The Last Samurai
I am a Samurai.
I hate Tom Cruise.
For those of you who don’t know, in 2003 Tom Cruise starred in a film called ‘The Last Samurai’. In the film, Tom Cruise, one of the whitest men on the planet, plays an American who, in the late 19th century, helps and learns the way of Japan’s samurai class of soldier. At the time it was critically well received, although in the years since it has been criticised as a white saviour narrative.
They have a point.
But I hate Tom Cruise for a different reason.
Because I am the real last Samurai.
I feel like not a lot of you believe me.
I will repeat what I said.
My name is Dave. I am from Tiverton, Devon. And I am the real last Samurai.
Some of you might look at me and go “But you don’t look like the samurai type” and to that I say, “That’s what I used to think too.”
But a few Christmases ago I got something in the post. The results of a 23 and Me I’d been given for my 17th Birthday (my birthday is a month before Christmas) and on it was my results.
99% Caucasian.
I’d been to see Scouting for Girls in concert six times. So far so expected.
But the 1%.
I was 1% Japanese.
That blew me away.
I had no idea. Here was a part of my heritage I knew nothing about. I’d never been, I didn’t speak the language, I’d eaten sushi once (from Boots) and I’d done my driving test in a Toyota Corolla but that was it.
I needed to find out more.
There was a contact number on the results and as I heard the phone ring at the other end my mind raced as to what I would discover. 1% Japanese. Could I be the descendant of an emperor, or a ninja or… dare I dream…
“Hello. 23 and me. We are not legally liable for discovery of infidelity. ” The voice at the other end of the line said.
“It’s me.” I said.
“Who?”
“You just sent me my DNA results.”
“We send a lot of people their DNA results.”
“I’m your Japanese customer.”
“That doesn’t narrow it down. Do you have a reference number?”
I read him the reference number to him clearly and confidently. I had always liked maths — with another start - I realised this must be another sign! My heritage had been staring me in the face all this time and I had been too blind to notice.
“Okay, I’ve got your file. Do you want your semen back? You really didn’t have to send that.”
They’d only wanted an oral swab but I figured it couldn’t hurt to send them a bit extra to be super accurate.
I told him no and instead asked him whether there were any more details about my Japanese heritage. Whether I had any family I could track down.
‘‘I really don’t know man. This isn’t ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ we don’t really do that.’’
‘‘But I need to know! This has been a big day for me - I’ve discovered I’m an ethnic minority! This is life-changing! The way people have treated me all my life, it all makes sense! The people who called me a nerd? The nerds who called me gay? The gays who beat me up after school because they said that I weirded people out? It all makes sense! They were racist all along! Horrible horrible racists! I need to find out more and you must know from my swabs - I sent an anal one too.’’
‘‘Is that what that was?!’’
“Obviously.”
“I don’t think that even works for DNA.”
“Oh, I made sure it would.”
“Look Mr Woodman, I can’t give you any more detail. I’m not actually allowed to tell you…”
“But you have to. I need to know what my ancestors were in Japan. I might have family still there. I could be…. A samurai…”
There was a long pause from the man on the other end of the phone.
“Sure.” He said.
Well. That changed everything.
Notice how he used the word “Sure.” Not “Maybe.” Not “Perhaps.”
“Sure.” As in 100%. As in certainty. As in the deodorant.
The man had confirmed it. I was a samurai. The Last Samurai.
I commenced my training immediately.
That was ten years ago now. I am 27 now (maths). 10 years of hard work and discipline learning the way of the warrior. I took long trips into the wilderness (North Devon). I made my own armour and weapons. I trained for hours to become the honourable samurai my ancestors would be proud of. I’ve done my best, but I sometimes I don’t know if I’ve achieved my aim. But I suppose I have never been defeated. I’ve not had to commit hari-kiri (that’s suicide where you fall on your sword) so I guess I’ve been kind of successful.
It’s hard to be a samurai when you’re on your own without the Imperial emperor to back you up. My blade is made from borrowed scrap metal, my armour from old tackle bags the rugby club were about to throw out. My helmet is a paint tin. I train by slicing brambles on the moors but they are feeble opponents and it is hard to be honourable when you smell like old sweat, mud and paint.
