almostwitty: (monkey)

Reddit throws questions at Steven Yuen, the sole Asian actor in The Walking Dead, in the modern version of an online chat.

Of course, there’s then a huge section where posters essentially post on the theme of “Dude! How did you manage to bang a white chick ?!”.

I understand and appreciate that it’s generally harder for Western-Asian/Chinese men to find a girlfriend, partially thanks to an image problem – you can probably count the number of famous and hunky Western-Asian male actors on the fingers of one hand. But you know what the bigger problem is? The oblique tendency of some Western-Asian/Chinese men to hide in their bedrooms nurturing their alienation and sexism in lieu of developing a personality that would attract ladies in the first place.

And yes, pot, kettle, black.

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (Default)

As anyone who runs a blog knows, you tend to get a LOT of spam comments, which are luckily filtered out by most blogging systems. However, this particular one caught my eye today:


“the thing i like about asian women are those long flowing straight hair and those chinky eyes”


I really hope that’s not an excerpt from some poor chap’s dating profile, because I doubt he’s going to get much of a lookup. Imagine if your chat-up line was: “Ooooh I just love your chinky eyes”. That’d be pretty much the same as saying “Oooh I just love your nigger lips”.


(And yes, I thought about censoring the n-word from that sentence, but really, if I’m not going to censor the c-word, then I can’t then go and censor the n-word. Complicated racial politics that come into what was initially a simple blogpost about a spam comment. Oh dear.)


But then I wonder why Chinese women are so highly sought-after. Apparently, Egyptian men can now be added to the list of men around the world who want Chinese women. According to the article from Al Arabiya (which was also quoted in BBC News, but I can’t find the link now), Chinese women are prized for their “Obedience and loyalty”. I’ve got three sisters. None of them are particularly obedient, and I have the scars to prove it.


Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (evil)

As anyone who runs a blog knows, you tend to get a LOT of spam comments, which are luckily filtered out by most blogging systems. However, this particular one caught my eye today:

“the thing i like about asian women are those long flowing straight hair and those chinky eyes”

I really hope that’s not an excerpt from some poor chap’s dating profile, because I doubt he’s going to get much of a lookup. Imagine if your chat-up line was: “Ooooh I just love your chinky eyes”. That’d be pretty much the same as saying “Oooh I just love your nigger lips”.

(And yes, I thought about censoring the n-word from that sentence, but really, if I’m not going to censor the c-word, then I can’t then go and censor the n-word. Complicated racial politics that come into what was initially a simple blogpost about a spam comment. Oh dear.)

But then I wonder why Chinese women are so highly sought-after. Apparently, Egyptian men can now be added to the list of men around the world who want Chinese women. According to the article from Al Arabiya (which was also quoted in BBC News, but I can’t find the link now), Chinese women are prized for their “Obedience and loyalty”. I’ve got three sisters. None of them are particularly obedient, and I have the scars to prove it.

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (Default)

One of those comedy funny songs by Asian-American comedienne Jenny Kwok, who wins kudos points because:

  • her YouTube channel is called “A Certain Jen Ne Sais Kwok”, winning the award for most hilarious use of a Chinese surname. After, that is, my soon-to-be-released TV channel BBC Wong…
  • her song “Everybody should date an Asian man” contains the immortal lyric: “Everybody should date an Asian man … at least f**k one, please please f**k one”

Mirrored from almost witty.

almostwitty: (Default)

Here I am, spending my time hanging out with the great and witty surlychick, and watching from the sidelines as men amble up to her, chat her up, before she spins them out and launches the devastating final blow that ought to have them whimpering out of the bar. Except it doesn’t - they just keep going. Oh and ignoring me in the process except for when they have to look like cool guys who can hang with guys. I hate cockboxing.

The first bloke was someone who SurlyChick had met once before, but didn’t like. He was with someone else celebrating their birthday - so they were both chatting her up for a while, while I’m slurping on my beer and occasionally being drawn into the conversation.

I’ve never been a fan of watching men chatting up women - mainly because it’s grossly embarassing or dull, depending on which side of the battle you’re on. Still, in my UN observer role in this culture war, it was interesting just how ineptly it was done. (Because I’m fan-tastic at chatting women up, patently).

Somehow, the men said they were going to celebrate the birthday by going to amateur night at a strip club, and invited us along. And for some reason lost in time to the fumes of alcohol, we thought we’d go along.

