My name is Sakura. I’m from Japan and I’m a tree. Yep. A TREE.
I’m sitting here in DC with my family and friends. Don’t bother saying hi. There are over 6000 of us and I haven’t got all day.
My family and I immigrated into the US in 1912. The government in my country decided we’d look really cool as public space ornaments, so they shipped us off to the US of A as a gift. Like any good immigrant group, we spread wide and far as soon as we disembarked. Most of us stayed here in DC though (we like the view of what goes on inside that white-colored house over there). So we established our roots right here and spawned a lot of American-born kids. You should see the way we’re treated here. We’re friggin’ celebrities, man!
Every year we have a family reunion where we put on our best suits and dresses and gather for almost a week. That’s when the fun begins! People around here have certainly seen flowers at some point in their lives, I’m sure. But when all of us dress up at the same time, they just go wild! And I’m like “Yo, I’ve been right here all year long, guys! And you notice me only when I’m wearing a bunch of pretty flowers?”
You should see them go crazy over their weather forecasts and weekend schedules. Something they call the Cherry Blossom Festival. They close traffic. They walk miles on foot (an effort which is bottom-most on their list of ‘things to do when all cars are extinct’). They bring out all the kids, cameras and dogs. I have no choice but to admit we guys look pretty dashing when we gather to celebrate in the beginning of the spring season. It’s not like we can help it, okay? I’m sure even those Hollywoodies on the other side of the land sometimes wish there would be no camera-clickers around. But hey, I don’t fail to count my blessings: I have to put up with this only once a year unlike those poor bozos.
I really hated it when some random chick climbed on to my brother’s back and got her picture taken. A distant cousin of mine tried to do that to a human once and they called it some horror movie. Evil’s Death or something; I really don’t remember the na… WHOA!!
What in the name of the Emperor was that? Another freak just grabbed one of my shoulders and shook it till my sleeve fell off! That was supposed to be a good backdrop for her photograph? My disintegrating clothes? I thought you guys celebrated the full-bloom of these flowers, you psycho! Try doing that at the Oscars or something. Go grab Will Smith’s neck, rip his shirt to shreds, stand in front of him and grin stupidly at the camera. Let’s see you get away with that! Show some respect, child; some of us were born before your great-grandfather fled his country and came here. Now run along and lose yourself in the crowd before I enact a sequel to my cousin’s movie.
Speaking of crowds, I usually don’t see so many folks in one place in this country. But this is one of those rare occasions when everyone comes out into the open. My neighbor asked me, “Where the hell do they all hide all year long, dude?” That’s not even the funniest part. I claim not to be elitist so I’ll try not to ridicule the wannabe Picassos and Rembrandts who hire us as subjects for their ‘masterpieces’ (pretend I didn’t add the quotes). We do it for free though (See? I’m NOT an elitist). But you should see this one clown who actually painted my clothes green.
And that’s not the funniest part either. Another clown was visibly impressed by this guy and lingered around, striking up a conversation.
Clown 2: “Nice work, man. Looks really good”
Clown 1: (doesn’t even look up) “Thanks a lot”
Clown 2: “So you’re gonna sell this one?”
Clown 1: “Yes” (still doesn’t take his eyes off the canvas. Atleast pretend to look at ME, you DOLT! I’M YOUR SUBJECT!!)
Clown 2: “How much are you willing to sell this one for?”
Clown 1: “A hundred dollars” (Yeah, right! Slice off your ear and then we’ll talk)
If you’re still wondering, that was the funniest part. And before you leave to get a second opinion on your sense of humor, check me out here. Sayonara!