For those of you who play Ultimate Frisbee (disclosure: I do), you'll be interested to know that Chinese state media's sports channel, CCTV-5, came by and did a piece on the Beijing tournament over the weekend that was organized by BJC contributor Alicia. More than 400 players and 24 teams were part of the sixth annual China Nationals, won by Speed, a team of college students from Tianjin Sports University.
Because of ads like the above. No one — and I mean NO ONE, except possibly Horst Schultz, who holds the record for “greatest distance attained for a jet of semen” — has the ability to piss with that arc and that range, not to mention enough velocity to ensure minimal — i.e. NONE, because... Read more »
I first encountered the following diagram — origins unknown* — two or three years ago, but considering it was revived as recently as a month ago — I noticed a bunch of friends passing it around on Facebook — it’s possible it’s been around even longer. And why not? Everything depicted is true, more or less:... Read more »
A confluence of factors led to what appears to be at least a two-mile traffic jam in northwest Beijing on Saturday night. (Prepare to gape in horror around the 30-second mark as the camera pans out.) It was raining. It was a long block. It was in Zhongguancun, an incredibly busy part of town known for its electronics stores and colleges. And, most crucially, a traffic light had broken. This is my every nightmare about the city, frightening precisely because I -- and any Beijinger, really -- could easily find myself stuck in that paralyzing morass of postmodernity, equipped with no salve for a spiking blood pressure except heinous imaginings of unspeakable acts to perform on sentient, suffering beings. The abyss gazes back indeed.
What a cunt.
This is Yang Rui. You can’t really see it, but I have it on good authority that his tie is the foreskin for his head. You may have glimpsed him on TV. I haven’t. Because if I ever did see him on TV, I would own a TV with a shoe in it.
Holding the party in the open air of Sanlitun Soho and suggesting “beachwear” as a dress code was clearly pivotal: the signal for Beijing’s really quite impressively large douchebag population to give full vent to their oeuvre of tics and mores. “Dress code? Dude… I was wearing this Hawaiian shirt with oversized aviators, four days’ beard growth and a jaunty pork-pie hat when I woke up!”
We arrive just after four. Upon entering the “gate,” there was a kind, red reminder for all foreigners that there is a crackdown going on for the next 100 years, that undercover police would be among the crowd and that the magazine would not be held responsible for any problems that ensued. Always the best way to get the party started.
