"Pineapple Rag"

“Hang in there, Slide.”

“You too, Richard.”

Slide got off the bus first, disappearing down Main Street, USA, into the rows and rows of endless suburbia, houses shaded white and beige and yellow and draped with an American flag on a pole by the porch, lawns upon lawns and sidewalks upon sidewalks, cars moving up and down the grid, little Slide assimilated in the yawning mass of upper middle class life. The bus let Dick off a few stops later, somewhere in the lower middle class tier, where the houses were just a bit more weathered.

“I’m home,” Dick called out, which was an anime reference, but also not quite, since even homo erectus prolly made some sort of guttural sound indicating the same thing when he returned to his little hut. 

“My little Dicky,” Mom greeted, bringing Dick in for a big mama bear hug, smooches on cheeks and all.

“C’mon, Ma, I’m in middle school now, kisses are seriously lame.”

“Hmph.” Mom crossed her arms. “Guess you don’t want any dinner, then.”

“H-Hold on a second…you’re not gonna DoorDash without taking my order, r-right?”

Mom laughed. She looked absurdly youthful, dark hair curling, dressed in a gray-and-scarlet Rutgers sweatshirt, and often got confused for being Dick’s older sister. As with any typical anime protagonist, Dick recognized none of these animesque conditions in his personal life, right down to Slide being a childhood friend and all that entailed.

After wrangling with Mom over the number of chalupas he could get from Taco Bell, he passed by Dad, sitting at the kitchen table. “Hey, Dad.”

Dad’s face emerged from behind today’s copy of The New York Times. Dad was still wearing his suit from work, not even loosening his tie, square serious glasses across his face, fedora across his head, corncob pipe jutting from his lantern-jawed face, yet his eyes subtly sparked with pride for his son.

“Hey, sport,” Dad said with a nod, before disappearing behind the Newspaper of Record once more.

Dick went upstairs, arriving in his room, closing the door behind him with a sigh of relief. His ceiling and walls were covered with a combination of decorations, most often for anime and the New York Jets, sometimes combined, ranging from Naruto scroll-style banners to My Government Death Squad Couldn’t Possibly Be This Cute figurines on his nightstand to a poster featuring the infamous Sam Darnold graphic where he struck a defiant pose next to a headline proclaiming he was out indefinitely with mononucleosis…oh, those wacky Jets…his battle station sat in a corner, hard drive filled with pirated visual novels, where Dick won much fame among various nukige heroines, while stacks and stacks of manga dominated his bookshelves, his anime DVDs and Blu-Rays part of a dying breed as physical disc production dried up globally due to supply chain issues and corporate cost-saving measures, and scattered among drawers and closers were art books, his favorite being the Higashikatsushika Haruki Hansei heroines in a variety of holiday outfits, most notably Christmas, though the Halloween costumes of the titular MGDCPBTC squadron weren’t far off either, along with CDs featuring characters singing their insert songs, bonus production material such as a storyboards and interviews with seiyuus and artists, Japanese gaming consoles of varying ages and retro-value hooked up with various Japanese wires to his Japanese television(s), screens and screens Lain-style, cheap dorm-room lights lining the tops of his wall enabling him to set the mood, American Walkman knock-offs known as iPods filled to the gills with OPs, EDs, J-Rocks, J-Pops, City Pops, Idols both 3D and 2D, VTubers glancing him at him from computer screen corners, and, of course, right above his bed, his Seinfeld x Evangelion poster bought from a Hells’ Kitchen thrift market during a day out in New York City with Slide and her father, her father, of course, only laughing at and understanding one side of the George-Rei pairing in the cockpit of Unit 00…

Dick sprawled on his back in bed, head hitting his KD-Kyrie-Harden Nets pillow case, and grinned.

“Fuck yeah. Anime time.”

But, just like in an anime, little sisters had to ruin everything.

