Ed U Cator: TEFL Detective. The Exciting Conclusion!

school-detective

Scene: The camera shows a sky-high view of the Number 8 Happy Giraffe Kindergarten. On the streets surrounding the Happy Giraffe Kindergarten are the usual detritus found nearby China’s junior academies of learning: namely, unscrupulous principals with bags full of ready cash and middle-aged TEFL teachers rolling on the floor clutching their hangover-induced aching heads. The camera zooms in on Officers Rocky Zhang and I Like World of Warcraft Liang who are stood by the main entrance.

Officer Liang: So, our detective friend has finally gotten over his mini-breakdown?

Officer Zhang: So he says. He sent me a message on WeChat last night. Here it is.

(Officer Zhang shows Officer Liang the message on his phone. It says “I’M FEELING BETTER NOW PLS COME OVER. PS DO YOU KNOW HOW I CAN ASK THE WOMAN IN THE DIY SHOP FOR NEW LIGHTBULBS?”)

Officer Liang: He sure likes to use capital letters.

Officer Zhang: Apparently the caps lock on his phone is broken.

Officer Liang: And why is it we have to meet him here? Can’t we just meet at the police station like normal procedure?

Officer Zhang: He told me that his school forces him to do “office hours” so he isn’t allowed to leave the building between classes. He’s got a spare hour now between Listening Comprehension and his 8th Grade Conversation class and he mentioned that he should be able to fit revealing the murderer of Tina Budong within that time.

Officer Liang: Right. Let’s get this over with then.

(The two policemen enter the school and make their way to a spare classroom that Detective Ed U Cator has set up as his investigation room. Within the room Detective Ed U Cator is stood in front of a whiteboard while three other adults are sat on chairs in the front row. Officers Zhang and Liang stand by the open door deliberating whether to knock first.)

Detective Cator: Come in! Come in! You’re five minutes late though so you’ll have to sing a song. Can you sing Jingle Bells for us?

Officer Liang: Fuck off.

Detective Cator: OK! Take a seat then. Now, let me introduce what we are going to be talking about today. I’ve created a short powerpoint presentation. Eyes forward!

(There then follows a twenty minute scene where the overhead projector fails to operate properly. Several hilarious scenes ensue: Detective Cator banging the laptop and getting increasingly angry; Detective Cator screaming down the corridor for someone from IT to help him; Detective Cator crying as a useless oxygen thief from the IT helpdesk just taps at the screen and repeatedly says “Uh? Uh?”; Detective Cator finally throwing the laptop out of the window and proclaiming that this kind of thing would never happen in a “proper” country.)

Detective Cator: Right, we’ll do this the old-fashioned way then. After analysing the evidence of the Tina Budong murder, I have established that it was only logistically possible for one of the other foreign teachers who live in the same seven storey walk-up to have committed the murder and escaped unseen to their respective apartment. I have gathered all of the foreign teachers here and will introduce them for the benefit of Officers Zhang and Liang.

(Detective Cator approaches the first teacher: a dishevelled looking specimen who has three empty bottles of erguotou already in front of him.)

Detective Cator: Bryan Scumis. 61 years old. Australian. After teaching TEFL in Saudi Arabia for twenty years he swore in 2013 that he would never return to the Kingdom but blew all of his cash in Thailand during one long hot summer. Forced to do “one last trip”, Bryan was unable to re-enter Saudi due to certain comments on his social media channels. China welcomed him. Bryan’s hobbies include drinking, online pornography, painkillers and white-water rafting. Say hello to everybody, Bryan!

Bryan: You can all go fuck yourselves (vomits).

bryan
Bryan

(Next, Detective Cator approaches what on first sight appears to be a stranded whale that has been covered in clothes by Greenpeace in an attempt to keep it warm. On closer inspection, it turns out to actually be an American woman.)

Detective Cator: Elly Mint-Fresh. 43 years old. American. Cis-gendered and unmarried. Identifies as “Gender Queer”. Teaches conversational English and second-wave feminism to six year olds. Was close friends with Tina Budong and both were working on setting up a regular slam poetry session at the local English Corner. Elly has told me that her preferred pronoun is “zhe”. Is there anything you’d like to say to the class, Elly?

Elly: DONT TOUCH ME, YOU RAPIST CUM-SKIN!

elly
Elly
(Finally, Detective Cator indicates the last foreign teacher: a young man in dated clothing who has a scruffy-looking goatee beard.)

Detective Cator: And here we have…

Teacher: Dzień dobry! Ah am der native Engerlish speaker!

Detective Cator: …erm, here we have “Kevin” who according to his CV is from Manchester in England.

Kevin: Tak! Ah am loving der Manchester footsballs! Eet always raining der dogs und cats een my hometown. Very rainy!

(A female student walking past the room looks up when she hears the word “rainy” but quickly scuttles away.)

Detective Cator: Kevin has told me that he enjoys collecting surplus military equipment and that his favourite film is The Human Centipede 2. Also, he told me that his name is not – absolutely not – Mateusz.

Kevin: It’s true! Fish und chips!

kevin
Kevin

Detective Cator:
Now, as part of my excellent TEFL Detective process I have utilised the finest detective methods known to mankind to eliminate the suspects and find out – resolutely and with no doubt – who was behind the brutal murder of Tina Budong.

