Wo Shi Laowai – Wo Pa Shui

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Eight Minutes

Posted by MyLaowai on Tuesday, December 1, 2015

From the Vault
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Eight Minutes
By ChouChou
(Or: China is a never-ending empty hole of nothingness and despairing misery.)

Kings and Emperors may build colossal monuments to themselves, and the poor may breed and spread their spawn in a vain hope to perpetuate their worthless genes, but ultimately all life derives from the sun. Glorious and magnificent, the sun treads the same slow path that it has carried out for millions of years, always burning bright and providing warmth and light for the billions of species that depend on it.

Yet, the only truth in this finite universe is entropy, and even the shining gods of the celestial heavens must one day burn out and extinguish. Ozymandias-like, all things must return to the vacuum from whence they came. When the great day finally comes, our Mother Sun will consume itself and leave nothing but a cold and empty void. Eight minutes of sunlight will be all the poor wretches of Earth have left once the sun disappears.

Eight minutes. The last dying rays of the sun will take eight minutes to race across the emptiness of space and reach our tiny insignificant home. Though the ignorant masses trapped within the confines of their own environment will not realise it, the sun that nourishes them will already be dead, and the warmth and comfort they enjoy for the moment will swiftly be replaced with an eternal and deathly darkness.

Eight minutes. Just as before, the gullible and the hopeful will pile away their savings into imaginary stock markets that cannot be seen or touched. The ancients prayed to the ephemeral gods of old, modern man prays to the equally ephemeral markets of now. They will cheat and lie and kill and steal, all for that extra ounce of gold that can be thrown into the stock market and hopefully multiplied into a fortune. They will dream of luxurious mansions and fast cars, each mansion and each car bigger and better than the one belonging to their neighbour whom they despise so very much. With each expected penny, the foolish and the boastful will thrust out their stomachs and proclaim their line successful for ten thousand generations. Yet, as they dance and sing amidst the bank queues and dream of perpetual profit, the darkness from the dead sun will be heading towards them with deadly certainty, destroying their naive delusions of grandeur forever. As the curtain falls, the poor will see their money become worthless first, but even the rich will find their fortunes useless when all surrounding life has died.

Eight minutes. The darkness will follow the light and will inevitably and eternally fall upon the Earth like a crushing blow. Unaware, and so blind to what is about to happen, the people below will boast and lie as they have always done before. In newspapers, journalists will talk of millennia old civilisation as if it was a never-ending concept that will expand beyond the stars. Using words which have been used countless times during the unoriginal history of man, they will hold up the supposed virtues of their hollow culture, oblivious to the fact that a few thousand years is nothing compared to the grandeur of infinity. On the Internet, the lonely and inexperienced will write out fantasies describing why certain groups of people are better than other groups of people, even though all of them are doomed to oblivion once the light ends. And in society, the greatest stage to which all humanity looks upon, great sporting events and performances will be held in futile defiance of fact. “Look at us!” The people will cry. “Look how wonderful we are! Look how strong and rich we have become!” Though the words will sound strong and confidant, they will be exposed as mere lies once the eight minutes have passed.

After eight minutes everything will come crashing down; finally and forever. But we will be blind to the fate approaching us, because we cannot see beyond the light we are already bathed in. As the eight minute deadline approaches, our brother planets of Mercury and Venus – symbols of Love and Communication – will have already been plunged into darkness and consumed by the void, even though some would argue that these two virtues ceased to exist a long time ago in certain areas of our own planet. And when the darkness falls, which it inevitably will, there will still be those who still seek to deny it. People will stand up and proclaim the blackness to be nothing but a temporary condition, or even a conspiracy created by bad elements in society or people from faraway countries. Some may even erect lights and lanterns in an effort to dispel the cold and dark from their homes, but eventually these too will fail as everything on the planet dies.

In some cultures, tomorrow literally means “a brighter day”. We assume that the light and warmth we enjoy now will always be delivered from that great fiery globe in the sky, that we as a race and the things we have created can only continue to grow in the endless brightness that we see all around. But one day, one inevitable and terrible day, the sun will stop shining, and we will only have eight minutes before everything we have created falls apart. The dark day is coming, and our bubbles will not protect us.

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Ni hao, this is a Chinese rip-off

Posted by MyLaowai on Sunday, November 1, 2015

From the Vault
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Ni hao, this is a Chinese rip-off.
By ChouChou

The following is a true story.

