering him on, advertised Ikumatsu’s ramen shop.
Smirking, Gintoki shook his head. I never expected this future when fighting in the Joui War, but I guess it’s not that bad. He looked at Asa Pucker, gaze steel. She simply smiled back. Especially when I take it all.
The director called, “Lights, camera, action!” For the millionth time, Gardan Remsey explained to the audience the rules and stakes of the competition before dismissing Gintoki and Asa Pucker to cook. Having lived on his own for much of his life, Gintoki wasn’t a stranger to cooking, but he was a far cry from being a chef. Stomach roiling, Gintoki muttered the recipe’s steps to himself over and over. Between the heat, studio lights, and the screaming from the audience, Gintoki felt the cook-off pass by in a haze.
Sweating sliding down his face, Gintoki stood at attention behind his dish: curry ramen. Going for anything more technical would have ended in disaster. Besides, this felt right; ramen was the dish to start this whole mess, after all, and curry, a comfort food. He packed the broth with seasoning. He made sure to nail the rice texture, not too soft and mushy, but crunchy to match the panko-breaded chicken cutlet. Undoubtedly, it was a humble dish. But it had all the makings to ratatouille the judge.
Remsey had a taste of Asa Pucker’s beef wellington and gave it a few guarded compliments, before turning to Gintoki. Humming, Remsey narrowed his eyes at the dish, making his forehead folds roll up even more. He sampled the ramen and some of the curry.
Gintoki sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils, bracing himself. This is for all the marbles. The mortgage, the alcohol, the lotto jackpot, the vacation. Everything.
Eyes closed, Gardan Remsey smacked his lips a few times.
Gintoki clasped his shaking hands behind his back. Quieting, the audience leaned forward.
Remsey kept smacking his lips.
Gintoki tensed, squeezing his glutes.
Remsey paused. Opened his mouth. Then he returned to smacking his lips.
Come on, old man! What do you think of it?
Remsey sensuously licked his papery, thin lips counterclockwise, from the right corner across his upper lip to around his bottom lip.
“For the love of God!” cried Gintoki.
“This pile of shit is garbage compared to all the earlier rounds. Fuckin’ muppet donkey wasting my time. Asa Pucker is the winner!”
The audience erupted into cheers. Gold confetti fell from the sky like a Got Talent show. Dabbing an eye behind her sunglasses with a handkerchief, Asa Pucker waved to the crowd. “My late husband, I mean great-great grandmother would be so proud. Thank you all.”
From the front bleacher, Shinpachi and the others booed so loud, it drowned out the applause. They hurled cans and trash at Gintoki.
Otae yelled, “I could have done better!”
“How dare you make a mockery of Ikumatsu’s cooking?”
Shinpachi threw down his fists. “Now I can’t get Otsu’s autographed print!”
“Yeah, what about my sukonbu?” asked Kagura, hurling a can so hard it ricocheted off the stage floor and broke a studio light.
Gintoki flinched at the flying cans. He couldn’t care less about the rest of them, but Shinpachi and Kagura? Judases. Is that all they cared about the whole time? Wait, and speaking of holes…
“What about getting my anus back?!?!”