It was dawn. A committed insomniac and early riser, Happy Sacks stretched out on his balcony overlooking VPN Road, Shamian Island.
“This was once the only place in Guangzhou laowai could live…”
Today the smog had lifted. A purplish sunrise yielded to baby blue skies.
Happy admired the island’s colonial style buildings, the European architecture, stone pillars.
A 50ish Cantonese man pushed his teenage son’s wheelchair past the Starbucks.
“Mainlanders only do two things with their handicapped. Hide them or exploit them.”
Happy drank a morning beer, smoked a bowl of opium, popped his Prozac and ate a hearty breakfast of fried chicken feet and cockroaches and watched car crash videos on the morning news.
He dressed up in standard China TEFL uniform, a clown costume, with requisite white face paint, big red nose, and spit-shined, pumped up kicks.
An obese shushu from Guizhou was his ride to school and waited on all fours outside.
Happy mounted the shushu like a horse, put a cigarette to the shushu’s lips, and they were off, galloping through the humanity, jumping every queue….
Happy convened class. No AC in the steamy, crumbling classroom and silver slivers of sweat streamed down his forehead, armpits, asscrack.
Happy tried a simple ESL game, but the students paid no mind. They talked over him, played on phones, watched movies on tablets, or lay face first on desks, sleeping.
A petite caramel girl sat atop a desk in the front row. Her parted legs revealed a bare vagina underneath her dress, and she stared lustily at Happy, performing fellatio on a Popsicle…
“Age of consent in China is 14…”
A commotion outside. Happy opened the door to the hallway and saw a deranged janitor running amok, with a meat clever, singing Michael Jackson songs in a horrible falsetto as he was hacking at students, staff at random…
Happy closed the door tightly and saw all his students lay bloodied, dead on the floor.
He dialed 112. No answer. Line was busy. He ended the call and realized he was in the WC.
It smelled strongly of piss, shit, vinegar, and secondhand smoke.
Wumao Laoshi with a flesh wound, stood calmly at the mirror, smoking, downloading a suicide app.
Panicked, Happy tried to talk with him.
“听不懂!”
Happy’s stomach began to rumble. He’d been in China long enough and knew the progression of laduzi.
All the stalls were occupied so he kicked in one’s door and found a dentist pulling teeth from a princeling in a Pol Pot hat.
He kicked in another and yanked out a squatting, cell phone playing Chinese Urkel, and flung the fucker to the floor.
Happy dropped trou and loosed his bowels.
He realized he didn’t have toilet paper and knew his only choices: hands, socks or underwear...
As he levitated his fat, hairy, honky white ass over the toilet, he heard a chugging train sound and felt a cold wind blowing below.
A hand clawed from the toilet’s mouth and a man in a panda suit crawled out of it.
Panda Suit Man yelled: “This for the feelings of the Chinese people!” and Happy’s Guns N’ Roses ringtone suddenly went off.
Panda Suit Man then shoved his hand up Happy’s ass, dug around, and pulled out Happy’s prostate.
“So many butthurt!” laughed and pointed Chinese Urkel.
Panda Suit Man dove back down into the toilet. Happy flicked off Chinese Urkel and followed Panda Suit Man down the hole.
“It’s always darkest before it becomes totally black...”
They emerged in Nongjing, at Tingbudong Square.
Panda Suit Man was dashing through a crowd of dancing ayis.
Happy chased after him, but more and more ayis surged forth, blocking his way.
Happy pushed and shoved away the ayis, but, increasingly frustrated, he punched and kicked through them, UFC style, dropping cunt punts and slugging their wrinkly faces and saggy tits with vicious hooks, jabs, and uppercuts.
He finally picked a portly one up and used her as a battering ram to bludgeon his path to the tail end of the masses.
Throwing the battering ram ayi to the ground, and giving her one last kick for good measure, he looked to the sky and saw Panda Suit Man scaling the Great Firewall, with suction cups.
Panda Suit Man zip-lined to Chairman Pumpkinhead’s portrait and used Happy’s bloody prostate to smear Cantonese characters on it.
A gong sounded. It was then the tanks moved in.
Soldiers shooting indiscriminately at pedestrians, ayis; motorcycles running motherfuckers over… Wild lions and baboons falling from low flying helicopters… Gutter oil, stinky tofu, propane canisters from catapults, loud explosions, harmony…
Happy was mowed down by machine gun fire…
Happy awoke on the floor of a hallway in a hospital. The floor was filthy with bloody Q-tips and used maxi pads everywhere. Bobby Shmurda’s “Hot N*gga” boomed from the public address system.
Happy rose to his feet. Mankini-clad middle age Chinese men all around, staring and surrounding him, smoking cigarettes, holding sonograms, making hacking spitting sounds.
At the end of the hallway was Panda Suit Man, behind him, a ball of light.
Panda Suit Man was waving Happy in like a third base coach, and Happy took off running in Panda Suit Man’s direction.
The spitting/smoking mob locked arms, cursed Happy and gave chase.
As Happy got closer to the light, there appeared a beautiful young Chinese girl in a skintight onesie miniskirt, standing in front of a sauna. The girl was smiling, shaking her fist…
Happy ran faster and faster and felt the hot stinky breath and slimy spit of the nong throngs behind him.
Wheezing, gasping for air, he dove towards the beautiful Chinese girl in the sauna, and everything went