Friend Coffee Shop Manager lounges in his deep leather chair. Before him lie the disparate elements of his new promising Starbucks-style coffee shop: Atmospheric Just Like Seattle Coffee Shop Number 47. It is his job to combine them into a seamless whole. Stirring the crackling logs afire in the grate, he bends to his task.

The musical consultant, he notes, has excelled himself. Reflecting the quintessential Jazz/Blues style of the 1950’s so typical of this type of establishment, the soundtrack blends big band overtures with sultry Billie Holliday lyrics. Background samples intersperse each track, such as Sarah Vaughn jiving with the compere, or a nostalgic announcer introducing Frank Sinatra to complete the aural picture. Friend Coffee Shop Manager stirs his Kenyan coffee beans with a silver spoon and, smiling whimsically at the connection, turns his attention to the coffee mugs and assorted cutlery recently received from the utensils distributer. Quickly taking on an expert’s eye, he examines the samples. It is, of course, superlative. The classy pastel tones of the chosen coffee mugs contrast excitedly with the bright clutter of the quasi-beat generation style of the menu which recalls the work of Jack Kerouac. Skillful finishes to the chalk blackboard breathe life into an otherwise tired cliche; Friend Coffee Shop Manager is particularly impressed with the way a few simple touches imply both sophistication and a timeless elegance to the black and chalky background.

A muffled laugh distracts Friend Coffee Shop Manager’s attention. He glances through the Victorian service hatch of his open kitchen to see that some of the trial customers are enjoying themselves throughly with the selection of art and music books he has displayed for their perusal. With a hearty guffaw, he lies back in his comfortable Ikea chair with a sheaf of notes recounting present customer feedback. It is indeed an involving read, and the ashes are heavy in the traditional log fire before he lays the binder aside.

Finally, Friend Coffee Shop Manager scans through his coffee menu. He is rightly pleased with himself; it is a vibrant yet inclusive selection of world coffees. He congratulates himself on his foresight to include a variety of exotic teas for Asian customers, so making the sociable integration of customers from differing backgrounds a simple affair. Fascinatingly, despite knowing the shop intimately, Friend Coffee Shop Manager’s brief examination to confirm all is in order stretches into a thorough audit, and quiet has fallen upon the attractive front garden before he has completed his investigations.

Only one thing remains. An additional complement of light refreshments to brighten the already excellent drinks menu. Some snacks, perhaps, that foreign customers yearn for during their travels abroad? Friend Coffee Shop Manager nods slowly. But what kind of refreshments would be appropriate? He paces around his desk. He stops before a specific bookcase; his hand idly selects a certain book. It is a bound volume of the history of sandwiches, with many chapters highlighting the grandeur that a good beef steak is held in regard in many western cultures. Friend Coffee Shop Manager rifles through the pages, unconsciously absorbing the woodcut illustrations of classic American cuisine; a brief history of the Earl of Sandwich; the likes and dislikes of 20th century Europeans; and the rise of the fast food enterprises. Friend Coffee Shop Manager closes the book, noting the illustration of a sirloin steak dripping in gravy caught on the front cover. A lightbulb snaps on in his mind. A furious bout of redesigning the food menu ensues, and everything is finally complete. Now, as the customer browses through the menu of Atmospheric Just Like Seattle Coffee Shop Number 47, if one is hungry they may choose a nice beef steak sandwich covered in either raspberry or strawberry jam. Also, if they fancy a drink, they may order it alongside two bottles of Chivas for only 888 yuan.


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How to write a China Article

Posted by MyLaowai on Thursday, October 1, 2015

From the Vault
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How to write a China article.
By ChouChou

You’ve just arrived in your 5-Star room at the Shanghai Hilton and unpacked your fancy new Apple laptop. As you pull the top off the mini bottle of Hennessey XO, you finally turn to your instructions from the editor back home. 2000 words by Monday about the important issues facing China today. Easy.

But two days have passed and you are still staring at a blank screen. You’re experiencing a stretch of writer’s block as long as the Great Wall of China and the deadline is hanging over your head like the proverbial Sword of Damocles. It seems that more research than flicking through a copy of Wild Swans in the airport is needed after all.

Sound familiar? Then you, my journalist friend, need the Sinocidal fully patented guide on how to write that Pulitzer Prize winning China article. Simply follow the steps below, and you’ll have your name splashed across the front page of every newspaper in Britain faster than a convicted child molester.