Officer Zhang: Do you implement DNA testing within your process?

Officer Liang: Do you use advanced algorithms to calculate a rate of possibility?

Detective Cator: No! I simply asked each of the teachers to write me an essay of no more than 250 words explaining what they did on the evening of Tina Budong’s murder.

Officers Zhang and Liang: Ohhhhhhhh…….

Detective Cator: (Pulls out three exercise books and hands them back to the teachers) First up: Bryan Scumis. Please read out what you wrote for me.

Bryan: Darkness. Endless darkness. I tried drinking bleach tonight so that I don’t have to fuck around finding mixers for the erguotou. That fucking bitch upstairs is stomping around with her big fucking hooves again. She’s always sneering. Just like all the other white bitches. In Saudi they’d be burka’ed up and not allowed to speak. That’s how it should be. I’m gonna show her what…. That’s it.

Detective Cator: That’s it?

Bryan: Well, there’s more but I can’t read it ‘cos the page is covered in blood, cum and vomit.

Detective Cator: No problem, Bryan. Good effort. Elly?

Elly: (Stands up) On the evening of my friend Tina’s brutal murder I was, as always, at home working on my blog: “White men and their venomous impact on Asia”. Most importantly, I was busy putting the final touches to my lesson plans as unlike the other teachers in this school, I take my role as an educator of young minds quite seriously. This entire exercise is pointless and a demonstration of Detective Cator’s male privilege.

Detective Cator: OK, thank you. And… Kevin?

Kevin: Ah am sorry. Ah did not do der assignment. Ah was buzzy wiv reading der Shakespeare and watching der Human Centipede 2. Have you seen eet? Eet bardzo dobrze… ah mean eet very good! I like it.

Detective Cator: Officers, it should now be clear that one of these teachers is not telling the truth. One of these people gathered here is not who they claim to be. The one who is hiding the truth about their identity will undeniably also be the killer of the unfortunate Tina Budong.

(Everybody sits up straight in their chairs. The tension is high. All eyes are on Detective Cator.)

Detective Cator: The murderer of Tina Budong is…

(There is a suitably dramatic pause.)

Detective Cator: Elly Mint-Fresh!

Elly: What?

Detective Cator: That’s right – the clues are obvious. You’re a liar and have been hiding your real identity all this time!

Elly: What the fuck are you talking about you cis-gendered scum?

Detective Cator: Simple. Allow me to demonstrate.

(Detective Cator pulls out a marker pen and begins writing on the whiteboard.)

Detective Cator: In your statement you wrote that you were working on a blog entitled “White men and their venomous impact on Asia”. Any educator with even an ounce of training will know that although the word “impact” has in colloquial terms come to mean “to strongly influence”, this is technically incorrect. The verb form of impact means “to strike with force”, not “affect”. The noun form of impact can mean “to strongly influence” but the verb form cannot. Furthermore, you began the next sentence with the words “most importantly”. Within the established rules of adverbs, “importantly” means “in an important manner”, hence “most important” would be the correct construction in this case. A genuine English teacher who has been offered the privilege of teaching the young minds of China would know this; therefore you cannot be who you claim to be. Officers! Arrest this woman!

Elly: Noooo!

(Officer Zhang leaps out of his chair and clubs Elly Mint-Fresh around the head – knocking her unconscious. With the help of seventeen nearby police officers – who just happened to be around – they soon succeed in carting her comatose body to the police station. Bryan Scumis and Kevin leave the classroom with grins on their faces. Only Detective Cator and Officer Liang remain in the classroom. Officer Liang shakes the detective’s hand.)

Officer Liang: I have to hand it to you, Cator. I doubted your skills. I thought that English teachers were worthless members of society who had nothing to offer anybody, but you showed me today that I was wrong. Please accept this duty-free box of cigarettes and a bottle of Maotai as thanks.

Detective Cator: You’re welcome, Officer Liang. Just doing my job.

Officer Liang: Tell me, now that you have solved the case of the Tina Budong murder, what’s next for Detective Ed U Cator?

Detective Cator: (The camera zooms in for a close-up) A teacher’s work is never done, Officer Liang. Whenever there is need to sing the numbers one to ten to children: I will be there. Whenever there is a spare five minutes in a school’s New Year performance that needs filling by a foreign man singing the Little Apple song: I will be there. Most of all, whenever a young girl from the countryside absolutely must jerk off a man in exchange for 150 RMB: I will be there. Because, my friend, I am and always will be…

(The camera zooms in even more.)

Detective Cator: AN EDUCATOR!

(Exciting music. Closing titles.)

Caption: Next week’s episode – P is for… Paedo?

educator
Edward Ulysses Cator contemplates his future
THE END.

***

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my book Party Members – a dark comic fantasy that exposes the corrupt underbelly of modern China.

Ed U Cator: TEFL Detective

A new television detective drama brought to you by Arthur Meursault.

teacher-detective

Voiceover: In the aftermath of the 2008 Beijing Olympics, crime and despair had descended upon the once harmonious Middle Kingdom. Without the concept of a unifying effort to rally behind, moral decadence now gripped the hearts and minds of the descendants of the dragon. Terror stalked the lower tier cities. Dogs were raped. Women were eaten. The people cried out for a saviour, but the corrupt police were too busy with their banquets to listen.