It is also hard to practice martial arts against yourself. You usually know your own moves and are able to counter. Yet, if you do not anticipate yourself you can still cause some quite severe injuries. I have given myself 12 black eyes from punching myself in the face. People look at them, concerned, and I say ‘Should have seen the other guy.’
Little do they know.
They’re looking at him.
Many in town mocked me, at first. When they saw me in the street people I once knew in school would shout at me.
“Oh look it’s Avatar the No Haired Bender.” (I’ve inherited alopecia from the “colonial” side of the family).
But I never respond. I knew I must ignore them. It wasn’t the way of the samurai to involve yourself with weaker men. I also didn’t understand it until 7 years later when I saw a TV show with a similar name.
“Oh I get it now,” I said.
There were also few military matters for me to offer my services. Samurai exist to serve their master or ‘shogun’ to whom they demonstrate their unfailing loyalty. I have a shogun, but not necessarily one like my ancestors would have. At the time I became a samurai my shogun was David Cameron. But when I went to visit his palace to offer my services, I was turned away by his own private soldiers. Not letting me even speak to Deputy Shogun George Osbourne. I later found out he already had a group of samurai willing to die for him called the “Liberal Democrats”.
Still, I was honour bound to serve the shogun. I discovered a local militia loyal to Shogun Cameron who called themselves the Territorial Army — but there was a clash in culture. I had a strict moral code that required me to commit my life to training, studying and service without hesitation every hour of every day. They had an equally strict code that meant they only did one day a week and an annual skiing holiday.
My style of dress and fighting did not fit in with the rest of the regiment either. After an argument where I proposed ritual suicide if we were defeated in the “paintballing” war against the Air Cadet Empire. It was explained to me I would need to find another way to continue on the way of the warrior. I was honourably discharged. By that, I mean I was deliberately left behind at Skirmish Paintball Exeter.
I continued my training alone.
I would travel to London to offer my services to every subsequent new shogun (There have been quite a few recently) but not one of them has said yes. Even long after the Liberal Democrats committed hara-kiri.
Now, as well as being the last samurai, I also work in Tiverton at the Entertainment Exchange. Most places I tried to apply to didn’t let me wear my uniform on the job. Even fewer allowed me to carry my sword. But amongst the staff at CEX, I am often the least unusually dressed there.
I enjoy the job and I get many compliments for how I look and my customer service. My duty as a warrior is to serve my master above all else and my master in CEX is a noble man called Alex. He told me to always help the customer in any way I can. So I do.
The only thing I refuse to do is sell any copies of “The Last Samurai” starring Tom Cruise. If you make me. I will have no choice but to commit hara-kiri on the shop floor. Luckily, no one has bought one in the entire time I have worked there and therefore I have been employee of the month 104 months in a row.
Yet it does not feel as though I am living the true way of the warrior. The amount of anime Alex recommends me is not helping. They are true heroes. They fight. They serve, They protect. They catch them all. Some of them also do weird sex stuff which I am less into but watch anyway.
I gradually began to focus less on my training last year. What was the point? I thought. I didn’t feel as if I was getting any better. My doctor had suggested that I stop punching myself in the face for my health, but the more I stopped the more I felt as though I was letting down my ancestors. The less motivated I felt. And the cycle would start again.
I was seriously considering stopping wearing my uniform and hanging up my sword. But I continued, I didn’t know what else to do. Being a samurai had kind of become my thing and it felt kind of embarrassing to stop. You know when in lockdown when everyone was like ‘here’s my food Instagram account’ and they upload like 4 pictures and then never post again? It was like that, but much more public.
I was always introduced as a samurai. At first, I corrected people if they got it wrong. They would say “Oh this is Dave. He’s a ninja.”
And I would say “Wrong! I am not a ninja. Ninjas are actually our sworn enemy. I am a samurai. The Last Samurai.” And they would say something like “Oh like Tom Cruise” and I would say “Not like Tom Cruise!”