Each and every good China article begins with a carefully considered and well thought-out title. “Cor, what a scorcher” may be good enough for a tabloid article about heatwaves in April, but if you’re going to impress your fellow tofu-eating, goatee bearded colleagues at the Grauniad office (not to mention that hot feminist who writes angry columns about women’s issues), then you’re going to need to think up a snappy headline. Thankfully, titles for China articles follow a strict guideline, and a catchy media soundbite can be created in seconds thanks to the Sinocidal (TM) China-headline-o’matic. Just choose one of the words from column A, and match it with a random word from column B.

The Dragon
The East
1.3 Billion People
Red Star

Does Dallas

The only exception to this rule is when writing an article about the clash of western commercialism against old-style Communist practices, in which case the title “Mickey Maos” must be used.

Interview a taxi driver
You may well be isolated from the unwashed masses of China in your luxury Shanghai hotel room, but for God’s sake, you don’t want the brainless idiots who read your newspaper to know that. A good journalist never loses his common touch: after all, the whole point of your article is to pretend that you care about “the Chinese people themselves” and how unfairly the system treats them. Bob Geldof has made a career about appearing to care for African people, and hopefully you can do the same for Chinese people, earn loads of money, and buy a big fuck-off house in the south of France. There’s no way you actually want to meet any of the Chinese people though. It’s OK to let some of them clean your hotel room, but any more contact than that and you risk catching tuberculosis. So you might as well make use of the only Chinese person you ever come into contact with – the taxi driver – and pass off his opinions as your own.

– Interest rate predictions for the coming quarter? Ask a taxi driver.
– Improving Sino-Japanese relations in the post-Koizumi era? Ask a taxi driver.
– Financial aid to developing African economies? Ask a taxi driver, but leave out his politically incorrect opinions regarding “those dark folk”. The students in the SOAS reading room don’t like reading about that kind of thing.

If you can’t find a taxi driver whose political views match those of your readers, then just make one up. Call him Mr. Wang, inform your public that he only earns a hundred dollars a month, and they’ll believe any old crap you write. “I’ve been following the latest series of Big Brother with interest,” says Beijing cab driver Mr. Wang (43), “though Jade Goody’s recent behaviour has been quite reprimandable. Still, it’s hard to follow all this celebrity gossip when I only earn five yuan a year.”

Nobody really understands China. Especially you, because you hadn’t even heard of the country until last week when you failed to be chosen as a New York correspondent. So get around the whole problem of writing difficult conclusions by just presenting a series of contrasting images. Here are some easy ones to start you off:

• A statue of Mao with an advert for Coca-Cola in the background.
• An elderly Chinese man, with a long wispy beard, sat on a bench next to a fibreglass model of Ronald McDonald.
• A sign saying “Promote Environmental Awareness” stuck in a field full of nuclear waste and dead babies.
• A girl with a mobile phone walking past a tramp.
• A description of a fashionable Shanghai socialite who hangs out at Starbucks and likes KFC, quickly followed in the next paragraph by a description of a former prostitute who works 5 million hours a day in a condom factory for just two grains of rice a year.

Vague Conclusion
When you’ve finished writing your pointless and vague summary of obvious contrasts, follow it up with an equally pointless and vague conclusion. Write how some things point to x, whilst some other things point to y. “The future, it seems, is still uncertain for China” is always a good one to sign off with, especially because other countries are all governed by psychic fortune tellers who know everything that will happen for the next 200 years.

If, for whatever reason, you want to try something different (perhaps this is not your first time to write a China article. It might be your second, say), highlight the enormous population of China, and then focus on a single individual. That way you’ve covered all the bases and it looks like you care. You could even try and combine both conclusion styles if you’re feeling cocky. For example:
“It seems that the future is looking bright for the 1.3 billion people who make up the world’s most populous nation. But for Li Hui – who is still working at the condom factory for just two grains of rice a year – that future is still unclear.”

Follow the above guidelines and you can’t go wrong. Before long, you’ll be printing the words “CHINA EXPERT” on your business card and you’ll have your own book about the Chinese political landscape listed under the Lonely Planet Guide to China’s list of recommended reads.

Perhaps you could even call the book “China Awakes”.

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The Fashionista’s – A MyLaowai Exclusive

Posted by MyLaowai on Saturday, September 19, 2015


If you have followed this blog for any length of time, you will be only too aware that we here at MLHQ stand squarely and solidly behind the position on the field of play, that is referred to as ‘reasonableness’. Oh yes indeed, we have dedicated ourselves to being reasonable and moderate in all things. And so it continues to this day.

