If you are a fan of Barack Obama, then prepare to soil yourself with jealousy. And if you think that's not possible, then read on at your own risk (but know in the back of your mind that a raucous soiling is on its way).

Not two weeks ago, I took a trip to a magical land. It was a place of hope. A place of dreams. A place where sweetbreads and penny candy fell from the sky like a glorious rain. A place where cars ran on goodwill, and homes were heated by common decency. A place where midgets laughed at regular people. If you haven't already guessed, I was in a city called "Obama."

In the rare case that you couldn't give a shit less about Japanese geography, Obama is a city in Fukui prefecture, which is about halfway down Japan's main island on the west coast, latitudinally straight across from South Korea. Fukui also just so happens to neighbor my humble prefecture of Ishikawa.

I had known about the city for some months, but hadn't visited due to overwhelming poverty. It took a while, but as soon as I secured the funds, I made plans to go. Or rather, my girlfriend who's not completely illiterate made plans to go. Either way, my stupid ass was making it to the Promised Land. Needless to say, I was excited. The evening before the trip, I nearly soiled myself with anticipation, an uncontrollable physical reaction very similar to that of jealousy.

On the morning of our trip, not 20 steps out of the house, I thought it'd be a fantastic idea to fall into an open gutter on the side of the street, lacerate my shin, and bleed through my pants. I actually heard God shout, "Enjoy walking on that all day, asshole!" Well, I guess he does work in mysterious ways (see malaria and sudden infant death syndrome). Here's the damage:



And the culprit:



I mean, come on. Let's cover half of a 2-foot drop with a grate, but just let the other half go. What harm could come of that?

Though my spirits were admittedly dampened, I didn't have to wait long for my first taste of Obama. As we changed trains In Tsuruga, I caught sight of this, and nearly soiled myself with delight:



Hey! I'm "for Obama" too! Get it? Oh, how witty I must have felt!

Shortly before our stop, the train decided to magic 8-ball the general election:



Clearly, this place will be ripe with unintentional double entendre, I thought.

And at our destination:





Oh, but I wasn't the only dirty American to make the pilgrimage that day. These three ladies, from California, New Orleans, and Minnesota, sat on our very train. They too sought the enlightenment (and t-shirts) that only Obama, Fukui could offer:



On the platform we exchanged names and pleasantries and felt validated in the presence of one another's disquieting obsessions.

Once inside the station, we got our first glimpse of the myriad souvenirs available throughout the town:



This is a traditional Japanese sweet called "manju." The line at the top of the package reads, "Obama manju." The shorter line below, in an instance of Japanese portmanteau, reads, "Obaman." Inexplicably, Japanese people find this hilarious.

You'll also notice that the logo seems to capture the wrong side of Obama's head. Interestingly, when given the choice between a classic full face and the more rarely employed "back-of-the-head" shot, they went "back-of-the-head." This confused and worried me at first but someone eventually explained it. I'll get to it later.

I knew that I needed some information on Obama, but where to go? That's when I spotted this:



And inside, my appetite for t-shirts was whetted:



By way of my translator-girlfriend, I was able to learn more about the bustling metropolis of Obama. This is boring, but it satisfies the statistician in me. The city has a population of only 32,000, but about 200 tourists come each weekend. Around half of these tourists are foreigners, which is huge for a city that boasts a foreign population of, I'd guess, zero or less. Japan is, after all, only 0.6% non-Japanese, and most of those guys are living in bigger cities with job opportunities.

The woman at the tourist information desk gave us a map and highlighted the shops with the good overpriced crap we wanted. And away we went. We couldn't help but notice these banners lining the city's shopping street:



And these smaller signs were on nearly every business:





After the 3 minutes it took to walk the complete length of the shopping street, we stepped into a shop and stumbled upon the mother load:



The black robe-ish thing is called a "yukata." It's more-or-less Japan's answer to the poncho. There are also some karate kid headbands in there, and a number of stickers.



Note the two white t-shirts, one displaying the front of Barack Obama's head (also called the "face") while the other favors the back of his head (also called "why the fuck isn't that a picture of his face?"). The shop staff filled us in on this. "Face" shirts are for members of the official "Obama for Obama" Barack Obama fan club. "Why the fuck isn't that a picture of his face" shirts are for those that don't join the club. The difference? Well, "face" costs 1500 yen, or roughly $15. "Why the fuck isn't that a picture of his face" goes for 2000. I joined. My girlfriend joined. To cover all the "face" shirts I bought, you might have joined to, if I could remember your address.

The Obama campaign also mails some promotional goods to these sorts of souvenir shops in Japan, including, but not limited to, this creepy Obama mask:



That mask frightened us to the point of soiling ourselves, so we fled the store in a big, shitty frenzy.

Not 20 yards (18.288 meters) down the street, we found another Obama goods shop, nearly identical to the first. They did have slightly more selection:







They even had this CD:



For a direct translation, see the other side:



In case you're wondering, Barack Obama knows about this city and their efforts to capitalize on their fortuitous connection to him. It's rumored that he'll visit the city if elected president, and I don't see why he wouldn't. If there were a Whittinghill, Japan, I would move there and become their king. Barack Obama actually wrote a heartwarming letter to the mayor of Obama, Fukui back in February, and this shop had a copy of it on the wall:



The closing reads "anata-no tomodachi," which translates very cleanly to "your friend":



And in true Japanese form, what's a political display without a little Hello Kitty juxtaposition?



As we were leaving the second shop, we almost missed this beautiful creation:



It looks even more fantastic in real life. It must have been fashioned by one of the most talented retarded kids to ever fail an Obama High School special needs art class. It's probably about 90% the size of a real human, which is just creepy enough to be off-putting. Also, notice that Obama's controversial American flag lapel pin has morphed into an extra gold button, but to make up for it, he had an American flag embroidered on his tie. All in all, though, a worthy addition to the city's Obama movement.

It was also good to see that if McCain wins, Obama still has the family business to fall back on:



There's another picture I wanted to include from the Obama, Fukui trip, but it didn't really fit anywhere. I'll tag it onto the end here, somewhat awkwardly.

As we walked along the Sea of Japan, looking for a restaurant, I noticed this:



It's the rare Japanese glove bush, in full bloom. We were lucky to have visited in mid-June.

So, all told, I walked away with 4 "face" shirts, 5 headbands, 4 large stickers, about 20 small ones, 4 sets of Obama chopsticks, and 2 boxes of Obaman, totaling around $150. They aren't all for me, of course, but instead presents for my loved ones. If you don't receive any of it, then I must not care about you very much. I'm sorry if you've overestimated our friendship, but I think you've always had a habit of doing that. I'm also sorry that you had to hear about it like this, but you'll bounce back. There are other friends out there. Maybe none of them will seem as perfect for you as I am, but time will heal these wounds. Try to move on and just accept that it's over. Also, you're kind of a bitch sometimes.

Finally, these pictures sum up what can only be described as the jubilation at having visited Obama:





A jubilation that would lead me moments later to soil myself.