If I was honest, I felt like my twenties had passed me by. None of my peers at school were samurai. Most of them had gone to university and worked in things like ‘marketing’ or ‘the city’. They only really had a passing interest in the way of the warrior, and even if they asked me questions about it, I could tell they thought it wasn’t as noble as I did.
This was until two weeks ago. I was in the stock room of the Entertainment Exchange when I heard a commotion from the shop floor. Our tills are on the left-hand side of the building and as I emerged from the back room I saw Alex standing behind the till, hands up, quivering like a little baby. There was a small man with a weapon on the other side of the counter - pointing it at Alex, a mask over his face, I don’t know how he had snuck in. But all my worst fears had come true.
A ninja.
He didn’t look like any ninja I had imagined. He was wearing a Nike tracksuit and a mask from the franchise Scream. His sword looked, unlike any other Ninja I had ever seen. It was like something you chop onions with. He didn’t appear to have any other weapons. Not even nunchucks, which I would definitely have if I was a ninja — because nunchucks are awesome.
I cleared my throat.
The ninja turned around and I adopted the fighting stance I had practised so many times before. Then I charged. The ninja’s eyes widened and he turned and dashed out of the shop before I could throw my first punch. I followed through anyway and hit myself in the face again.
Alex turned to me in relief. “Thank you,” he whispered.
It didn’t take long for the local paper to report on what happened. Alex had sent them the CCTV footage and they ran the headline “Local Samurai Saves Incel.” It quickly spread on social media and was picked up by the national press. I was contacted for interviews by every channel and paper in the country. I only ever gave them one quote. “I am the Last Samurai. I just did my duty.”
I was even contacted by the Shogun. My phone rang one day and when I answered Shogun Sunak himself was on the other line. I could barely string my words together and bowed, even though he wasn’t in the room.
“It is the greatest honour of my life to talk with you. Shogun Sunak.” I said.
“Well… I’m chuffed to meet you too! Ummm… Have you considered coming and defending our borders?”
I politely declined.
The only offer I said yes to was from the Mayor. Offering the status of official Samurai for Tiverton. Things were much better in my life then. A crowd-funder bought me the equipment I needed at last and I now had proper armour, helmet and sword. People gave me respect in the street at long last. They bowed and nodded when I walked past, and no longer shielded their children’s eyes. I commenced my training with renewed vigour. The council offered facilities and equipment to support my regimen and I could feel myself getting better, getting stronger.
Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling I still wasn’t doing enough. Like I was meant for something greater. I still felt like a fraud.
I said as much to Alex and he asked why it wasn’t enough to be where I am. “I don’t know much about being a samurai,’ he said “I only know what you’ve told me. But to be a samurai you must commit to the way of the warrior? Right? You must constantly strive to be the best you can possibly be - for you and those around you?”
I said that was right and he said. “Well, you sound like a great samurai to me.”
He was right.
He is wise for an incel.
I am a samurai.
I am the last samurai.
And I still hate Tom Cruise.
Cheers
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! I’d super appreciate it if you wanted to tell people about this newsletter in any way, by sharing it on social media or telling friends in person (I think that would be coolest!). Subscribe if you haven’t already too. I’ve got no idea how you market a newsletter if I’m honest but anything you fancy doing I’d be incredibly appreciative.
This Week:
I know it’s only been a day since the launch of the newsletter and I’ve just told you about it but mine and Ted’s panel show is at 2Northdown late night Saturday. Come along to that if you fancy. Also, I’m hosting a gig for my flatmate Sophie. She’s running the London Marathon for the MS Society and we’re putting on a comedy night at the Sun in Clapham to raise some funds. I’m hosting a great bill of Jamie D’Souza, Freya Mallard, Kathryn Higgins, Andrew White and Freya McGhee (and maybe more!) so come along to that for a great night/cause! Also, I’m at the People’s Park Tavern on Tuesday, Laugh Train Home on Thursday and in Windsor on Sunday.
Panel Show Tickets Here —> https://www.tickettext.co.uk/lqj8otEOGD
MS Fundraiser - https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/clapham-comedy-night-for-the-ms-society-tickets-573110096727?aff=ebdssbdestsearch
"Oh, I made sure it would." I've never had to wash my hands after reading a substack before.