Read Online Japanese Slang by Peter Constantine - Free Book Online
Authors: Peter Constantine
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wa boro mke da ze!
A little riffle here, a little dip thereâyou can make a killing!
â¢Â   Nanda omae! Semai sode ja dakko ni naranze!
â¢Â   C'mon man! That sleeve's too tight. How d'you expect to slip things up there?
â¢Â   Aitsu wa ate ni narankara, oshidori yaru no wa gomen da ze!
He's just totally unreliable, there's no way I'd partner up with him!
â¢Â   Ore wa matsu nuki ja shigoto wa shinyo! Baka yna yo!
I'd never work unless I had someone to pass the loot to! Don't talk shit!
The man in charge of the group is called by some kiku (criterion), by others less sophisticated, gyji (cow's ear). In the largest operations, he will sit in a high-rise office with a view, and marshal operatives by phone, beeper, or computer e-mail, but in smaller enterprises he will be out there, his hands slipping in and out of pockets. Whether working in absentia or on location, his vital function is to be the group's referee. He will call the players together, set the strategy, signal the start, and, when the game is over, flag the players off the field. To secure the safety of his operatives he employs lookouts to eye street entrances and exits for possible patrols. These are the katobu (mosquito is flying), tsuki (attached), torisu and sutori, both inverted versions of suri to (with the pickpocket). Groups that have Korean underworld connections call their lookouts by the ultra-secret Korean code names kunni and chiye. In the event of a botched job these lookouts double as lifesaving buffers and stumbling blocks. As the screaming victims run after the pickpockets the lookouts, masquerading as concerned bystanders or curious onlookers, can skitter into the way, blocking, tripping, or even tackling the victims if need be.
At the Station
Many talented pickpockets work in train stations. These are taxi-stand jostlers, ticket-line heisters, waiting-room prowlers, many brands of train-riding thief, and platform pros. All have their own federations, distinct working methods, and own special blend of station pickpocketese known as shaba ago (from teishaba, ârailroad depot,â and ago, âjawâ).
When a train pulls in everyone jumps to attention. The platform specialists are the first on the scene. They are the giri (âgrabbers,â from nigiru, âto grabâ), girijin (grab men), giriya (grab dealers), girisha (grab individuals), girishi (grab specialists), and girikonosha (grab-guy individuals). Some platform prowlers prefer the tough ethnic Korean word parami (wind). Like a strong gust, the reasoning goes, they sweep over platforms, taking with them wallets, bags, briefcases, and even pieces of luggage.
â¢Â   Dywake ka getsuywa giri gain da yo na.
For some reason the place is teeming with grabbers every Monday.
â¢Â   Kywa hoka no girijin wa doko ni itchimattan dai?
Where did all the grab men go today?
â¢Â   Densha ga okureteru kara parami no renchwa cha demo nomi ni itten ja nka.
The train's late, so I guess all the winds are off drinking tea.
The train doors open, and there is a stampede of passengers shuffling and jostling their way to theexits. The waiting criminals call this situation ori (from oriru, âto descendâ). In the five or ten minutes until the platform is empty again there is a stealing frenzy known as oritsukai (using the descent) and utsu (to hit). Each pro has his own methods: some go for simple pocketpicking, known as shakuru, others steal bags, bankakai (the backwards version of kabankai, âbag shoppingâ). Other platform specialists do hineri, butsu, and butsuri, snipping off golden chains and necklaces, and still others thread through the throng clutching what platform jargon calls geshihaku, a small dagger-like contraption. These thieves do oitore: walking next to a well dressed victim, they plunge the razor-sharp instrument into his fancy attache case, cut the side open,
A little riffle here, a little dip thereâyou can make a killing!
â¢Â   Nanda omae! Semai sode ja dakko ni naranze!
â¢Â   C'mon man! That sleeve's too tight. How d'you expect to slip things up there?
â¢Â   Aitsu wa ate ni narankara, oshidori yaru no wa gomen da ze!
He's just totally unreliable, there's no way I'd partner up with him!
â¢Â   Ore wa matsu nuki ja shigoto wa shinyo! Baka yna yo!
I'd never work unless I had someone to pass the loot to! Don't talk shit!
The man in charge of the group is called by some kiku (criterion), by others less sophisticated, gyji (cow's ear). In the largest operations, he will sit in a high-rise office with a view, and marshal operatives by phone, beeper, or computer e-mail, but in smaller enterprises he will be out there, his hands slipping in and out of pockets. Whether working in absentia or on location, his vital function is to be the group's referee. He will call the players together, set the strategy, signal the start, and, when the game is over, flag the players off the field. To secure the safety of his operatives he employs lookouts to eye street entrances and exits for possible patrols. These are the katobu (mosquito is flying), tsuki (attached), torisu and sutori, both inverted versions of suri to (with the pickpocket). Groups that have Korean underworld connections call their lookouts by the ultra-secret Korean code names kunni and chiye. In the event of a botched job these lookouts double as lifesaving buffers and stumbling blocks. As the screaming victims run after the pickpockets the lookouts, masquerading as concerned bystanders or curious onlookers, can skitter into the way, blocking, tripping, or even tackling the victims if need be.
At the Station
Many talented pickpockets work in train stations. These are taxi-stand jostlers, ticket-line heisters, waiting-room prowlers, many brands of train-riding thief, and platform pros. All have their own federations, distinct working methods, and own special blend of station pickpocketese known as shaba ago (from teishaba, ârailroad depot,â and ago, âjawâ).
When a train pulls in everyone jumps to attention. The platform specialists are the first on the scene. They are the giri (âgrabbers,â from nigiru, âto grabâ), girijin (grab men), giriya (grab dealers), girisha (grab individuals), girishi (grab specialists), and girikonosha (grab-guy individuals). Some platform prowlers prefer the tough ethnic Korean word parami (wind). Like a strong gust, the reasoning goes, they sweep over platforms, taking with them wallets, bags, briefcases, and even pieces of luggage.
â¢Â   Dywake ka getsuywa giri gain da yo na.
For some reason the place is teeming with grabbers every Monday.
â¢Â   Kywa hoka no girijin wa doko ni itchimattan dai?
Where did all the grab men go today?
â¢Â   Densha ga okureteru kara parami no renchwa cha demo nomi ni itten ja nka.
The train's late, so I guess all the winds are off drinking tea.
The train doors open, and there is a stampede of passengers shuffling and jostling their way to theexits. The waiting criminals call this situation ori (from oriru, âto descendâ). In the five or ten minutes until the platform is empty again there is a stealing frenzy known as oritsukai (using the descent) and utsu (to hit). Each pro has his own methods: some go for simple pocketpicking, known as shakuru, others steal bags, bankakai (the backwards version of kabankai, âbag shoppingâ). Other platform specialists do hineri, butsu, and butsuri, snipping off golden chains and necklaces, and still others thread through the throng clutching what platform jargon calls geshihaku, a small dagger-like contraption. These thieves do oitore: walking next to a well dressed victim, they plunge the razor-sharp instrument into his fancy attache case, cut the side open,
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