Janice: ROBERT, there are TV NEWS TRUCKS blocking the DRIVEWAY! Robert: Oh, fuck, she's *here*. Janice: Who is here, what? Robert: She needs an *asshole* to grill her! Haven't you been following         Chinese television? Janice: Drunk again, you haven't left for *work* yet. Robert: It's Sunday, or a Legal Holiday, or a Borderline Legal Hoiiday, I         forget. Yang Gueifei. Quick, move it, emergency, Dana file, and         whateveryoudo, DO NOT COOK ANYTHING, IS THAT CLEAR? Janice: Aaaah, now I remember, should I execute Operation Odysseus, ya         remember, lash ya t' the steam pipe, chain to the centerpole of         the kitchen table? Robert: Nah, just stand there, look *jealous*. If I c'n survive *you*, I         can kill this...thing. Janice: Kill, Robert, is the one thing you *can't* do to her. Robert: Fuck, yer right. Eat her for breakfast. Janice: Not who I think's gonna be eatin' breakfast first. Yang:   Wheeee, hope you've been expecting me, mind if I raid your         refrigerator. Let's see, I'm a gonna chop, chop, chop some of         these, and dice dice dice some of these, all together now, fry,         break some eggy things, what a foul stinking glop, how did I *never*         learn to cook in 38 years of life and 1140 years after that, JANICE,         COME HE'P ME WITH THIS! Janice: I aint your fucking slave, go wok yerself! Robert: Great shot, Janice. Now, Ms Fuckface Foxfairy, tell us, does yer         name mean *anything* like Main Squeeze, looks a trifle anachronistic         to me, what am only a poor pseudointellectual computer jock with         however an international and quite possibly intergalactic reputation         for puncturing pomposities like yours. Yang:   If you believe Jacques Gernet, History of Chinese Civilization, trans,         Le Monde Chinois, 2nd ed, it means, first-class prostitute. If you         believe Ray Huang, China: A Macrohistory, it means, Her Preciousness         the Imperial Consort Yang. I feel, and wouldnt'cha agree, that Main         Squeeze is an acceptable compromise, covering the same semantic field         quite adequately, given the subtle connotational system of Middle         Chinese is not readily renderable into either Plain or Spherical         English, my lifetime, 716-756, being a period when everyone with the         surname of Holder & kindreds, with the possible exception of the         Verminous Bede, was in the trees. Robert: What I heard, from Dana Rollins, is, there is this real Chinese         novelist, Jia Pingwa, who wrote a real novel, Abandoned Capital,         which is considered a Dirty Book in China where sex has not been         mentioned legally since the overthrow of the Licentious Aristocracy.... Yang:   Which is me. Robert: In 907, with their iron pants and bigfoot women. Yang:   Guilty. Robert: But, I hear from Dana, *nobody* who is Real, that is, reads English         yet is Totally Illiterate in Chinese, ever heard of any of this until         Zha Jiaqing, Prof of Contempo Lit at the University of Chicago or one         of them schools in there, wrote a bestseller of her own, in English         with Reddiwip on top called China Pop, wherein Abandoned Capital is         the subject matter of the whole of Chapter Five, en_title_d, Yellow         Peril, where Yellow would mean something like Porno if anything         they do over there, such as yer own Mammary Spiritual Civilization         With Chinese Characteristics, wuz any dirty, what it aint. Yang:   Righto. Robert: Dana sez, furthermore, what you picked up Jia Pingwa in a bar, after         having read China Pop in English, leading me to suspect, ie, invoking         the Paranoid Hypothesis, the intervening variable Daniel A. Foss,         though I can prove absolutely nothing at this point. You, apprised         of the fact that Abandoned Capital is about a stumblebum writer, like         Jia Pingwa, in Xi'an, which is the Chinese version of Trenton, New         Jersey, a scummy industrial slum, where he hits on college girls,         this is China and they are *incredibly* girlish to fall for his crap,         telling them that *they know nothing of Real Life*, and somesuch shit         of this nature. Not up to Henry Miller, not even up to Jack Kerouac.         Total phony garbage. So, you tell Jia Pingwa that you were born there,         it's yer real hometown, you lived there when it had a population of         two million, was the center of the universe, and the Unabandoned         Capital. The most famous person who ever lived in the city when it         was called Chang'an, Etarnally Safe, which it most certainly was         not, thanks to yer pal An Lushan, we come to him next. Yang:   Oooh, I can't wait. Robert: Jia Pingwa sez, if you are telling ten percent of the truth, you are         gonna make a fool of him in bed. You take him home to *his* place,         where you clean out his refrigerator, dirty out his bathtub, and         having done exactly what he said in bed, you then do *out* of bed,         in Shanghai, where using two business cards from his wallet, you         laid the Programming Director of CCTV Shanghai, and within a week,         you had run off with the stature of Uncrowned Monarch of Jia Pingwa's         groupie subculture, calling itself the....I can't say it. Janice,         you, as the card carrying woman....