With that in mind, let us turn our gaze to the very unreasonable state of fashion in what is laughably referred to as The Celestial Empire. Now, I am not one to tell others how to live, as long as they do so in a civilised manner. Yet there is unquestionably and certainly a need in this modern world for someone to play the role of a fashion inspector of sorts – a Fashion Policeman, if you will. I am sure I am not the first person who thought so.

And we here at MLHQ know a thing or to about what looks good. We know, for instance, that Adolf Hitler was the only man ever to look good in the back of a convertible. If you are in the back of a convertible and you are a man, but you are not Adolf Hitler, then kindly step out, at once.

A Fashion Policeman – Fashionista? – should have powers that are clearly and sharply defined. We would not, for instance, want to have folks fined merely for wearing last years’ Calvin Klein jeans, would we? Not when the real crime being committed was the wearing of Calvin Klein jeans, of any year. Obviously, there was a time when an empty brassiere was considered acceptable – though in the modern era it really ought to be a capital offense: It’s false advertising, at the very least.

The wearing of glasses without lenses is wrong, clearly, but it needn’t warrant more than a small fine, nor would taking a selfie, though in combination the dual crimes of wearing glasses without lenses whilst taking a selfie really ought to be punishable by being shot in front of your own children. And when I say “ought to be”, I mean “on my land you will be”.

As I say, reasonableness in all things. If you want to be dressed like a street whore, that’s fine – as long as you actually are a street whore. And in my street, that really is practically everybody. So that’s all good. Want to dress like a Middle Kingdom version of Princess Leia (with the brass bra and Heidi von Glockenstrudle hairstyle, obviously)? Not a problem, as long as you actually are either a/ Princess Leia; b/ actually are Carrie Fisher; or c/ attending one of those events where you dress up in weird clothes and call it ‘cosplay’ because ‘German hardcore porn’ would freak your mother out.

And, if you want to have a shoe covered in rabbit fur, at least have the decency to ensure the rabbit is dead before you slide your boot up it’s arse.

Thank you for your attention.

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Sinocidal Magazine’s September Event List

Posted by MyLaowai on Tuesday, September 1, 2015

From the Vault
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Sinocidal Magazine’s September Event List
By ChouChou

Sept 1st: Jungle is Massive Night at Club Babyface*
Find that minimal isn’t enough for your dancefloor fix? Had enough of monotonous trance synth-lines that have sold out to “The Man”? Wanna take a pill drop back to the true progressive era of sub sonic woofer house music? If you want an indication of where Gen-X dance music is going next, then join us as we invite DJ Nobody’s Ever Fucking Heard Of But His Name Ends In A “Z” all the way from Amsterdam to set off a selection of fire and car alarms as crowds of Chinese businessmen and prostitutes listen indifferently and play dice instead. Chivas and Green Tea sets start at 888 RMB and come with a complementary grape.
* Although the management of Babyface will try its utmost, Babyface can not guarantee the presence of black people at any publicised event.

September 4th: Ladies Who Lunch
The Ladies Who Lunch will this Tuesday be dining at a delightful American themed diner recently opened just off People’s Square. Serving a homemade selection of traditional American fayre in a comfortable, yet trendy, environment; this guarantees to be a welcome alternative to our usual weekly drudge of holistic therapy and alternative yoga*. This week our selected book will be the back cover of a pirated Desperate Housewives DVD, and as we complain endlessly about how difficult it is to find good service in Shanghai these days, we will consider sending the waiter’s tip this week to the Urumqi Orphanage for Christian Children, before crossing the road in order to avoid eye contact with a gang of street beggars.
* Please contact Judy for the address of the People’s Square McDonald’s Branch.

September 8th: The Shanghai Expat’s Club September Gathering
Exactly seven lonely foreign businessmen who have been in China for no longer than two months each join together in the lobby bar of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and try and kid themselves that this is called “networking”.

September 12th: English Corner
“Can you use chopsticks?”
“Are you a Christian?”
“Can I invite you to a dinner?”
If the above questions don’t make you want to immediately stab yourself in the eye with a rusty coathanger, and if for whatever fucked up reason you’re desperate and lonely enough to even entertain the thought that being the only foreigner surrounded by a group of two hundred Chinese students could ever be anything other than a spiritual experience roughly equivalent to having a 20 foot Native American totem pole covered in faulty cheese graters forcefully penetrate your quivering anal hole, then please come along to the Number 94 Middle School English Corner.

