I dare say I do not know what has come over me! I have made the most epic decisions, and you will be the first to know about it. This summer, I will take the battle to the Japs and the Commie Pinkos! I am no longer content to lay around Taiyuan watching my peasant opera girls perform solos for/on me. No my friends, it is time to end this invasion from within and without once and for all.
I leave at once for the battlefront. Wish me luck, before too many months have passed I will regale you all with tales of victory. I have no doubt that the campaign will come to a successful end and I will finally make our homeland safe for democracy or whatever other kind of government I decide to install.
Things are rough here in the Yan Xishan camp. Two weeks back, after a night of heavy drinking, I was curled up on my kang, most thankful that the thick coal smoke that forms Taiyuan’s natural weather patterns was keeping the sun at bay. Just at that moment, my #6 wife asked me to let her visit her natal family, and in my still inebriated state, I allowed her to depart. If I was in my right mind, I never would have let her go. Not only do I rely on her for daily massages, ear cleanings, and sexual services, but her hometown is precariously close to the damn Jin-Cha-Ji base area. Before I even finished sobering up over my mid-day bowl of noodles and vinegar, the report came back–she had been communized! Yes, she had disappeared into the Red Zone. I imagine she must have at least four peasant husbands. What an abomination!
Have you heard the news? It is the talk of the Shanxi interwebs: an American barbarian, famous for playing the game of “basketball” has come to our not-so-humble province, promising to labor and bring us glory! I myself am a bit confused about all of this. Seriously, there is a war going on, as I am sure you are all aware of. Who has time for this game of throw-ball-in-basket when motherfuckers need killing? But then again, as my regular readers know, I have my distractions, so who am I to deny my Shanxi peasants and coal workers a moment of pleasure? Well, I am the master of my domain, so I suppose I could, but I have always held that a five minute break makes those 18 hour coal mining shifts just fly by.
Recently I have been chatting with my old rival and drinking buddy, Zhang Xueliang. Of course, we have to have these “chats” via telegram, as that old mouth breather Jiang Jieshi has kept the Young Marshall under house arrest ever since the so-called “Xi’an Incident.” But he has to be released pretty soon, I mean how long can the Generalissimo hold a grudge? Anyway, Xueliang was telegraphing (is this what kids mean by texting?) how he just cannot wait to get out and get back to his homeland up in the Northeast. I had to stop him right there. Who the hell wants to go to Dongbei? Motherfuckers been wanting to get up out of there for centuries!
Seeing how ignorance was everywhere, I knew that it was time for the introduction of the #3 most impressive dynasty of all time, the glorious Qing. As all but the most moronic know, the Qing dynasty was founded by the Manchus, bunch of gross barbarians who were able to parlay their excellence in horseback riding and archery into the temporary dominance over the great Han Chinese race. Crazy, right? But truth be told the Chinese empire has long been troubled by the dirty and unwashed barbarian hordes to the north. Ever since the Xiongnu delighted to our fine silks and princesses, it has been one long struggle to remind the barbarian that yes, you can ride horses better than we can, but no, you are still a damn barbarian so keep out.
Recently, Beijing Boyce, the all-star blogger and friend to Shanxi’s most eligible warlord, published my list of the greatest bars of China’s erstwhile capital city. You can read all about it right here. Be sure to notice how kick-ass I look in my Time magazine cover. In honor of this auspicious occasion, I thought I would provide a few tips so that you, my good readers, could learn to drink in true warlord fashion. It ain’t easy, so get your yatou (you do have a servant girl, right?) to fetch a bottle and let’s get started!
It is the holiday season here in Taiyuan, which means a “temporary” truce with the hated Japs, bonus rations of vinegar for the troops, and a plenty of extra performances for my favorite qinqiang opera troop. Tonight they are staging, at my request, a “mash-up” of The White-Haired Girl and A Christmas Carol.
My deepest apologies for not updating my “blog” sooner, but I had been away from Taiyuan, which, I am proud to say, is quite lovely this time of year. Just this morning I was lounging on my extra large kang, watching a private performance from one of my favorite local opera stars (a lovely lass, but only when in full make-up, a long story indeed), looking out into the frigid city, which was choked with coal smoke, and I exclaimed how happy I was to be back in Shanxi.
You see, I have just returned from a super top-secret meeting in Chongqing with my fellow KMT leaders, deciding on how to best pretend to resist Japan while secretly crushing the Red Menace. I cannot tell you the details of the plan, but it involves this odd creation I learned from your internets, some sort of food that is passed off as Chinese food and has the odd moniker “Orange Chicken.” Perhaps you have heard of it? We certainly do not have it in China, but I plan to have my chefs perfect this dish and introduce it into CCP territory, starting with the Jin-Cha-Ji base area. After eating this crap, it is just a matter of time before Mao and his wife sharing peasant hordes drop dead from malnutrition. Surely this is the most brilliant military plan ever hatched over hotpot!
What sick shit will they think of next? Hot pot, but replacing the broth with boiling elephant placenta? Nothing those sick southern fucks might do could surprise me.
Way to go, Guangdongren. Thanks to you, here is what the internet thinks of us Chinese folks:
Let’s just get this straight. Up here in Shanxi, yes we do eat donkey, dipped in our famous and most delicious Shanxi vinegar (I have three bottles within reach right now). But we do not go for this sick shit. Southerners, you are on notice–you best get your culinary act in order, or–and I know this must sound crazy–but stop putting this shit online! Otherwise you can get ready for a full on JPA invasion. You will get your ass kicked Chen Jiongming style.
You know, I have had my share of problems with the Communists. Fundamentally, we disagree on a number of critical issues, and these are disagreements that will never be overcome. They want to communize my many wives, concubines, female friends, and various sex workers so that the peasant hordes will not have to engage in “alternative sexual survival strategies” (that is to say, two peasant dudes doing each other in the butt, then sharing their only lice-infested padded cotton jacket while they cuddle on an unheated kang). Sorry, not going to happen! And so they plot to overthrow me, and I root out their spies and agents, executing them in an increasingly inventive manner.
But if Mao Zedong and his fellow Soviet running dogs hate me so much, why the fuck are they imitating me? No, they have not given up their sleeping pills for fenjiu, I speak of what I saw during one of thier recent parades. Don’t ask me what they were celebrating… maybe Jiang Qing got the lead in the CCP’s new Gone with the Wind production? Anyway, take a look at this: