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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
Sinocidal Banner

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/.

Posted in Guest Post | 1 Comment »

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.

Posted in China | Tagged: , , , | 13 Comments »

Everything you need to know about Japan

Posted by MyLaowai on Saturday, August 1, 2015

From the Vault
Sinocidal Banner

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
Sinocidal Banner

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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Symbol of the Republic

Posted by MyLaowai on Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Chinese Communist Party

Posted in China | 1 Comment »

Sinocidal – Fuck Yourself Whore

Posted by MyLaowai on Friday, March 13, 2015

From the Vault
Sinocidal Banner
Fuck Yourself Whore
By ChouChou
Or: It really hits the fan.

Fuck you. No, really, fuck you. If I had my way in this world I would have long ago buried you neck deep in a pile of rotting donkey manure and then pissed all over your fat face as your tears mingle with the maggots that slowly crawl up your face to wriggle in your eyes.

You know I’m talking to you, Laughing Girl, you insignificant waste of a One Child Policy. I see you in many places, and in every place you are still the human equivalent of the type of dried up smegma found beneath the foreskin of Gandhi. Sometimes you’re in KFC serving my latest portion of tasteless white filth; sometimes you’re sat giggling behind some other fuckwitted colleague in the China Mobile shop losing my business; and sometimes you’re sat behind me on the bus going through your stupid ringtones again and again like some demented Pavlovian experiment gone wrong. No matter where I am in China, I’m guaranteed to bump into your retarded face at least once every fucking day. By the rusty nail that impaled Christ’s right hand to that wooden cross one day; I hate you so very fucking much.
And why do I hate your cunting face so much? Why, even though in the grand scale of things you amount to slightly less than a cockroach’s fart, do I hate you so much?

Your laugh.

Your stupid inane laugh that sums up everything that is wrong and ignorant about this massive East Asian dung heap that masquerades as a “country”.

Do not fucking laugh at me for nothing. If I have made a witty allusion between the tragedy of World War One and the works of George Bernard Shaw, perhaps including a paradoxical epigram or two that highlights the absurdity of human existance with reference to early Greek theatre, then please feel free to laugh. Again, if I decided to perform for your entertainment one of the more whimsical scenes from a Shakespeareian comedy, please allow your laughter to flow until you are as bereft of ribs as an invertebrate. However, and I will say this loud and clear because just by looking at you it is obvious you have all the wit and intelligence of afterbirth, DO NOT LAUGH AT ME FOR NOTHING.

Do not burst in hysterics because I have just ordered a chicken sandwich. You work in KFC for fuck’s sake – it’s your job.

Do not turn around and giggle because I have just asked you in flawless Mandarin for a bank transfer form – if your lowly bank position was in a proper bank in a proper country, I would have had you fired a long time ago.

Do not write “Ha Ha Ha :-)” in an email when I have just written to you asking why your company has suddenly decided to increase the price of our F-Max delivery by 250%.

And most of all: do not laugh loudly and point me out to all your friends just because I happen to be foreign and I happen to have walked past you. Bitch.

If the People’s Republic of Filth is as full of ignorant and selfish women like yourself as it sometimes seems, then you really don’t deserve a woman’s rights movement. Everytime you greet my presence with a peal of racist laughter, I silently wish that you didn’t have the vote. Oh, you don’t have the vote, do you? Looks like my wish came true then.

I don’t like your country, so when the triumphant day comes when I finally take your advice and “go home”, I swear to you Laughing Girl that I will throw a pan of hot oil in your vapid face and wipe that sneering grin off once and for all. And if by some fiendish plot by HE WHO WALKS BACKWARDS HIMSELF you somehow manage to set foot upon my Green and Pleasant Land, I promise that everytime you approach me and say “I sorree, my Engerlish no very good good”, I will just laugh in your face and walk off.

And by the way you stupid whore, here’s some advice: Covering your mouth with one hand so that you can whisper something inane and ignorant to your friend doesn’t mean I don’t know that you are talking about me.


It just means that you’re a cunt.

Posted in Guest Post, Sinocidal | 6 Comments »

Sinocidal – The V Girls

Posted by MyLaowai on Saturday, January 17, 2015

From the Vault

Sinocidal Banner

Note from ML: Some images missing, my apologies

By ChouChou

Lightning crashed to a roll of ear-splitting thunder. As the demonic sparks flashed across the heavens, the hooded figure ran beneath the torrential rain and glanced at the words “SINOCIDAL TOWERS” as the tempest briefly illuminated the otherwise pitch-black sky. Glancing nervously behind him, the trembling figure unlocked the tall wooden doors and pulled them open just as a roar of wind sent a tree branch falling to the ground he had just momentarily been standing on. The great doors of Sinocidal Towers slammed closed with a bang almost as loud as the hammers of Thor being thrown above across the celestial tapestry.