An alternative was needed.

A search took place throughout the land for that one man who could help fight crime with astonishing powers of deduction and reason.

Eventually that man was found.

Unfortunately, he was immediately hit by a bus and died.

Instead, the only available hope was a new type of detective. A detective who had ample time to solve mysteries due to only being on a 15 hour per week contract with his school. That man was…

Detective Ed U Cator: TEFL Detective!

SCENE: Funky 70’s music plays over the backdrop of an urban tier-88 cityscape. It’s the type of music that makes a man want to grab a woman by a log fireplace and force her to caress his masculine chest hair. Suddenly a red sports car is seen pulling up beside a police station. The camera then totally ignores the sports car to centre on an overweight foreign man in his 40s riding on a beaten-up e-bike. Huge letters in an aggressive yellow font zoom out to announce the title.

TITLE: Edward Ulysses Cator is…

SUBTITLE: THE TEFL DETECTIVE

The foreign man on the bicycle pulls out a bottle of erguotou from his jacket pocket and takes a swig. After a brief sick, he turns to the camera and smiles. His yellow broken teeth demonstrate his Britishness.

TITLE: STARRING HUGH LAURIE AS DETECTIVE ED. U. CATOR

A montage of exciting scenes commences. Detective Cator handcuffing a trio of sex traffickers; Detective Cator singing in front of a Kindergarten; Detective Cator rolling over a car bonnet with a murderer in a headlock; Detective Cator stood in a Kindergarten office demanding to know why he hasn’t received his salary yet; Detective Cator firing a gun into a suitcase full of drugs; Detective Cator in front of a room of children crying over a photo of his ex-wife and kids who he hasn’t seen in 6 years.

A huge explosion fills the screen.

TITLE: TONIGHT’S EPISODE – M is for… MURDER.

SCENE: The camera opens on an average tier-88 police station. Faded posters cover the walls carrying bold statements like “REPORT A FOREIGNER TODAY” and “COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT IS A CRIME UNLESS APPROVED BY THE GOVERNMENT”. Behind sturdy wooden desks, several diligent police officers bravely do their part in the fight against crime by sleeping. However, two officers are awake: Officer Rocky Zhang and Officer I Like World of Warcraft Liang (English name chosen by himself). The two officers are inched over a series of grisly photographs depicting a murder scene.

Officer Liang: The facts still don’t make sense to me, Officer Zhang. For the sake of clarity, and needless exposition, would you mind just walking me through the details again?

Officer Zhang: No problem, Officer Liang. Even though it makes no sense why I would didactically recite the basic facts of a murder case to my close colleague when we’ve obviously been working on the case for some time, I shall proceed to do so.

Officer Liang: That’s what makes you a great police officer, Rocky!

Officer Zhang: Yes, that and my shoot-to-kill policy towards elderly Falun Gong practitioners. Anyway, let’s go over it again. Victim is a mid-twenties Caucasian female named Tina Budong who was grossly overweight by our harmonious standards. Her body was found at the stairwell of her apartment by an elderly neighbour who tried to recycle her. Cause of death appears to be either massive damage by a blunt weapon to her head and body, or a Pumpkin Spice Latte deficiency. Forensics aren’t sure yet. We’ve tried to analyse her intestines, but the pure vegan diet that this feminine expatriate adhered to has made it impossible for any of our laboratory team to be in the same room as her stool sample for more than one minute. So far we haven’t managed to find any further clues.

Officer Liang: It’s certainly a mystery. No leads. No clues. I just don’t know what we’re gonna do. If we don’t solve this case soon then the resultant loss of face for our department will be worse than that time the Chief of Police was caught in a cheap hotel room… with his wife.

Officer Zhang: (Shudders) The shame. A man of his seniority should never have contemplated sleeping with his wife. What was he thinking?

(The two officers sit silently for a moment)

Officer Zhang: You know, there is one man who might be able to help us. Have you heard about that new maverick laowai detective who assisted Officer The Diaoyu Isles are Ours Chen in the fake fake milk powder scam?

Officer Liang: Hmmm. You mean that fat freelance guy who worked out that the fake milk powder was actually real milk powder so the resellers were losing out on profit?

Officer Zhang: That’s the one!

Officer Liang: How did we find him again?

Officer Zhang: He was stood on Zhongshan Road handing out leaflets for No. 8 Happy Giraffe Kindergarten and on the back of the leaflets he had scribbled a note claiming that he was a freelance detective. Apparently he has a lot of time on his hands as he only has a 15 hour per week contract with his school. We could give him a call and get his take on the case.

Officer Liang: That’s not a bad idea, Rocky. Just do me a favour: make sure he comes over here to the station rather than we visit him. I know how these foreign teachers live and I don’t feel like walking up six flights of stairs in a grotty apartment that doesn’t even have an elevator.

Officer Zhang: I’m on it! I’ll send him a WeChat message right away…

school-detective

SCENE: A large interview room within the police station containing several empty desks and stools. Officers Zhang and Liang wait patiently upon the stools while smoking. A large whiteboard covers the front wall of the room covered in facts and details about the case.