September 15th: Hash House Harriers Fun Run
Nestled in between Chongming Island and Pudong, Hengsha Island (literally: “Clean Island”) is an unspoilt patch of paradise untouched by Shanghai’s encroaching development. Join the Drinking Club with a Running Problem (!!!!!!!!) as we spend two days running, enjoying the scenery, drinking beer out of our shoes, and finally getting into an argument with a farmer for pissing all over his crops whilst a 4 foot tall butterball from Ohio attempts to drag you away by screaming “Just leave it Brian, he ain’t fucking worth it!”

September 18th: Opening Night of a New “Western” Restaurant in a Second Tier Provincial City
Relive the classic days of Laurel & Hardy, the Keystone Cops, and The Three Stooges by paying good money to dine at the opening night of Happy Apollo Italian Westaurant in Yantai City. Chuckle as the waiters try to serve food even though the management forgot to purchase any plates, guffaw as the cashier is forced to prostitute herself in a feeble effort to get her hands on some change, and roar hysterically as the Spaghetti Bolognese turns out to be a cardboard baozi covered in sand. Then weep, weep untold tears of salty misery, as you realise you’ve been waiting three hours and still haven’t seen a menu.

September 21st: 300 and something days to the Olympics
Go about your normal daily existence and do your best to ignore yet another fucking mediocre Government sponsored pop concert in order to celebrate 300 and something more days to the fucking Olympics.

September 23rd: Sunny Hotel Dinner Buffet
Enjoy an uninspired Chinese buffet in a three star Chinese hotel with no economic discounts or benefits whatsoever in a hope that the management still decides to place their advertising with Sinocidal Magazine next year.

September 24th: Cunt Cinema
The Beijing Bookworm will present a series of mostly French independent short films made by Europe’s best respected amateur cunts. This collection’s themes revolve predominantly around freedom of speech issues, women’s rights, and cunts. All cunts welcome. English subtitles for the cunt impaired.

September 30th: Labourer Holiday
Are you aged between 12 and 80? No plans for the National Day holiday? Then why not go on a working Labourer’s Holiday?
– Learn all about carrying a bucket full of dirt!
– Earn at least 17 yuan!
– Free instant noodle and steamed bun meals!*
– Free cigarettes for all mine workers!*
– Free police supervision!*
– Complete privacy as you enjoy your Labourer’s Holiday (Road will be closed to its own residents)!
*Not free.


Whilst Sinocidal Magazine tries its best to ensure all event listings are correct and complete at time of publication, Sinocidal Magazine cannot guarantee that locations, times, names, national boundaries, and even the laws of physics will not change before due dates. Please forward all complaints to http://web.archive.org/web/20071026154207/http://www.pekingduck.org/.

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The Hong Kong Free Press

Posted by MyLaowai on Monday, August 31, 2015

A lovely article from the Hong Kong Free Press:


Well done, Richard Scotford. You have earned the respect of this humble bloggist.

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Everything you need to know about Japan

Posted by MyLaowai on Saturday, August 1, 2015

From the Vault
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Everything you need to know about Japan.
By ChouChou

Section A: Facts about Japan.
– The year is 4000 BC, and a small East Asian nation does nothing to prevent atrocities like the expulsion of the Jews from Babylon and forced slave labour in Imperial Egypt.
– Now it’s the time of Our Lord, and the only Son of God is nailed to a cross that could quite possibly have been made from the wood of bonsai trees.
– 1666: Fire rages through the streets of London. Coincidentally, somebody in Tokyo is found to be holding a box of firewood at the exact same time.
– And even today, efforts to create a fourth Free Willy film are repeatedly quashed by organisations sponsored directly from pro-whaling companies.

Time and time again, the Japanese have proven themselves to be a race unfit for habitation on this blessed planet we call Earth. Condemned by God to cling forever to a few miserable islands in the western Pacific, these fish-eating mini tree growers have tried repeatedly to crawl across into more civilised countries, and continue to try and recreate the world in their own twisted image.

Do you want to live in a world where perfectly innocent fat men are forced to wear nappies and fight in the name of sick entertainment? Do you want your kids to grow up in a world where it takes 45 minutes to pour a cup of tea?

No. Of course you don’t.

Take a look at the image above [image missing, but it’s That shrine – ML]. The crafty subjects of the Emperor would like you to believe that this building is nothing more than a harmless shrine devoted to honoring the dead Japanese soldiers and citizens that passed away during World War Two. However, the truth is in fact much more shocking, and will no doubt offend right-minded peoples everywhere. Glance at the photograph below if you dare to face the truth [image missing – ML].

