12/12/24 - For half a year, I’ve been looking for a reason to beat him up.
[Today’s post contains NSFW content.]
A compilation of daily memes:
The first is a text exchange:
“[censored name], no matter what you’ve been through before, no matter what’s happened to you, from now on, I’m going to protect you with all I have. I’ll always unconditionally be on your side. Nobody in this world can hurt you anymore.”
“That’s so touching.”
“Fucking whore. What a slut you are. Two lines from a man and you’re already touched. I bet men pee in you after they’re done fucking you.”
The second is a weibo post, “My dad asked me when I’m going to have a kid. I was like, “Sure, I’ll fuck somebody tonight.””
The third is friend requests on weibo, which comes with a message, “When do you have time? I’ll pay you back the 200. Are you in Shenzhen over Independence Day? There’s a muscular guy who’s into you, do you want to have a threesome tomorrow?”
The fourth, with the bananas captioned, “thin ones” on the left and “muscular ones” on the right.
The fifth, a banner on the outside of a restaurant, advertising, “Fang Ping Mala Tang is hiring 4000 waitresses for 4RMB/month.”
The sixth, a survey done by a gay dating app for the proportion of tops to bottoms in major Chinese cities: [Tops are labelled as “1”, bottoms are “0”, and people who go either way are “0.5”. Te number one city is Chengdu, with a ratio of 1:63. And at the bottom is Wuhan, with a ratio of 5:1. The top 32/37 cities seem to have a very disproportionate ratio.]
The seventh, a post: “Can life please stop raping me? What, are dumb cunts also cunts?”
The eighth, a text exchange, “I’m about to die of poor.”
“Didn’t you get a big order, 800K to have a kid for someone?”
“Don’t even bring that shit up. I swear I’m on the verge of a breakdown.”
“Wasn’t everything all agreed on?”
“All I made was the 50K deposit.”
“What happened?”
“I found a checkup report in his drawer. That fucker was sterile. I was wondering why nothing was happening after that long. Fuck. I got fucked for half a year for 50K.”
“Sis, I’ll get back to you in 5 min, lemme laugh for a moment, I can’t help it.”
The ninth, a standard operating procedure for a ““masseuse””:
“1. Help client shower for 5 minutes.
2. Direct client to sit by the bed, play music, perform sexy dance for 3 minutes.
3. Perform service at bedside, lick balls for 3 minutes.
4. Have client lie face down on the bed, [followed here by a long list of Chinese proverbs that hint at sex moves none of which I understand, and I am too awkward to ask my Chinese male friends which one of them have had these services before, so look, I’m just gonna type them out here, and you can go pull your own Chinese connections for that, okay? 十指弹琴，猴子偷桃，高山流水，环游过水，果冻毒龙] for 15 minutes.
5. Direct client to flip over, slide fingers upwards over legs, hands, and chest for 3 minutes.
6. Breathe out from bottom of ear to butt, press breasts against clients’ skin, slide hands, kiss chest, rub feet and moan for 5 minutes.
7. Wash front and Guasha [where a hard little wooden card that looks like a comb without teeth is scraped against your skin which is meant to detoxify or something] for 3 minutes.
8. Do the client’s bikini area, simulate love-making, moan for 3 minutes.
9. Brush breasts over client’s face for 3 minutes.
10. Jelly brush sides of client’s perineum area, up and down the tree for 3 minutes.
11: Headstand 69, close feet and knees around client’s head, brush breasts against penis for 3 minutes.
12. Rub massage oil into various areas, relax, and clock out.”
A compilation of comments under a post, “My world ended when I went to pull my passport out at the airport.” [With a picture showing OP holding a Teaching License instead.] [All of these comments are very stereotypical things teachers say.]
“Workers: Hello, please present your passport. You: I’ll show it to you whenever you quiet down.”
“Customs: Miss, can I see your passport? You: Shut your little mouth.”
“You won’t let me though? Fine, then, we’ll all wait then. You waste one minute, and between the 100 people here, you’ll have wasted 100 minutes.”
“Worker: Hello, where’s your passport? You: I’ve been walking all around and your station is the loudest.”
“Customs: I’m sorry I can’t let you through. You: You’re the worst class I’ve ever taught.”
“Teach the workers at the airport a lesson XD”
“Tell her that this is a lot harder to get than a passport.”
“International teacher :P”
“TSA: Miss, can I please see your passport and visa? You: There’s no time. We’re already way behind all the other counters in progress.”
“Tell him what’s wrong with letting a teacher fly once in a while.”
“Worker: Didn’t get enough of lecturing people at school, huh?”
“My son got slapped in the face twice by his chemistry teacher. My husband was furious and yelled that he was going to file a complaint with the Department of Education. He even planned to go to the school and demand an explanation from the teacher.
I asked, “Why did he get hit?”