Officer Liang: I thought you said he was due at 2pm? He’s already an hour late.

Officer Zhang: He sent me a message to say that he’d be late. His school re-arranged his schedule at the last moment without notifying him and he had to teach a bunch of special needs kids that pay double. He’s on his way.

Officer Liang: He’d better be. It took me all morning to write all those case details up on the board. If he…

(The door suddenly swings open and an overweight man in his mid-forties bounces into the room. Detective Cator has arrived)

Detective Cator: Hello everybody!

Officers Liang and Zhang: Erm…. hello?

Detective Cator: Hello! I’m Detective Ed U Cator! Do you know how to spell Ed U Cator?

(Detective Cator uses the edge of his food-stained sleeve to wipe off all the case notes that Officer Liang wrote on the whiteboard. He grabs a marker pen and replaces it with the words ED U CATOR in large letters)

Officer Liang: My notes!

Detective Cator: Ssssh, no talking in class. Now, I’m going to throw this small rubber ball around the room and when you catch it I’d like you to tell me your name and something interesting about yourself. Catch!

(He throws a small ball towards Officer Zhang)

Officer Zhang: Erm… My name is Officer Zhang Lei, but you can call me Rocky. I am a police officer. My hobbies are eating and sleeping, do you know it?

Detective Cator: Very good, Rocky. Now pass the ball over to your friend there.

(Officer Zhang flips the ball to Officer Liang who throws the ball to the ground in disgust)

Officer Liang: We’ve no time for this – there’s a woman dead in the autopsy room and we need to find the killer. We need your help Cator, but if you cock up then it’s my ass on the line. You understand? Your cock-up – my ass!

(Officer Zhang flashes his colleague a brief look of confusion)

Detective Cator: Don’t worry! I am not just a teacher – I am Ed U Cator! And I will solve this as easy as A, B, C…

Officer Liang: That’s a relief to hear, Cator.

Detective Cator: …D, E, F, G…

Officer Liang: Erm… you can stop now.

Detective Cator: …H, I, J…

Officer Liang: Stop it!

Detective Cator: Oh, ok. Sorry about that. Sometimes it’s hard to forget about the day job. Show me the facts.

Officer Zhang: (He places some photos of the corpse in front of the Detective) This is the victim, Sir. One Tina Budong. American citizen. Had been in China for only six months. Her body was found like this.

Detective Cator: I see. She was obviously attacked in a very vicious fashion. I can see that there has been massive damage to the heads, shoulders, knees and toes.

Officer Zhang: And the eyes, and ears, and mouth, and nose.

Detective Cator: Hmmm. Heads, shoulders, knees and toes… knees and toes. What could it mean?

Officer Liang: Do you think you can help?

Detective Cator: It won’t be easy, but I think that it’s possible. With a case this serious I’ll have to create my own lesson plan first. I just hope that the school photocopier is working. Give me a call in two days and I’ll let you know what I’ve deduced. In the meantime, I’d like you both to write 250 words about your hometown. Now you’ll have to excuse me gentlemen, one of my students is waiting outside and I need her to help top up my phone credit.

(Detective Cator leaves)

Officer Liang: Mao damnit… are you sure about this guy?

Officer Zhang: I know he’s eccentric, but they say he’s one of the best. (He picks up a pen and opens his notebook) How do you spell “delicious” in English? I want to write about the sweet and sour chicken in my hometown.

Caption: Two days later…

Scene: Back in the police station. Officers Zhang and Liang are back behind their desks.

Officer Liang: Where the hell is he? He was supposed to report to us today on his findings!

Officer Zhang: I’m not quite sure. Officer The Diaoyu Isles are Ours Chen did warn me that sometimes Detective Cator gets a bit depressed and can sometimes go quiet. He did leave me a voicemail at three o’clock in the morning though.

Officer Liang: Who the fuck leaves voicemail? Anyway, let’s hear it.

(Officer Zhang pulls out his phone, accesses his voicemail and puts it to speaker)

Voice of Detective Cator: (The voice is very slurred) Wei, wei, wei, wei, wei, wei? Fucking wei! That’s all you bastards ever say. Wei, wei, fucking wei! I fucking hate this place. I fucking hate this job. I’m Ed U Cator! I’m fucking better than this, you fucking cunts. Eight yuan for erguotou? It tastes like fucking piss. Fucking school. Don’t trust these cunts. I wouldn’t be teaching these fucking brats if that whore wife of mine hadn’t left me. Barbara! Why? Whhhhyyyy? I loved you! Just let me speak to the kids. Just once. Pleeeasssse. Fucking Chinese fucking…

Officer Zhang: (Hitting mute) It goes on like that for another twenty minutes. I guess he meant to call somebody else.

Officer Liang: Hmmm. I’ll give him two more days to let him recover. He’d better come up with some results fast though, otherwise I’ll be taking a very close look at his work visa. A very close look indeed.

Voiceover: Will Detective Ed U Cator catch the foul murderer? Has Detective Ed U Cator been working illegally on a tourist visa? And just how will he stretch his measly teaching salary to cover his alcohol expenses? Find out in the next thrilling episode of Ed U Cator: TEFL DETECTIVE!

To be continued…

***

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my book Party Members – a dark comic fantasy that exposes the corrupt underbelly of modern China.