That’s right. The Yasukuni Shrine is actually a giant computerised control centre designed to operate a fully operational Godzilla monster. Japanese military leaders plan to build an entire army of these creatures and send them across the sea to eat innocent Chinese babies. Even if the Chinese army is fortunate enough to resist these Godzilla attacks, danger could lurk within the minds of our very own children.

Insidious Japanese mind-control propaganda has already stretched its evil tentacles into every country on Earth, and is even now corrupting the way our children think. The popular Transformers movie encourages children to fear common household machinery and vehicles, thus throwing our societies back into a pre-technological stone age whilst Japanese scientists create ever more advanced methods of slaughtering millions. The words of the friendly Autobot Bumblebee may sound harmless, but they actually contain hidden subliminal messages urging children to go outside and rape squirrels. Japanese paedophiles in collaboration with the Japanese military have even been discovered disguising themselves as schools in evil attempts to ensnare our children into their clutches.

When will these demons be stopped?

The battle begins in your own home. Genetically, Japanese have more in common with spiders than they do with other human beings, although their outward appearance is cunningly deceptive. Without even knowing it, you too could be a Japanese. Surveys show that one in every ten people is Japanese; so if you’re with nine friends and you know for sure that they are not Japanese, then it is highly probable that you could be an unaware Japanese person. Take our test to see if you are Japanese or human, and then follow the guidelines provided.

It’s your duty to keep our planet a sushi-free zone.

Section B: Are you Japanese?
1. What did you have for your dinner today?
a) A nice leg of lamb and a strawberry cheesecake for afters.
b) Raw fish accompanied with wasabi and rice.
c) The still beating heart of a blind baby.

2. What do you do at weekends?
a) Enjoy a game of football with the lads and then a few pints back at the local.
b) Play the latest Playstation 3 games and then take photographs with a ridiculously small camera.
c) Imprison your own mother in a coffin filled with broken glass and throw it off the side of a cliff.

3. What kind of pornography do you enjoy watching?
a) Two lesbians with massive tits having a threesome with a black man.
b) Animated schoolgirls getting penetrated by tentacle monsters.
c) Videos of your own sister being forced to eat a mixture of blood and dogshit, interspersed with images from the Holocaust.

4. Describe your boss.
a) An ex public schoolboy who opened up his own company with his parent’s money.
b) A workaholic who makes you do morning exercises and who is planning to kill himself next Monday.
c) He Who Walks Backwards.

5. Are you from Japan?
a) No.
b) Yes.
c) Yes, although your blackened excuse for a soul actually originates from the ninth circle of Hades in a time before the coming of man.

How did you do?
Mostly A’s: There is a small possibility that you may be Japanese. Whilst you may have control over some of your evil instincts, it is probably best that you still maintain complete vigilance against signs of reverting back into Neanderthal pond life. Keep away from places like Pearl Harbour and Nanjing, and try to distance yourself from dolphin and whale shows.
Mostly B’s: You are probably Japanese. Accept your inborn guilt for all the misdeeds ever committed in the history of mankind, sell your house, leave your family, and travel across the world apologising to every single person for everything that has ever happened. However, do not even begin to think that this act will in any way bring you closer to forgiveness. Your soul is going to burn in Hell for eternity.
Mostly C’s: You are definitely Japanese and therefore the incarnation of all that is wrong in the world. Ask some friends (if you have any) to draw a chalk circle around you, and then recite psalms 12 to 81 whilst dousing yourself in holy water. Then arrange for your charred remains to be fired into the cold vacuum of outer space, where they can no longer contaminate the other peace-loving nations of the world.
Mostly D’s: We’ve done that joke before.

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Blame Game

Posted by MyLaowai on Wednesday, July 1, 2015

From the Vault
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Blame Game
By ChouChou

Exhibit A: A small innocent young boy sits in the casualty department of his local hospital with a saucepan stuck on his head. His howling cries can be heard throughout the hospital, and the doctors try desperately to calm him down, lest the flow of tears should build up within the pan and cause the young boy to drown within his own misery.

Who is to blame? Whose negligence or greed caused an innocent per-pubescent child to suffer the humiliation and pain of getting a saucepan stuck on his head? Let’s follow the trail of how this saucepan arrived on the boy’s head, and see if we can assess who is to blame.