Any exciting moment in any piece of Japanese-produced media caused Dick to punch the air hard enough to send shockwaves through the second floor of the Slaughter residence, especially affecting the room just down the hallway, where Mulva Slaughter gritted her teeth through the violent rocking. As usual, Dick’s outbursts got to be too much. How else was she supposed to complete her own version of The Winds of Winter if Dick kept interrupting her? GRRM couldn’t even write it, and he wasn’t regularly being distracted by Dick (probably)! She tried to just edit instead, focusing on the prologue where Ser Forley Prester escorts Jeyne Westerling to Casterly Rock, only to be ambushed by the Blackfish en route (iykyk), but Dick cackling to yet another conversation among yet another group of cute girls made steam come out of her ears, just like she was watching Season 8 all over again. Another thing that grinded Mulva’s gears is that Dick had no appreciation for the written word, having not yet quite reached the light novel stage of the anime-manga-light novel-web novel progression. Dick did try his hand at writing once, a fanfiction crossover between High School AU Attack on Titan and Lucky Star set during a class field trip to a seaside Mexican town involving wacky body-swapping shenanigans entitled Mikasa es Tsukasa; Mulva found it trite.

“Richard!” Mulva now barked, slamming open the door to his room.

Dick rolled his eyes. “Can you go be a woman somewhere else?”

Jet-black hair, short, sulky, Mulva yammed the door closed behind her and sat right on one of the many faces of the Sanchize adorning the blanket on Dick’s bed. “Not if you’re going to be mean like that. Hmph!”

“Right, right…” And then Dick lit up, since he was always trying to convert someone to the church of anime, and here he had a captive audience that seemed somewhat receptive in the past (“it’s not like I want to watch anime with you, Richard! It’s just that I have nothing else going on tonight.”)

“You wanna watch some anime, Sister Sledge?”

“You’re trying to get me to watch those Japanese cartoons again?”

Dick huffed. “It’s called anime, and it’s art.”

“Art, but they’re like…animated fourteen-year-olds? And besides, I wanna watch Sid & Syd.” This being the newest hit sensation from AmericaTeenV, an unashamed Disney Channel rip-off, though to its credit, it’s doing a lot better than that time Cartoon Network made that ill-fated attempt in the late Oughts to incorporate live-action into its line-up.

“That crap? It still uses a laugh track, for crying out loud.”

“I’m on my phone when I watch it, so it helps me know when to laugh?”

Dick and Mulva rolled their eyes in unison. But Mulva didn’t leave as Dick redid some of the wiring, getting one his televisions up and running, hooked up to his computer, which showed approximately fourteen tabs of sketchy Chinese streaming websites.

“Aren’t you scared of, yanno…” Mulva asked, “An APE raid or something?”

Dick shrugged. “How would they find out? I use a VPN. And besides, we Americans have the right to steal whatever intellectual property we want, otherwise Edison wouldn’t have given us electricity from Tesla. Or something like that.”

“Well, okay…” Mulva still looked reluctant. “You know I want to go work for AmericaTV in Los Angeles one day, Richard, and be a star. I’ve already sent in my application video for AmericaTeenV (“Hi, I’m Mulva Slaughter. This is Ginger Falcone breaking up with Deuce in Zeke and Luther Season 2, Episode 5: Old Nasty”). I don’t want any issues with the FCC affecting my application, yanno, Dalton Trumbo-style or nothing.”

“Relax, Sledge. APE has better things to do than come after anime streamers.”

“You’ll protect me…ah, what do they call older brothers in anime…Nissan Altima?”

“Don’t worry, imouto-san. Nii-chan will save you from the big bad government.”

Dick said it in such a lackadaisical, snideful, loving way that Mulva simply felt his words were unfair, the way it made the heat rise inside her.

“Oh, Nissan, you Rogue…”

Mulva could’ve gone back to her room, but she usually had ulterior motives when she made the trek to her brother’s room. For you see, Mulva made a big stink about watching anime and all, but she ended up sitting next to Dick on his bed anyways. Dick, as the classic protagonist, failed to notice the way her eyes then calculated attack patterns on the space between them, wondering how close she could position a thigh next to his, perhaps making them touch during an intense moment on the screen, and then leaving it there…

“If we’re gonna watch anime, can we at least watch My Government Death Squad Couldn’t Possibly Be This Cute?”

“That?” Dick scoffed. “I really liked the early seasons, but Kamome Jima has been milking the heck out of that. That studio is everything that’s wrong with anime nowadays. Too many projects, shoddy animation that they fix after the initial airings, or even on the blu-rays, which we can’t watch here, of course…no, we’re gonna watch a classic from Suisei Studio.”

“You talk like I’m supposed to recognize that name…?”

“In the late Nineties, they did Brilliant Battle Revelations.”

“...ditto?”