This week’s HOT TOPIC: Which is better? Deng or Dung?

Hello Gemerrs!

Over the celebration of the Christ child’s birth, I got the chance to visit lots of rural areas in under-developed countries. When not being asked to give money to perfectly healthy looking people, the one thing that I noticed is that I saw a lot of shit. And I mean A LOT. So much shit that I thought it was going out of fashion. Surrounded by such sheer amounts of shit everyday I couldn’t help but ponder on the following question…

Which is better? Deng Xiaoping or actual cow dung?

During my 4th seven-hour bus journey to nowhere I actually gave some serious thought to this.

In 1949, Mao Zedong told the Chinese people to stand up. Then, in the mid 1970s, Deng Xiaoping told them to sit down again… and perhaps enjoy a glass of fine wine. Ever since that fateful day, the Chinese people of the world (mostly based in China) have been free to earn money, go for handjobs in massage parlours, and exploit black people – just like their privileged evil white male cousins. And they’ve been doing it very well. United Nations League Tables this year have shown that China is ranked 7th in the world for earning money, and 1st for illicit handjobs! Racial persecution is still slightly lacking though: China was listed a disappointing 29th, getting beaten slightly by the Solomon Islands.

Truly, Deng Xiaoping was a great man – but would we have seen the same results with just a piece of cow dung in charge of the Politburo? I’ve identified several key areas where the merits of both Deng and dung can be evaluated. So who will win? 4ft 7 inches tall Deng from Sichaun Province, or a three inch long piece of shit straight from a cow’s arse?

Let’s see!

Round one: Smoking

Deng: 80 a day man Deng Xiaoping was truly the smoking man’s Chairman. Never seen without a packet of Chunghwa in his hand, Deng would often entertain fellow world leaders by smoking up to fifteen cigarettes at one time, whilst blowing smoke rings in the form of Idi Amin’s late mother. Deng also spread the joy of nicotine addiction to millions more within China: by lowering the legal smoking age to just three months in the womb! Deng Xiaoping: with our yellow, nicotine-stained hand, we salute you!

Dung: Anyone who has ever been to a completely organic farm in the Philippines will testify; nothing steams and smokes quite like a freshly laid turd. Once mistaken by the early Celtic tribes of Britain as manifestations of God, cow shit will continue to give off a pleasantly smelling sulphuric mist, until it dries up and goes all hard. The steam emitted from a fresh “moo’ers egg” is so strong, that Napoleon actually covered his ships in layers of shit in order to disguise his navy beneath a layer of mist. Shit’tastic!

Verdict: Due to his ability to smoke not only cigarettes, but also cigars, cigarellos, and erections; Deng Xiaoping wins the smoking round hands down.

Deng 1 Dung 0

Round two: Rotting

Deng: A bit of a latecomer to the wacky world of decomposing; Deng only really started rotting seriously after his death in 1997. Though some of his critics would say that his post-1989 policies were already lifeless and irrelevant, and that his rule has helped to keep in power a corrupt and out-of-touch gerontocracy, Deng only has a history of about twenty years of being genuine wormfood. The man from Sichuan has also lost out to Chairman Mao in the rotting stakes: Deng Xiaoping was cremated after his death, whilst Mao’s rotting corpse continues to pollute the atmosphere in Beijing. A poor performance from the late dictator in this round.

Dung: When it comes to slowly decomposing, breaking down chemically, and emitting nauseous gases: cow dung really is the shit. It’s brown, smelly, and rots in the ground. If I hadn’t already made a cheap joke about Idi Amin’s late mother, I would have just done another one there. In fact, cow dung is so good at fertilising, it was once number one on in the UK for a record 37 weeks under the pseudonym “Bryan Adams”.

Verdict: Cow dung thoroughly trounces Lao Deng in the rotting round, leaving Xiaoping looking timid in the corner and covered in poo.

Deng 1 Dung 1

Round three: Chinese characteristics

Deng: Our Deng is as Chinese as rice, pandas, and female infanticide. One little known fact, is that not only was he born in China, but Deng Xiaoping could also speak Chinese, cook Chinese food, and is rumoured to have held a number of posts on the Chinese government later in life. Mr. Xiaoping loved China so much, that during the Cultural Revolution he actually jumped out of a window so that he could be closer to the Chinese soil. His three children, Cathay, Middle Kingdom, and Sick Man of the East, are all named after the country he loved. When once asked at a state function in 1987 what his favourite country was, his famous reply was “Probably China”.

Dung: Pathetic. Cow dung displays about as much Chinese characteristics as Big Macs, the French, and rational thinking in the face of justified criticism. Let’s look at the facts: Can’t use chopsticks. Doesn’t like Chinese food. Has no concept whatsoever about “One Country, Two Systems”. Doesn’t take selfies. Can’t name even one Chinese dynasty. Doesn’t harass westerners on the streets of Beijing for free English lessons. It’s about time somebody went up to Mr. Cow Poo and told him: “If you don’t like China, you can go home!” That’ll show him.

Verdict: Following in the footsteps of Fu Manchu, Ming the Merciless, and Mr. Miyagi from the Karate Kid films, Deng Xiaoping shows his Chinesey-ness with pride. Cow dung, on the other foot, just proves itself to be a running dog of the imperialist, capitalist, scum.