*You*, lady, are for this purpose         dead, your card's been cancelled, Janice? Janice: Airhead Slut Movement. Robert: Where you have a serial killer commit Assisted Suicide, which is         substantively seduction-murder, inspired by your own kinked-up video'd         hangings at mass raves, where your neck is broken while you are in         ecstasy from what Daniel A. Foss is forbidden to think about, as it         has grossed out Dana Rollins, which happens four times, which is         covered on national Chinese television. Yang:   Wasn't it brilliant, the way I set up corruption so absolute I invited         its subversion from within, where I revealed my potentialities for         Good, as I'd *signally failed to do* as a result whereof got lynched         on February 17, 756. Robert: Crapola! You mean, you had it planned, such that an international         cocaine smuggler, who admitted to three murders, at age twenty-three,         *and who just happened to have a heart of gold*, ho ho, decided to         use this venue or channel to save her own Soul, your immortal Soul,         and the entire nation of China from Sin, Corruption, and Evil, by         blowing your sick, perverted scheme skyhigh, because *that is what         it was designed to have happen to it*? Yo ho ho and a piddle of pum! Yang:   It's perfectly true, though. That's why she took off her shoes,         remember. Robert: When you'd turned into a Chinese Aliens demon out of Chinese Hell,         sent by Yama in person. Yang:   Think about it. Men take their shoes off to God. Hindus do it. Muslims         do it. George Fox, founder of the Society of Fiends, uh, Friends, could         not get my supernaturnal straight, sorry, said, in 1651, I was         commanded by the Lord to take off my shoes. I was still, for it was         winter. The author, Ramsay MacMullen, in Christianizing the Roman         Empire, goes on to say that Fox then walked several miles in, around,         and through the city of Lichfield, England. Which is comparable to         exactly the same thing done by a second-century religious figure named         Aelius Aristides. Taking off your shoes is primordial. Women take off         their shoes to men, who take off their shoes to God. The bridal         slippers used in wedding-night defloration preliminaries in places         as far removed as Classical Athens and Song dynasty China, which wuz         after my time, but still.... Robert: I must confiscate your shoes now. You won't be needing them where         you're going. Yang:   I thought you'd never ask. Robert: What I mean is, there is a mind behind this what is, or was, if it's         Truly Reformed, a sick, filthy pervert. Yang:   Or guilt-tripped beyond all reason or recognition. If my thought-         dreams could be seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine.         That, of course, was Robert Zimmerman Dylan knowing exactly what         Daniel A. Foss was thinking at that time, whereafter it surely got         much worse. Robert: Oh, fuck off. Now, the question: Did you or did you not fuck General         An Lushan? Yang:   There are only two possible circumstances under which I would have         fucked General An Lushan. First, consider that he was a hunk, with         what was rumoured to be the largest prick in the Chinese officer corps.         Also, he was a racial minority, in a historical period when         multiculturalism was in. Sogdian father, Turkish mother. Robert: Sogdian? Yang:   Central Asian Iranian. Think, Tadjikistan. Robert: Tadjikistan, Tadjikistan.... Yang:   Suppose he came onto me, considering, I was, still am, the most         desirable Chinese woman, therefore, woman, period, who ever lived,         and I woulda got in the same trouble no matter what I said. I'd be         a *complete idiot* not to enjoy his luscious flesh considering my         own head would be literally in the noose even if I rejected him,         is that not reasonable? Meanwhile, *Minghuang*, brilliant emperor,         is not only senile-demented but hasn't got it up since 743 and it's         755. Robert: And the second? Yang:   My evil cousin, Yang Guozhong, who stole the country blind as Finance         Minister and as Prime Minister has conducted an even more idiotic         foreign policy than his predecessor Li Linfu, let me tell you about         the Iranian Revolution, and the war which culminated in the battle         of the Talas River in 751 when we got our ass kicked by the Caliphate         under the leadership of Abu-Muslim abd-ar-Rahman ibn-Muslim         al-Khurasani, which let me tell you is a very Islamic name, and         Khurasan was the place which China, the Great Satan, had designs on. Robert: Tell me something interesting. Yang:   Yang Guozhong fought two senseless wars against the hitherto friendly         country of Nan Zhao, inspiring Du Fu, the great poet, to invent the         *antiwar song*. Robert: Wrap it up. Yang:   Guozhong accused An Lushan of having intentions of betraying the         country, which was perfectly true, but for the wrong reasons. Now,         if you consider that, as a token of special grace, Minghuang had         a palace built for An Lushan in the capital, and he was to call         He Himself father and me mother, you can tell, it was the only         way to stall him off from betraying the country, or so he told me,         in bed. Robert: Men are shits. Yang:   Uhhuh. Janice: Mm. Daniel A, Foss