“Didn’t do his homework,” My husband replied angrily.
“So didn’t he have it coming?” I asked.
“How could you say such a thing!? A dozen students in that class didn’t do their homework. Why was he the only one to get hit?” He got increasingly agitated.
“Oh.”
“What do you mean, oh? It means the teacher is singling him out!” He refused to let it go. “Why do you act like you don’t care? Is he your son or not? Why are you so cold-hearted?”
Honestly, I agreed with his guess, that the teacher was singling my son out. My son has always been a very irreverent type and he does tend to set people off, but I can’t just come out and say that, so I immediately backed down. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna look up the Department of Education’s complaint line right now. But think about it, the way your son mouths off sometimes, even I want to beat him. The teacher is pretty patient to have put up with it so long before she acted on it.”
My husband heard and didn’t respond, but I knew he knew in his heart that what I said made sense. For half a year, I’ve been looking for a reason to beat him up. Didn’t think the chemistry teacher would get to go first.
“So why would the teacher single him out then?” My husband pressed.
I calmly analysed it for him, “Maybe the teacher just wants to kill the chicken for the monkeys [to intimidate a large group of people by making an example of one individual], and our son was just unfortunate enough to be the chicken this time. He doesn’t have a great performance normally, so the teacher’s attention would be on him anyways.”
Honestly, now that I’ve calmed down and thought this through, I’ve realised that it wasn’t a tremendous wrong for my son to get beat up this time. My son sits in the front row, and his eyes are very unruly, and the whole class can see him. It’s not surprising the teacher would decide to go after him in anger.
“See, I’ve told you before you have to go to bed early so you can grow tall. You stand out too much in the front row.” I told my son.
He looked really confused, like he didn’t get how we jumped from “him getting beaten up” to “going to bed early”. But either way, I just wanted to make this problem go away.
So then, I told him about my experience getting beaten up by teachers in middle school. Some of it I made up, some were real stories. And as I talked, my son originally wanted to comfort me, but after a while, he started to really let it go. He suddenly realised that maybe the teachers weren’t “singling him out”.
We both kind of got it. A lot of times, we make problems more complicated than they really are. We imagine all kinds of injustices or unfairness. But thinking back carefully on my memories of teachers hitting people, I find that very few incidents were actually of me getting beaten up. Most of the time, I exaggerated my memories. I even took other people getting beaten up to be my own personal humiliation.
And all of that humiliation is just in my head anyways.
I think my son’s let it go too, because he can tell that a lot of my stories of being “targetted” were actually other people’s. If the teacher’s “firepower” is spread evenly, that means he’s not particularly targeting my son.
Although my son didn’t call me out for making up some stories, he still learned the right lesson out of this.
So I smiled and told him, “If you don’t like his lessons, the best way is to get really good at this subject. Then when you grow up and become a scientist and reporters come interview you and ask you why you chose chemistry, you can tell him, “A chemistry teacher beat me up in middle school so I tried really hard to get good at chemistry so I could prove I was better than him.””
Yeah, every parents thinks of their child as a treasure, but in terms of education, blindly protecting them would only harm them. Not only do parents need to love and protect their kids, they have to teach them how to face mistakes and shoulder responsibility. It’s easy to feel bad about corporal punishment, but if we make a hassle for the teachers without any consideration of right or wrong, it would only make things more difficult for our kids.
Education is a very long road. Not only does it need love and care, it also needs wisdom and patience. It’s only by working hand in hand with teachers that your kids can really grow up strong and walk a farther, smoother path.”
Comments say, “You’re way too calm. I could understand if the teacher slapped him on the body, but I can’t even imagine slapping a student in the face. That teacher would have lost their job for sure around here.”
“Slapping in the face is a bit too much. That’s humiliating someone.”
“Can you get divorced from a hell marriage? [where parents whose children died single will marry them to another dead person of roughly the same age in the afterlife] I swear I’m not trying to get attention or anything. For personal reasons, I want to stay single and child-free. I even want to kill myself at 35. I’m worried my parents will put me in a hell marriage. The custom where I am is that I can’t get buried in my family plot. My parents are obsessed with getting me married. They feel like I’ve wasted my time on Earth if I don’t get married. I can decide for myself while I’m alive, but it’s hard to say what’s gonna happen after I die.
Also, I’ve heard of a story when I was younger, that a woman who divorced her ex-husband and married someone else still had to be buried with her ex-husband after her death. I think people were unhappy about that and there was a lot of drama.”
Comments say, “This is a bit off-topic for the “lifestyle” forum, isn’t it? Lemme see who can give you an answer.”
“You don’t need a divorce because hell marriages have no legal basis.”
“Do I need to burn you a book on atheism?”
“If you can live past your parents, they can’t marry you off in hell. You don’t need a lot of purpose in life, so that can be your goal for living.”
“Which department issues hell marriage certificates?”