Deng 2 Dung 1

Winner: DENG XIAOPING! Well done Sir!

***

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my book Party Members – a dark comic fantasy that exposes the corrupt underbelly of modern China.

Banker’s Inferno: A Diabolical Tale About The Bank Of China

hell-2

(An old post from the archives after a memorably traumatic experience at the Bank of China. If you’ve got any Bank of China horror stories (and if you have ever used them then I am sure you have), please share in the comments section.)

Freezing winds blasted down the alleyways of Pandemonium’s Ninth Circle, shattering icicles and throwing them down onto the frost-covered stones. Somewhere, beneath the tall gateway where the words “Abandon hope all ye who enter” lay hidden beneath an inch of thick ice, two lower-level demons huddled together beneath a thick blanket.

“I, I… I’ve never been so cold in my entire afterlife…” stuttered the first demon, a minor diabolical deity who was now rubbing his claws together for any warmth he could muster. “When will His Dark Highness do something about this?”

The second demon, a low ranking Demon of the Eighth Level who had once taunted Christians in the desert two millennia ago, pulled his scarf tighter around his neck and let out a loud sigh.

“The last I heard His Satanic Majesty was trapped in the Palace of Eternal Fire behind a snowdrift. It could be days before they fix the boilers.”

As the demon’s teeth snapped off his final word, the wind blasted again, and brought with it a scrap of paper that smacked right into the first demon’s horned face. The creature pulled the paper off with chapped claws and read it aloud.

“A short lecture on new 21st century ways to increase misery and despair amongst the souls of mortal men by the CEO of the Bank of China…” The demon’s claws shook as he read.

“Nah, not interested,” said the Eighth Level Demon, “We kicked those Financial Demons out of Hell years ago when they started boring the damned instead of torturing them. Most of them work for Goldman Sachs now. They’re as dull as the Grim Reaper’s party tricks.”

“…Hot drinks and refreshments provided,” the first demon continued.

The wind howled again and the screams of the shivering damned rose up from frozen lakes of sulphur.

“Right, let’s go”

***********************************************************************

The Great Hall of Evil was packed as demon after demon filled into the Hall to escape the bitter winds outside. On stage, a representative from the Bank of China stood awkwardly and fiddled with his tie.

“Friends, devils, fellow minions of evil; it gives me great pleasure to address you all today on the great benefits the Bank of China can bring to the unholy cause of human misery…”

“GET ON WITH IT!” shouted Beelzebub’s second cousin from the back of the room as he pushed lesser demons out of the way from the tea urn.

“Ahem…” coughed the Bank of China representative, “The Bank of China has devised and implemented a number of initiatives that optimizes feelings of hatred and emptiness within the hearts of customers, thus providing a firm supply base for Hell’s future damned souls.”

The rep continued. “Our policy of not linking individual bank branches is proving to be a continuing success. Though all our branches carry the name “Bank of China”, we have seen to it that it is virtually impossible to do business outside of one’s hometown. Clients cannot receive bank transfers on business trips, and we even charge customers a hefty surcharge to deposit money into their accounts when away from home. So far, this has resulted in at least 7400 cases of unfortunate souls being without money when they needed it most, and so they turned to a life of organised crime in order to get by.

“Our refusal to convert Chinese currency back into foreign currency has led to over 300,000 foreigners going crazy and being committed to government sponsored mental institutions. However, mere refusal alone is not enough to condemn a man’s soul for a hellish eternity. We have left open avenues to convert renminbi into dollars, but the bureaucracy and paperwork involved is so long and torturous that it will surely lead to the ultimate triumph of evil over good. Victory will be ours!

“Oh! I haven’t mentioned the diabolical queuing system that we have installed in our banks! We have filled our offices with the most incompetent staff this side of Armageddon, and crippled them with regulations so that they can only utter “meiyou” to all but the simplest of requests. Not only that, but we have given each teller demon a two hour lunch break! Imagine the cursed wretch who attempts to withdraw some money during his lunch break: wait and wait he will, but he will never reach the front of the queue for a million years! Oh, the puny mortal may actually think he can reach the teller’s desk in time, but we have hidden so many line-pushing farmers into every bank that his hopes will all shrivel and die!

“And our Financial Reich of Despair will reign for eternity in China, as we have seen to it that the foreign banks will be unable to provide competition. Oh, they can come to China and open offices, but the regulations we have enforced will ensure that the only thing the people in those HSBCs and Citibanks will be able to offer is a cup of tea and a boiled sweetie. As long as His Satanic Majesty is the major shareholder in the Bank of China, our government friends will guarantee that no foreign bank in China will ever be able to issue a bankcard, nor will they ever be able to open an account that can hold less than 2000 dollars. Just think of the sweet misery that will bubble up in the heart of Johnny Foreigner as he walks into the HSBC thinking he can escape the awe inspiring dread of the Bank of China! He will have no choice but to crawl back to us for his banking needs, and we will stand there waiting for him, waiting to twist his heart into a blackened shell. Evil will reign supreme – the mortal man is cursed, CURSED! All rise and hail the dark power of the Bank of Satan’s China! HAIL IT! EVIL, EVIL, EVIIIIIL!