So we did, and it was fairly dull as strip clubs tend to be. Every lady was peroxide-blonde with some terrible acne, small breasts and a cute ass. But just when we were about to leave, a small group of theatrical people we’d spotted in the previous bar turned up. So we chatted to them - and in the middle of the latter group was the alpha male. The kind of man with a roguish Han-Solo charm that had the four women he was around hanging on the whim of his every word and movement.

And of course, SurlyChick was helpless in the beam of his charisma. Except unfortunately he kept telling her about his wonderful girlfriend, then snogging her. While the other women looked on with daggers in their eyes. And the two earlier blokes, who also fancied Surly, looked on with equal-but-forlorn daggers.

Later fleeting images include one of the women - a Grace lookalike - sitting on his lap watching strippers, then kissing one of the strippers. And the other ladies - who turned out to know one of the strippers since they’d all gone to Girl Scouts together - sticking dollar bills in the G-string and getting a writhing ass in return.

Incidentally, I’d chatted to the stripper/dancer earlier on - wearing glasses and wearing quasi-civillian clothing - and it turned out she was saving up to be an X-Ray technician. I’m not quite sure why someone would choose looking at X-Rays all day as a fantastic vocation. She was also comparing stretch marks with one of the theatrical group, and discussing colours. Stretch marks have colours?

Anyway, more chatting happened, more snogging between Surly and Alpha Male, and I even somehow got a telephone number from a very drunk member of one of the theatrical group who loved my British accent, man. (Although she didn’t seem to recall the next morning!).

Alas, what with SurlyChick’s policy on not sleeping with committed men, we went home, and then Googled/IMDB’d the actor Alpha Male, expecting to find that he was a hot-and-up-and-coming star with charisma oozing out of every pore of his sinewy body.

But no. It turns out that Ford Austin is an actor/writer/director/producer of sci-fi/comedy/porn short movies. It’s a tad disconcerting, depressing and chastening to realise that someone with all that charisma, who probably has moistening their gussets everywhere, is not even on the F-list of Hollywood or American acting. While the rest of us are behind him, hoping to pick up the left-overs.

SurlyChick’s version of events may differ somewhat. ;-)

Originally published at almost witty. You can comment here or there.

almostwitty: (Default)

Was just talking to Rob my flatmate and his love tale of “woe”. How essentially, he ended up shagging his singer the other night, who is a hardcore engaged Christian.
Apparently they had great sex together and before that, he’d been with his Cheltenham gf.

The thing is, he’s blandly Ok to look at I s’pose, charming enough and yet the closest I get is telephone dating someone to find she’s a single mother of two and yadda yadda yadda. Plus, when I disturbed Rob on Monday night, I’d really wanted to talk to someone about 28 Days Later!

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almostwitty: (Default)

Basically went to a Cardiff singles group meeting.

Which was a meeting from hell, essentially because it was just literally full of the Barbara Windsor-type of women that don’t do much for me.

The worst part, was the men - to a man, generally filthy, incredibly old - and I’ve never felt so out of place in my life. Especially since the rest of the crowd in the pub were the usual young-thin-probably dead-end-jobs type.

Living in Cardiff is making me snootier and snootier…

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almostwitty: (Default)

Update: Emma “called”. Well, she texted to say that she was knackered and stuff, and that she might call later. But then she was playing Playstation dancemat. So why did she text me instead of calling? Hrm…

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almostwitty: (Default)

Got back from my first beach holiday in Crete. It wasn’t as bad as I expected, but it wasn’t a dream come true either.

On the plus side, I met some great new people. It was like being back at University in Freshers Week, except I did it right this time. Relaxing at the beach - or rather relaxing in the shade by the pool - was a great new thing, just relaxing and reading or even chatting to others in the group. The sightseeing trips were (for the most part) fun. So on that front it was a good holiday.

I even got a romantic moonlight snog. Unfortunately, we were both rather drunk, and she promptly had an allergic reaction to something, her face swelled and she disappeared and hid in her room for two days.

There was another woman who kept trying to entice me. Unfortunately, said woman was about as alluring as Barbara Windsor - and looked liked her as well. Hell, that’s what I told her when I first saw her in a drunken splutter, and she still tried seducing me. It turned out that she was mother to two kids, on benefits, and had to take out a personal loan to go on holiday, where presumably she *really* wanted to find a new boyfriend.

Only I could go on a singles holiday with 18 women, 12 men (two of which made me look like a social butterfly and hence were out of the equation) and fail to get anywhere. Although I’m quetly chatting up Emma…

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