Safe, maybe, at last; the figure ran into the main hall and ripped off the rain-sodden hood that clung to his manic face. Once pulled back, the hood revealed the anxious rolling eyes of a man who truly knew the fear and torture of the world. Darting back and forth, the eyes finally settled on the two gentlemen sat waiting patiently behind a grim metallic desk. Like a joyless moon, a single solitary lamp swung dimly over the sharp desk, casting an eerie luminance over the two waiting men. Slowly putting out his cigarette, the taller of the two figures finally addressed the sudden visitor.

“It is late,” exclaimed PiPi – for it was none other than he. One of the Mighty Sinocidal Ones known throughout the land and upholder of all that is true. In a rough Scottish accent that could make an Argentinean surrender at fifty paces, he continued to address the trembling figure. “Myself and Mr. TaiTai have been waiting for you for some time now. Your absence has been noticeable, ChouChou. What business requires our attention so suddenly and at so late an hour?”

ChouChou, still looking nervously behind himself, limped towards the desk and took a seat. Gone were the young and carefree looks that had once earned him the enviable title of Mr. Qingdao 2005. Instead they had been replaced with a crazed and manic look that strangely seemed to swing between hunger and fear. “I’ve found them!” His voice was the voice of a madman. “I’ve finally found them – and I have proof this time! Now there can be no question of their existence!”

Fingering his lucky rabbit’s head necklace, TaiTai stared coolly at his colleague and smiled slightly. “Found who, ChouChou? You’ve been talking about some mad theory for ages now, but you still haven’t made yourself any clearer.”

ChouChou slammed a large folder onto the desk. “I’ve found THEM! The ones that control everything! At first I thought it was crazy; a mad conspiracy theory for fools and knaves, but the farther I went back the more I saw how true it all was. They’re real, and they’re in control. They’re everywhere!” He leaned forward towards his two friends and whispered in hushed tones. “The V Girls.”

“All it took was some simple research,” ChouChou continued, ecstatic at the chance to finally reveal his secret. “I went through the newspaper archives as far back as I could. This was the first one I found.”

[image missing]

“It’s the Hindenburg disaster,” replied PiPi after glancing at the newspaper for some time. “What does that prove?”

ChouChou sighed. “Look at the girl! She’s making the peace sign! Somehow, these V Girls are involved in every major disaster or upheaval in human history. If something happens, the V Girls are always there: lurking in the background, pulling all the strings. Once I found the first one it was easy. Just look carefully at these photographs. I’m telling you – they’re omnipresent!”

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“It goes back even further than this!” ChouChou pulled out even more papers from the folder. “There are records of mysterious Oriental women spotted making the peace sign as far back as the Fall of Rome. We must do something! They’ve already taken LaoLao, and who knows which one of us they’ll come after next. Alert LangLang and try to stop this. Please Brothers – we must do something!”

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Breathless and exhausted, ChouChou looked from PiPi to TaiTai and back to PiPi again. Slowly, and with an air of sadness, PiPi and TaiTai both shook their heads.

“I’m sorry ChouChou,” said PiPi, “I’m sure you believe what you have shown us is true, but I’m afraid I can’t believe anything so outlandish. Why not get a good night’s rest and we’ll talk about this again in the morning?”

TaiTai smiled sympathetically. “Come on ChouChou. I’ll even wake you up with a special can of F-Max: The Lightly Sparkling Fish Flavoured Drink from Aquavite.”

ChouChou backed away. “No, no! You must believe me!” he yelled. “The V Girls must be stopped. If you won’t help me – I’ll do it alone, God help me!” Grabbing his folder, ChouChou ran back through the main gate of Sinocidal Towers, as PiPi and TaiTai shook their heads in bewilderment.

ChouChou ran and ran through the pouring rain and the biting wind. He had the proof that the V Girls were slowly taking over, and he would let the whole world know if necessary. However, as ChouChou ran down the winding path that led away from Sinocidal Towers, a great dark shadow began to fall on him from behind…

…A shadow in the shape of the letter V!


Or is it? Or is it? Or is it? OR is it?

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