“Any questions?”

The Bank of China representative looked up and saw that the entire room was empty apart from a janitor demon sweeping the floor. The janitor looked up and answered the man.

“The boilers are back on, I guess everybody went home.”

“Oh,” said the Bank of China representative, slightly disappointed. “I’ll let myself out then.”

***

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my book Party Members – a dark comic fantasy that exposes the corrupt underbelly of modern China.

The Even Further Erotic Adventures of Xi Jinping!

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Previously, on http://www.arthurmeursault.com…

Parts 1 and 2

Part 3

Xi Jinping meets popular /r/China character James

Xi Jinping sat in his Audi A6 while trapped in the mother of all traffic jams somewhere near Beijing’s 4th ring road. To pass the time he was strumming his finger over Tantan profiles as quickly as a Baltimore crack whore flicking herself off on a “Black Girlz Gone Wild” video.

Xi was pretty depressed. He had given instructions to his personal chef to prepare him a delicious steak and strawberry jam sandwich for the journey. Looking at the sorry item in his tupperware container he could see that the chef had completely screwed up and added ketchup rather than jam. The bread didn’t even have any sugar in it. It was disgusting.

To cheer himself up, Xi reminded himself that he was head of the Communist Party and that, technically, he owned every piece of property in the entire country. He decided to drive off the ring road and go and collect rent from one of the 1,400,000,000,000 properties in his portfolio. There was one school in particular that he had in mind.

Wiping the ketchup off his special “rent collecting” windbreaker jacket, Xi knocked on the door of the Happy Giraffe English School. The cunts in these private English schools were raking it in, but Xi hadn’t seen a single People’s Money from them in years. As leader of the world’s oldest and most harmonious civilisation, Xi loved collecting money and pushing people around, so even now his jaundiced one-eyed python was twitching like a Cambodian orphan on a landmine. Hopefully the school would have a sexy receptionist that looked like Angelababy. Sadly, when the door opened his mounting erection shrank from the size of an autonomous province to the size of a mere special administrative region.

Standing before him was an awkward looking man-child with thick glasses hiding a pair of shifty looking eyes that resembled day old tea eggs in two small dishes of spunk. He looked like an idiot.

“Hello,” said the man. “My name is James.”

“Where’s the money?” demanded Xi. “I want my fucking rent.”

“We have no money, Mr Jinping Sir,” stammered James. “We just spent our last remaining petty cash on installing a new school bell. Would you like to hear it?”

“Go on then,” said Xi.

James looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, you can’t. It’s broken. Would you like to look at a photo of my blue Geely hatchback instead? I’d show you the real thing but the security guards towed it away for parking it by the trucks. They’re stupid.”

Xi pushed aside the idiotic Director of Administration and barged his way into the school. In a fit of rage, he tore the school bell from the wall and crushed it beneath his extremely well polished shoe. Next, he tore off his windbreaker jacket and clothes and allowed the stale air of the crumbling property to encircle his glistening skin like flies around shit. He looked across at the cowering man in the corner – his eyes showed more fear than an average foreigner confronted with the characters 南海路 – and he felt his cock grow to epic proportions.

“If I can’t have my money, I’ll have you instead!”

James needed no encouragement. He had earlier finished half a bottle of Tsingtao and was as pissed as Uncle Ganbei on New Year’s Eve. James quickly whipped off his trousers to reveal a groinal area that was covered in pubic hair so black and so dense that Xi Jinping thought he was looking at Harambe as a child.

“Chairman Xi,” said the newly eroticised James. “I must insist that if you are to take me that we do it in a harmonious and patriotic fashion. Perhaps we can roleplay? I can pretend to be Taiwan, and you can be the Motherland rightfully reclaiming me?”

“Let’s do it,” roared the author of the Art of Governance.

Before James knew what had hit him, Xi Jinping reached out to him like the Port of Dandong reaches out to the world. Xi bent James over and was banging his arsehole like Ringo Starr on the drums during the final section of Ticket to Ride.

“Do you accept the One China policy?” growled the former head of the Communist Youth League.

“Yes! There is only one China and I’m an inalienable part of it!” cried James.

“Do you acknowledge the sovereignty of the Communist Party?”

“Yes! Drive your PLA tank through my streets of Taipei, beloved Chairman!”

Mere seconds later, Xi Jinping pulled out of James’ arsehole which now resembled the flag of Japan. And not the current flag of Japan either – the old one with all the rays coming out of it. Aiming at James’ head, the Chairman spunked a nine-dash line all over his face. As he stood over James, his cock now an empty shell and his balls hanging like punctured leather footballs, he felt he had made significant steps in bridging political divides. And getting his dick covered in shit.

“Thanks for the reunification debate, but I still want my money next week.” Xi pulled on his windbreaker jacket. He bent over the spunk-covered wreck that was James and was all ready to whisper “Harmony” in his ear and pat him on the fanny, when he noticed a young foreign man in the corner of the room holding a Coolpad.

“Who is that?” asked Xi.

James looked up. “Oh, that’s /u/Chinahandy – he’s this guy that follows me around and writes made-up stories about me online.”

“Oh yeah,” replied Xi. “I’ve got one of those guys too.”