Scene One: A dingy living room.
Mrs. Woman sits on her fat arse watching Trisha on Channel 5 on a 68 inch plasma screen TV and waiting for this month’s giro cheque to pop through the letterbox. As she lights up another Benson and Hedges, she contemplates how many Lucky Lotto scratchcards she can buy and still have enough money left over for a three litre bottle of cider. All of a sudden, her son – dressed in the latest designer sports gear thanks to a winning claim against the council for emotional damage caused by too many streetlamps – runs into the living room in a state of agitation.

“Mum, Mum! Can I have one of those new Sega Nintendo Saucepans please? Please Mum, all the other kids have one! Pleeeeeaassssee!”

“Can you fuck, you little shit,” Mrs. Woman grunts between puffs. “What do you think I am? Made of money? These high definition tellies don’t pay for themselves, you know.”

“Awwwwww, please Mum. I promise that I’ll tell the court Dad tried to touch my cock once, that way you can get more benefit from him.”

Mrs. Woman sucks thoughtfully on her coffin nail. “Well alright,” she replies, “But you can’t have a Sega Nintendo Saucepan. We’ll pop down the Pound Shop tomorrow and see what they’ve got.”

Scene Two: The HQ of Global Pound Shops Incorporated.
The elderly gentleman has come a long way for this meeting. Patiently, he explains to the Board members how his hand-crafted saucepans come from a long tradition of indigenous Scottish saucepan production. Only the finest materials are used in order to create the highest quality saucepans imaginable. The gentleman personally travels around the world looking for wood gathered during the Winter Solstice by fresh-faced Vestal Virgins, and only purchases aluminium with a shininess equal to the sun. Their saucepan factory is small, but it employs a team of skilled craftsmen whose families have been loyal to the company for countless generations. As the elderly gentleman concludes his presentation, he briefly mentions the prestige and well-deserved good reputation that his saucepans enjoy. The Queen herself uses his pans to fry her chips in.
The Board members of Global Pound Shops Incorporated stare in silence.

“How much is this going to cost?”

Again, the elderly gentleman explains that although his prices are slightly higher, this only reflects the exceptional quality of his product.

“Fuck that,” exclaims the CEO. “How am I going to maintain my crack cocaine habit if I’m only making ten pounds profit off each of your pans? Geoff, give ASS a call. We’ll buy from China.”

The elderly gentleman is hit by a car on the way out and dies on the way to hospital.

Scene Three: A Sordid KTV Room.
(Davey Five Times – Managing Director of Asian Supplies Solutions – sits with two prostitutes on either side of him. Mr. Wan Ke – boss of the I Can’t Believe It’s Only One Dollar Aluminium Products Factory – is sat opposite getting sucked off by a twelve year old dressed as a bottle of Chivas. Davey Five Times’ long suffering assistant, JoJo, stares miserably at his own feet.)

Wan Ke: So, Mr. Five Times. Thank you very much for the order for fifty million billion saucepans. Even though we have agreed to a price of just one penny, our factory promises to supply a good quality product!

Davey Five Times: No worries there, my friend. That ISO9001 certificate I just signed for you should allay any of the customer’s fears.

JoJo: Erm, boss. Haven’t we been here before? You know the last time we placed an order with this company they just sent us two containers filled with soiled bandages. Why are we working with them again? Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Industrial Products offered us a reasonable price, and we know they have the necessary control checks.

Davey Five Times: Are you fucking stupid? If we go with Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Industrial Products, ASS will only get a 200% profit margin, and then I can’t buy that new lime green Jaguar sportscar. And anyway, if we seal this deal, you’ll benefit as well. Based on a 0.2% commission basis, you should be making 14 dollars next December!

Wan Ke: Hey, Mr. Five Times, why has your assistant just shot himself? No matter: Waitress! New whores please!

Scene Four: The I Can’t Believe It’s Only One Dollar Aluminium Products Factory.
Imagine the worst place in the world. A nightmare fusion of a Nazi concentration camp, a Hieronymus Bosch painting, and Rhyl on a Bank Holiday Monday. Increase the horror and despair of that scene by eleven, and you are still not even close to picturing the true terror of the I Can’t Believe It’s Only One Dollar Aluminium Products Factory. Row after row of mindless worker bashes away at crude saucepans with chipped rocks, all to the rhythm of a naked fat man sat on the podium above slowly banging on a drum.

