My Coworkers

My coworkers are most unpleasant people to be around. One of them, a young American male, came toddling up to me one day with some KFC. He was foolish enough to offer me one of their alleged “chicken wings”. I immediately batted it away and told the office he liked to rape young girls, as the lust for KFC food and the lust for underage flesh have a direct (and rather startling) correlation. They fired and deported him later that day.

Sadly, I have not been as successful in eliminating the rest of my coworkers. Without them, I have no doubt this university could be a highly ranked, prestigious institution, one free of bourgeois influence.

A Day Out with My Girlfriend

I am currently in a relationship with a wonderful young lady. I can reveal to you, dear reader, that we met in a class that I taught, back when I was allowed to teach freshmen. She has classes during the week, so we see little of each other then, but on the weekends my time is her time.

I woke up this morning in the midst of several gruesome gas emissions. It seems the week’s worth of dining has finally decided to pine for release.

The light was already on in the bathroom, and when I emerged, my girlfriend confronted me about it.

“You left it on all night. Stupid!” she slapped me across the face. I knew I had done something wrong. She drew blood.

I got dressed and she looked over my clothes with a steady glare.

“Oh! You always wear the same pants!” She stomped the floor. “I hate these pants. Change them!”

She is always looking out for my best interests. Isn’t she great? So much better than any selfish Western woman, all of whom drain your bank account and drop you for the next dick.

Outside, I carried her over to the street and held her until a taxi arrived. I set her inside and as I climbed in, I received a slap on my shoulder.

“Not so hard!” She slapped me again, just to make sure I learned my lesson.

At the restaurant, I encountered a laowai. Following a fearsome staredown, I immediately went outside and urinated on the nearest tree. I gave him a sharp glare and sat back down and made sure during the course of our meal to continue tossing glares in his direction. My stare has intimidated many; I was a bodyguard in the UK, providing protection for everyone, even people I didn’t know. Truth be told, he looked like a Christian in his jeans, polo shirt, and well groomed appearance.

“Strange,” I said to my girlfriend. “Christians usually only spend time in Starbucks. Might they be spreading elsewhere?”

“Your food’s getting cold. Shut up and eat!” She kicked me in the shin.

On my fifth bowl of rice, the Christian left, no doubt to piddle little girls who would let him touch them in exchange for pass to Heaven.

“Someone really ought to report him,” I declared.

Christians in China. I sighed. How I lament the failure of the Cultural Revolution. I have always admired Grandpa Mao, even before I chose to escape the drudgery of the West. So much better than that capitalist fraud Deng Xiaoping.

Oh Grandpa Mao! You left us far too soon!

The grand problem with laowai and Chinese women

There is one matter that truly irritates your truly about laowai… Well, to be frank, there are many matters that irritate yours truly about laowai, far too many to list in this blog I’m afraid. If you would like, send me an email and I will be happy to detail my list of grievances. Be warned: the truth may influence you to procure some dynamite and attack the nearest McDonald’s, KFC or other bastions of American Imperialism. While I do support such revolutionary measures, I cannot be held responsible for them.

To return to my point, I find dear reader that the one matter that truly irritates yours truly about laowai is their delusional and quite frankly offensive belief that they understand China.

How can one who exists on the fringes of a society understand said society? You cannot be an expert on pigs without shoveling pig shit. You cannot be an expert on death without taking the occasional life (again, I do not condone such actions, but if you wish to become an expert on death, your nearest McDonald’s or KFC shall provide a multitude of suitable targets). It is lunacy to think otherwise.

Laowai are wai guo ren. Wai guo ren are outsiders. Outsiders are foreigners. You can see the logical progression for yourselves. Unless you’re American. Joshing of course. I like Americans, especially when they’re under a mound of dirt.

I spotted a laowai out at my favorite pub. I personally taught the owner English and now he allows me to drink for free. This is the kind of generosity you would never find in the West.

This laowai comes in and mumbles something to the bartender, some poor attempt at Chinese, who brings him a Jack and Coke. He’s drinking. I’m drinking. I see the way he nibbles his drink. I see his well pressed, well groomed appearance, and it’s apparent to me.

He’s a Christian.

I stay off in the shadows, less he see me and try to molest me. I watch him go up to a Chinese girl and issue something, some poor attempt at Chinese. I watch them for an hour talking to each other, her beautiful voice ringing, his doing poor attempts at Chinese and even poorer attempts at molestation, and I say, dear reader, he must have a rather deep bank account because she finally acquiesced to being molested and left the bar with him.

Watching this wanker walk off with this stunning girl has inspired me to tell you how I picked up two Chinese girls. Almost, if not for their innate shyness, no doubt intimidated by their first meeting with a foreign looking man.

There they are even now in the twilight hours. A pair. Holding hands. Long legs in which you would constrict every orifice. Drop dead gorgeous, absolutely stunningly beautiful. I had to have them, but how?

How, dear reader? Let me show you.

Having been in China several years, I knew what to say. I would show them that I was no mere culturally inept laowai, passing through and finding refuge in McDonald’s, KFC, and other such Imperialist dens.

“Wo…yao…fan,” I said. Slowly, just in case I got a tone wrong. You can never be too careful about that sort of thing. “Ni yao fan ma?”

I knew I was in like dear Flynn when they began pointing and laughing while whispering to each other. They called over other girls, spoke to them, and soon there was a large group of girls pointing at me and laughing.

It was nice. However, since panties were not falling, something was wrong. Hmmm. Perhaps they’d already eaten? Allright then.

Time for the direct approach. I am always quite direct with women. Do this. Clean that. Touch this. Very well, go get the bloody pump.

I pointed at her. At me. And in the direction of my apartment.

“You. I. In bed. Ma?”

Good choice with the “ma”. I always add a touch of Chinese, just in case they have any doubts as to how guanxi I am.

They looked to each other and walked off, throwing glances back and laughing still.

Aren’t Chinese girls just so shy? It’s lovely. Oh Grandpa Mao! Women do hold up half the sky.

They do indeed.

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