The End

***

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my book Party Members – a dark comic fantasy that exposes the corrupt underbelly of modern China.

An Open Letter to the Woman Who Asked Me If I Could Eat Spicy Food

crying
Me. Yesterday.

Dear Madam:

Maybe I should have let it go. Turned my big laowai nose elsewhere. I had just gotten out of a 24-hour spa and massage centre, and I was with some friends on the Upper East Side of Shijiazhuang’s hip and happening Museum of Hebei district. Yes, I was surprised to learn that there is a Museum of Hebei too. Whatever. That isn’t the point. We were going to lunch, trying to see if there was room in the Chongqing-style hot pot restaurant down the street. You were in a rush. It was raining. Or perhaps it was sunny. It’s hard to tell because either type of weather means you’d have your umbrella and your privilege up. This gaggle of laowai was in your way.

But I was, honestly, stunned when you saw us make towards the hot pot restaurant and tapped me on the shoulder to ask, “老外,你能吃辣吗?”

I am not a bigot, so I will not assume that some people cannot read the Chinese characters I just typed. Perhaps they can. Perhaps they cannot. Let’s just not base our assumptions on the colour of their skin or their accent. However, for the benefit of those who cannot read Chinese characters, I will help here by saying that the woman asked “Foreigner, can you eat spicy food?” Not knowing that doesn’t make you a worse person. Knowing that doesn’t make you a better person. Can’t we all just get along? Jesus…

Anyway.

I hesitated for a second and then turned to confront you. That must have startled you. You probably weren’t even expecting that I could understand you. I have become accustomed to that.

But you didn’t stop there.

You then pointed to me and asked “Can you use chopsticks?”

It was comical, in retrospect. In a civilised country you would have been rightly arrested and had your life and career destroyed for such disrespectful bigotry. However, here nobody challenges or stops to check their privilege. Instead you just continued your hate crimes, pointing at the hot pot pictures and doubting whether I could eat the chilli peppers or not.

“I can eat lots of spicy food!” I yelled back. “Even the McSpicy burger at McDonalds!”

It felt silly. But how else to prove I belonged?

This was not my first encounter, of course, with racist food insults in China. Ask any Caucasian-Chinese, and they’ll readily summon memories of waiters bringing them knives and forks, or disturbing encounters at the grocery store when the shop assistant suggests we try the cheese. When I posted on Twitter about what happened, an avalanche of people replied back to me with their own experiences. But I couldn’t see their responses because this is China and I don’t have a VPN.

Walking home later, a pang of sadness welled up inside me. And it wasn’t the inevitable diarrhoea following three hours of all-you-can-eat spicy hot pot.

You had on a nice winter coat – even though it was 28 degrees and you were sweating profusely. But I accept your tradition of believing that winter clothes must be worn after a certain date regardless of the actual temperature. I don’t make an issue out of it. I accept. Your iPhone was a 6 Plus. iPhones are designed in the West so technically you had appropriated my culture by using one, but again – I accepted. I tolerated. You could have been a fellow customer in other restaurants that I regularly dine at. Like KFC. Or Pizza Hut. You seemed, well, normal. You probably even write in extremely short sentences. Just like I do. It just feels better that way. But you also had these other feelings in you, and, the reality is, so do a lot of people in this country right now.

Maybe you don’t know this, but the insults you hurled at my ability to eat spicy food got to the heart of the Caucasian-Chinese experience. It’s this persistent sense of otherness that a lot of us struggle with every day. That no matter what we eat, how much mapo tofu we can handle, how much diarrhoea we get, our stomachs don’t belong. We’re foreign. We’re not Chinese. It’s one of the reasons that everybody thinks I only eat hamburgers and hot dogs for breakfast. That and the fact that I’m morbidly obese and have type-two diabetes. “Why are you so fat?” Chinese people always ask me. Now we can add fat-shaming to your list of sins.

Wow.

I fled the United Kingdom for China because I was tired of bland food. I struggled to overcome a diet of fish and chips so that I could eat the types of spicy food that I truly identified with. I’m trans-spiced. I came to this land for the hot pot. For the Kung Pao Chicken. For the McSpicy. I even came here for the diarrhoea. Model minority, indeed.

Yet somehow I still often feel like an outsider.

And I wonder if that feeling will ever go away. Not the feeling of diarrhoea (that never goes away), but the feeling of otherness. My stomach is not your exotic curio. Don’t “other” my tastebuds. Work with me for the day when we can all have a hot pot… together.

But, afterward, my 7-year-old daughter, who witnessed the whole thing, kept asking my wife, “Why did she ask, ‘Can you eat spicy food?’ We’re not even eating spicy food anyway.”

No, we’re not, my wife said, and she tried to explain that the reason we decided not to go to the hot pot restaurant after all and instead go to McDonalds was because she found a voucher in her purse for 50% off all Big Macs that expires next week.

Your father spends most of his money on alcohol, she told my daughter. We choose where we eat based on price, not spiciness. But sometimes people don’t understand that.

I hope you do now.

Sincerely,

Arthur Meursault

(If you’re lucky enough to not know what the hell I am talking about you can head to the New York Times and read this drivel)

***

If you enjoyed this post you may also enjoy my book Party Members – a dark comic fantasy that exposes the corrupt underbelly of modern China.