“Ugh, your lack of culture astounds me, Sledge. And for the record, your Sid & Syd are both fourteen as well. I’m sure the way they sexualize Syd is worse than any of the loli tentacle pornographic accusations that anime faces on a daily basis from those who simply don’t take the time to interact with it.”

Dick found himself being pushed into the corner of the bed by a disgusted Mulva. “As your animated middle schoolers would say, baka hentai and what-not.”

Mulva, a real life middle schooler, had gone scarlet, and may have left her hand on Dick’s shoulder a bit longer than necessary. Dick could only laugh, ignorant.

“Sorry, sorry. But anyway, we’ll have to binge BBR on a single night sometime. Today, I’m showing you Suisei’s latest anime - Higashikatsushika Haruki Hansei.”

“...uh-huh.”

The Slaughter siblings settled down. Television was, and continued to be, their main form of bonding, ever since Dick’s father married Mulva’s mother.

You read that right. The Slaughter siblings are (drum roll here)...not blood related!

But in any case - their sketchy pirate streaming service, after playing a few pornographic pop-up ads that make the Slaughter siblings sit in uncomfortable silence, finally settled in.

The very first scene opens up on the copy-pasted Japanese school design, the bell ringing for the last time that day. Sakura petals swirl around courtyards as middle schoolers in their gakurans and sailor fuku begin the post-bell migration, heading to shoe lockers, homeward bound, or assembling at their various clubs. A baseball club practices at-bats, the track team does warm-ups, the gardening club waters their flowers. The sun shifts a bit. The camera moves through a window, arriving on the smiling figure of a doe-eyed student wandering the halls with a carefree smile.

Hello, minna! My name is Miyoki Marika. I’m a second-year at Higashikatsushika High.

She arrives at the cooking club, which hands her a big ol’ pot of chili. Miyoki, hauling the heavy pot around the school, walks with big steps, legs spread with a wide base, little animated effects of sweat flying from her temples.

Isn’t life the greatest? Every day, I get to hang out after school with the members of the Self-Improvement Club!

Hauling the pot up the stairs is a particularly challenging task, but Miyoki’s face glows with determination.

We’re dedicated to helping others at the school and in town! There’s always challenges, but I know my friends have my back. When it comes to helping others, I always give it my best.

Miyoki uses her foot to open the sliding door to the Self-Improvement Club. The two members currently inside gaze up at her in surprise. But they’re also smiling, because Miyoki is sweet and caring - but unfortunately a bit of a klutz.

“Oh no!”

Miyoki trips on her non-existent shoe laces and sprawls on the floor, a tidal wave of chili pooling around the dropped pot.

One of the clubmates, diminutive and lithe, removes the spoon from her cake. “Five second rule!”

This is Natsugumo Natsumi. She’s very genki and sporty!

“Way to look at the positives, Nat-chan!”

“I’m smart, ain’t I? Ehehe~”

Miyoki quickly grabs the first spoon she can find on the table. She and Natsumi prepare to dive Scrooge McDuck-style into the chili, to make the most of their five seconds, but unfortunately, that spoon belonged to the other clubmate currently in the room. She grabs the two by the scruff of their necks mid-air with a tired frown.

This is Zuiho Hisa. She’s so responsible and mature.

“Aren’t you two middle schoolers?” Zuiho asks, as if this isn’t the first time. “Shouldn’t you be acting like proper ladies?”

“...sorry,” Miyoki answers, crestfallen.

Zuiho can never stay mad at Miyoki. “It’s okay. It’s just that we need to become proper members of society. Isn’t that the point of this club?”

[Isn’t the point of the club helping others or something?”]

[Good eye, Sledge. She has overbearing parents with lots of expectations. This conundrum is essential to her arc later on.]

“Ooh! Ooh!” Natsumi interrupts, waving her arm. “Are you saying we’re not gonna get boyfriends or something?”

“Nani? When did I say-”

“It’s not fair, Zuiho, how could we ever compete with you? All the love confessions you receive? You must’ve had so many boyfriends-”

Zuiho can always stay mad at Natsumi, and often does. She promptly proceeds to punt Natsumi out the window. The club is on the second floor.

“My love life isn’t up for discussion,” fumes Zuiho, face red. “Why did you carry up this pot yourself, Miyoki? You said you were bringing food from the Cooking Club to try, but I didn’t expect a whole pot of it.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise for my friends!”

