The Art of Zaratsu Polishing

I take a walk through the gentrified downtown area of my city twice weekly to nurture my relationship with sales staff at my Rolex watch AD, talk watches, and check on the status of my pending orders. On this particular day I was on my way to the AD with gifts in hand (a box of aged Arturo Fuente Opus X and a bottle of Glenlivet 25) when I encountered a curious invitation from a stranger.

A new business had recently opened in a storefront unit that had been vacant for years. I did not know what, exactly, they did there, as they appear to be the sort that plays such matters close to the vest. But on this day I learned that their business is that of pleasure of the flesh; i.e., whore-for-hire.

I was simultaneously disgusted and livid! We worked long and hard during the taming of this diversity-inflicted community to get all the undesirables out of here so that us civilized folks could lead a civilized life defined by proper rules and Judeo-Christian values. A swarthy little man was standing at the door telling passersby about their services. I was utterly and totally disgusted!

Well sir, I walked with great purpose toward this whore-mongering deviant with the intention of striking him down with my walking cane (for show, not necessity). Just as I raised my cane the sidewalk barker muttered something about “Zaratsu Polishing”. I stopped in my tracks, confused yet tantalized. I wondered how such an uncultured heathen could know ANYTHING about Zaratsu. I decided I must get to the bottom of this.

I walked up directly to the cretin and jabbed him repeatedly in his chest with my cane, punctuating each of my spoken words with a poke, saying “NOW LOOK HERE, GOOD MAN! YOU SHALL REVEAL TO ME INSTANTER ALL THAT YOU KNOW OF THE ART OF ZARATSU!!”

Of course, this pathetic street urchin knew nothing of Zaratsu. He said I would have to take it up with the Madam inside. I repeatedly struck the peasant with my cane about his head, causing him to fall into a puddle of dog piss tainted melting snow-slush on the sidewalk. I gave him a curt nod before entering the depraved establishment, hoping that he took the message that there is no place for him in a decent community.

I entered the wretched place and strode to a window in a wall that separated the antechamber from the inner sanctum. I rapped on the glass purposefully with my cane to garner the immediate attention I demanded. A seedy looking female character came to the window and asked what I wanted.

“NOW LOOK HERE, YOU POLLYWAGGLED SHREW!! I DEMAND TO KNOW THIS INSTANT WHAT IT IS THAT YOU CLAIM TO KNOW ABOUT ZARATSU!!” The skanky creature smiled and began to talk.

“Ah, yes! We are practitioners of the great and sacred art of Zaratsu! But we use it for other purposes. You may say, for dark purposes!”, she said as she began to let forth an evil cackling laugh. I raised my cane to strike her. She saw it coming and confessed.

“Cock Zaratsu. We polish your cock with the Zaratsu technique”, she said.

I thought I would hit the floor due to the disorientation caused by the spinning in my head. What I heard from that vile trollop is nothing short of pure blasphemy! An appropriate analogy, if such a thing can even be possible, would be suggesting the use of a crucifix for self pleasure. It is horrifyingly disgusting and morally indefensible.

I pulled my Derringer from my pocket so that I may do the Lord’s work and cleanse His Earth of this filth. But before I could fire upon the crusty tart she had turned on a television monitor that purported to show that of which she spoke, to wit: Zaratsu Cock Polishing.

The thud of my pistol hitting the wood floor finally startled me out of the preternatural spell cast upon me by this vile witch. I knew that I was now in Hell. I reasoned that when I crossed the threshold of this demonic abode I must have crossed through some sort of portal to this evil place. I knew that I must immediately retreat with great haste lest I be consumed by the devil himself!!!

Tears streamed down my face as I flew toward the door. I was quite surprised to find the door unlocked as I ripped it open and blasted out onto the cold streets again. I was completely out of breath and panting. I was weeping and shaking. I thought I may faint so I leaned against the wall for a few moments.

I felt a presence nearby. I looked up to see that wretched street barker standing before me with a wide grin on his face. Then he spoke. “Did ya get a taste of some of that ‘Zaratsu polishing’ in there, Guvna?” He then simulated fellatio with his right hand and mouth, laughed at me, and walked off.

I do not know what manner of hell that was, or what I may have done to bring it down on me. But I never walked that path again. I also never spoke the word “Zaratsu” again. I figured that even the utterance of that term may bring forth a demonic presence. I went home and resolved to never, ever, entertain the notion of owning a Japanese time device.

Let this tale be a warning to you, my friends. As temping as it is, the exotic and mysterious art of Zaratsu should forever remain hidden in the dark forests of the Land of the Rising Sun.