Carelessly scattered across the floor are bags of material. At first glance they appear to say “ALUMINIUM”, but a closer look reveals that this has hastily been drawn over the top of the original title that originally read “HUMAN SHIT: DISCARD IMMEDIATELY”. Laughing cheerfully, Mr. Wan Ke and the other managers take it in turns to throw cigarette butts and bottles of piss into the material mix, seemingly unaware of the stench emitting from the five dead bodies lying in the Quality Control Room. All is well in the world, and business between East and West carries on as normal…

Well, readers? You’ve seen the evidence. Who do you think is to blame?

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The Final Countdown

Posted by MyLaowai on Saturday, June 13, 2015

From the Vault
Sinocidal Banner
The Final Countdown
By ChouChou

The Scene: The underground overground Wombling free base of an evil megalomaniac bent on world domination; complete with men in shiny suits driving golf buggies and sharks fitted with laser beam helmets. Our hero, James Surname, knocks out an underling (with scant regard for the consequences or the guard’s medical insurance package) and strides nonchalantly into the control room.

Cunty McBreasts: James! I thought you would never make it!

James: Traffic was bad.

Dr. Stereotype: So, Mr. Surname, you made it past my ingenious labyrinth of pitfalls and traps. Most impressive. But tell me, how did you know the password to the secret door in the Burmese bath house?

James: Let’s just say… the news just fell into my lap.

Dr. Stereotype: What do you mean?

James: I mean I had penetrative sex with one of your female employees and she told me the password. Duuuhhh… don’t you know anything? Are you new to this, or what?

Dr. Stereotype: As you can see from the fact that I have dyed my pubic hair white in order to have collar and cuffs match with the white pussy resting on my knee, you can see that I am not. Now! Tell me the Pentagon’s secret missile plans!

James: Do you expect me to talk?

Dr. Stereotype: No, Mr. Surname, I expect you to shave my head bald and paint it blue for only $9.95. Of course I do; especially when you see this! (Dr. Stereotype pulls his chair back to reveal…)

Dr. Stereotype: A ticking clock! Ahahahahaha!

James: ONOZ!!! TOTALLY PWNED!!!!!! :-( LOL!!!!!

Sometimes, living in China is a bit like living in a bad James Bond film. Not because all the bad guys are Communists, but because one’s life is always overshadowed by a ticking clock.

In every Chinese city and in every Chinese town, there will always be a ticking clock counting down to something or other. Normally these ticking clocks are placed on large podiums in the main square, so that everybody can gather round in unity and wait for the glorious day to arrive. Both intimate and awe-inspiring. A bit like sex with a monarch.

It doesn’t matter how many times the clock reaches its goal; there will always be another insignificant event to count down to next, touching the inner child within us all (but not in that way). In the last ten years, the countdown clock in Hangzhou’s Wulin Square has counted down to the following events with no pause at all:
The Glorious Return of Hong Kong to the Motherland.
The Glorious Return of Macao to the Motherland.
The Glorious Millennium.
The Glorious Result of Beijing’s 2008 Olympic Bid.
The Glorious Date of China’s Entry into the WTO.
The Glorious Exit of the Mitchell Brothers from BBC’s Eastenders.
The Glorious 2006 Hangzhou Leisure Expo.
The Glorious 2007 Women’s World Cup in Hangzhou.
The Glorious Fucking Olympics.

And it will never end. After the Olympics it will be the Special Olympics. After the Special Olympics it will be the 2010 Shanghai International Expo. Then the 18th Party Congress, then the reclamation of Taiwan, then the invention of Salt and Vinegar cars… On and on it will go forever and ever like a fucking rerun of all eleven seasons of MASH. The people of China will always be forced to look forward to something, and never ever be given a moment’s rest.

Thus, Sinocidal wishes to present to the people of China a very special gift. Enjoy it lads, because you will never see this ever again. Here we go…


Now go out and live your lives already.
(There are 2 days remaining until the next Sinocidal post)

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Land of the Free

Posted by MyLaowai on Saturday, June 13, 2015

150615 Murcans

So yeah, the folks who live there call it the “Land of the Free”, for reasons that I’m sure make sense to them, though pretty much everyone else in the world calls it the “Land of the Oppressors”. But whatever.

No-one ever called it the “Land of the Smart”. Obviously. Because while Yanks are generally pretty nice people, they sure be dumb. And, unlike the Chinese, who are so dumb that they make two short planks look like quantum mainframes by comparison, Yanks don’t even have an excuse for their appalling tardness.

I leave it to you to make your own judgements, but I refer to you exhibit ‘A’ above.

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