Gazing at such sweetness, Zuiho can only sigh and smile. “C’mon, I’ll help you clean up.”

By the time they finish - or perhaps strategically timed to arrive when they finish - that’s when Natsumi returns, shaking the last of the twigs from the bush that broke her fall out of hair. “I’ve done a lot of reflection,” she supposes. “Miyoki, can you stand by the door?”

Zuiho raises an eyebrow, but the ever-trusting Miyoki says, “Hai!”

Natsumi backs out of the clubroom, closing the door, while Miyoki stands by on the other side. After a moment, Natsumi emerges back inside, “accidentally” colliding with Miyoki, who can only do a trademark Miyoki-eek as they go down in a tangle of legs, arms, and bodies. Natsumi lands atop Miyoki, both essentially horizontal, strands of Natsumi’s auburn hair trailing down, losing them in Miyoki’s blonde like flaming sunsets, their eyes gazing deeply into each other’s, lips perilously close…

“M-Miyoki?” Zuiho asks, wiping away her sudden nosebleed. “Are you okay?”

“I fell too,” Natsumi complains, breaking the illusion. She sits up straight. “Well, Miyoki, did you fall in love with me?”

“Eto…no?” And then in a small voice. “Can you please get off of me-”

“Mattaku.” Natsumi slumps. “I decided that I want to get a boyfriend. Crashing into a boy always seems to work, so I thought I’d practice here.”

“Love doesn’t work like that,” Zuiho says, scoffing.

“Oh yeah? I bet all you need to do is flash those Zuiho eyelashes of yours, and half the school would fall over for you.”

Zuiho’s eyelashes are currently narrowed as she hauls Natsumi off poor Miyoki, though to be fair, a gruff action like that would probably get half the school to fall over for her, too. Zuiho is tall, elegant, raven-haired, a Yamato Nadeshiko’s Yamato Nadeshiko.

“I want to fall on someone!” Miyoki proposes, standing back up.

“Not it!”

Zuiho sighs as the two other girls leave the clubroom, Natsumi coaching Miyoki on how best to fall. When she’s alone, Zuiho crosses her arms, rolls her eyes. “Seriously, what would this club do without me…to think I’m actually letting Miyoki fall on me.”

She shook her head. “It’s not like I want Miyoki Mariko to fall for me,” muttered she who notoriously wanted Miyoki Mariko to fall for her. “Ehehe…I guess I can indulge her just this once…maybe I’ll make her get me a juice from the vending machine after to make up for helping clean the spilled chili, just me and her…Zuiho Hisa, you’re so bad…”

And then the door opens and Zuiho allows herself to be collided into, her lips surreptitiously forming into a little kissy-face, any sort of lip-to-lip contact to be blamed on the nature of the meet cute, and chivalrous Zuiho takes the brunt of the fall on the linoleum, protecting her precious Miyoki. But when she opens her eyes-

“I’ve always wanted to fall on you, Zuiho-chan! Ehehe~”

The sight of Natsumi atop her sends steam coming out of Zuiho’s ears.

“Baka!” she screams, punching Natsumi through the ceiling, out through the roof, into the sky, where she disappears into a fading twinkle…

As the theme song plays, Dick laughed. “Oh, they’re a riot. And you haven’t even met the other two club members yet.”

Realizing he’d been talking to thin air-

“Sister Sledge? Mulva? You-hoo?”

When Dick stood up, only then did he realize he had fallen for a classic Little Sister prank, since Mulva had decided to enact the crash-into hello in real life. She had disappeared out the bedroom door, then charged right back into the room, pretending not to see Dick at first, but still moving at freight-train speed to ensure contact and prevent Dick’s escape, and she herself puckered up, ostensibly to plant a smooch on her dear brother’s cheek as all good little sisters do, but she had already calculated the trajectory needed to bring those lips down a bit further, risking the absolute territory that was Dick’s mouth.

Dick never realized this, however, because Mulva made a misstep and the two ended up smashing their knees into each other. They fell to the carpeted ground, letting out cries, holding their wounded knees.

“Sssh…aah.”

They held their wounded knees.

“Sssh…aah.”

They held their wounded knees.

“Sssh…aah.”

They held their wounded knees.

“Sssh…aah.”

They held their wounded knees.

“Sssh…aah.”

They held their wounded knees.

“Kids!” Mom called up. “Taco Bell is here, time to Live Más!”