Last night, gazing over the beautiful Taiyuan skyline as the sun set to the west of my fortified palace, watching the sun dip below the fragrant haze created by my coal mines, my mind wandered and I began to ponder some of the big questions that have been on my mind since I was a young lad. Who or what created us? Was Hong Xiuquan fucking crazy, or was he actually bat-shit crazy? Why is it that I was destined for greatness, while peasants are destined to farm using their own shit as fertilizer? Who put that stick up Jiang Jieshi’s ass? Does Mao Zedong realize that with his accent, he sounds like a little bitch?
As I pondered my role in this world, and my status as a great Chinese leader (and the #1 Chinese thinker), this led me to a new line of inquiry: What is it that defines us as Chinese? Not in terms of nationality, as this is a simple question. In terms of nation, China refers to the great Han race and all those minorities lucky enough to be crushed by our superior numbers and hot pot technology. No, as I pondered the meaning of “Chinese,” I was reflecting on the role of culture.
Now, when I was a young man, Chinese culture was a simple matter. Drink tea, quote Zhu Xi whenever possible, eat rice, cripple your daughter by binding her feet, and repeat until you croak and your many sons mourn you for three years. But within my lifetime, so much has changed! Sure, we still got the rice thing, but nowadays Zhu Xi is out, and Ibsen is in. And if you bind your daughter’s feet, you are considered a serious asshole. A few decades ago, if you could not freely pontificate about the “investigation of things” while your womenfolk hobbled about within the seclusion of your estate, you would not be considered Chinese. These days? So much has changed!
Now, of course I am thankful for this change. I mean, I rule Shanxi, so the whole end of the imperial era thing has kind of worked out for me. Plus, I like a real active sex partner, and women with bound feet really cannot do some of the real freaky shit that I enjoy. Yes, I know, this makes me a feminist, don’t remind me. But if we cannot take Chinese culture and fossilize it, how can we ever be sure how to separate the great Chinese from the dirty, stinky, and typically hairy barbarian? After worrying about this for a few hours, I finally relaxed, thanks to two things. First was a stiff fenjiu cocktail, second was my memories of the #4 dynasty of all time, the great Tang dynasty!
The Tang was truly a great time. First, as you can see, this was a large dynasty, one that extended a Chinese bitch slap all the way into Inner Asia along the Silk Road. But what really appeals to me about the Tang was that this was a different China, one would have been unrecognizable to my parents and their generation. That punk Zhu Xi had not yet put the Neo in Neo-Confucianism. Women did not yet bind their feet, which meant when you sexed up Yang Guifei, she could do all your favorite positions! Perhaps most importantly, China was open to other cultures and ideologies–Confucianism was actually taking a back seat to Buddhism! Crazy. But if China was culturally so different during one of its greatest eras (specifically, the #4 era ever), then China can change and grow! This is great news for my plan to replace tea drinking with bourbon guzzling.
Now, the Tang is often considered to be the #1 dynasty of all time. Close, but not quite. How can we overlook the fact that the Tang was breifly usurped by the only female emperor in Chinese history? Thanks to the so-called Empress Wu, the Tang has a black eye that cannot be covered up. Good thing that I am a feminist, because I can come out and say what all Chinese men know, even us feminists: Women cannot rule All Under Heaven! All Under My Pants, yes, but not All Under Heaven.