I am not particularly muscular, mind you, but I get mad from time to time when I have to put up with this belittling. So when I see a naturally feminine Chinese boy, I have a hard time to restrain myself from running to her, Oh, it is a he, to scold the boy: hey, pretty boy, aren't you supposed to stay home doing your homework? But I am going to school. Oh, I see. Run, baby, run. Don't reinforce others' stereotype, for we have to live in this damn world.

Am I simply hallucinating when I feel that the Chinese population has multiplied through the years while Chinese machismo has shrunk. I feel my tongue is stuck in my cheek whenever I try to pronounce the existence of such thing as machismo with Chinese characteristics. So what's going on, folks? Could it be that we have locked just about every free spirited Chinese man? We have sent so many of our boys, big and small, to the many battle fronts where they fell before they could even show us their virile beards and mustaches. Damn, we could have used a sperm bank. And we have buried so many of the strong and the able into the Great Wall; we have chased so many of them bandits to the high mountains to starve them to death or shrink them to submission; we only allow the docile, the obedient, the sissies to live.

So that's who we are now, living in a culture dominated by a small group of cowards who dress up like real machos but in reality are nothing but a bunch of honchos who specialized in screaming and yelling. The chief joy of their life is to watch thousands of us no-names trembling in unison. Damn, didn't they gather all the beautiful women into their heavily guarded courts and chambers to show off their virility day and night. Showing off thus became the main business of many dynasties in China.

O sure, we have had some real virile emperors with incredible sexual potency. So much sex, with so many gorgeous women, you see, has reduced those almighty to nothing but frail figures with frightening ashy profiles. And the offspring produced by this kind are as strong as well homogenized butter.

However, there is no reason to cry your eyeballs out just yet because Chinese women are getting strong, you see. No, those athletes did no drugs. They need not to. Years of oppression by men lacking machismo has them women made; realizing that only a few sissies riding them on the top only inspired them to stand up, flex their muscles acquired through the will to seek revenge and kick butts. Along the way, they have beaten some women of other races, and jealousy starts to redden its ugly faces. Remember? First they elected, and created a beautiful fairytale along the way, Hua Mulan to try the army. Of course you have heard that she did not only do well but became a general. Can you imagine, boys? Then there was She Taijun, the mother of the eight boys of ample machismo and the grand marshal of the imperial army; and of course her daughter-in-law, Mu Guiying, could make every male member of the Chinese population kneel down in front of her, either by the charm of her beauty or the force of her sheer physical power. Shall I go on with this? I don't know about you, I am so elated to see that machismo with Chinese characteristics jumps in the face of this cowardly world, singing and laughing.

So boys, watch out, those women, our women, will someday discipline if not deprive us men of weak characters. In fact, it has already started, for I once heard some guy say that his sperm shot up like the 4th of July fireworks. He couldn't fool me, you see: He's got no virility but depression, or deprivation if you know what I mean.

Some guys say that they can shoot others down with sophisticated weapons. I say that well trained monkeys can do the same, would you say? Plus when you have to borrow machismo from guns and other stuff, it only tells me that you don't have it, man.

Then one of my friends boasted that he could drink a couple liters of alcohol. I mean white spirit in the vicinity of Mao Tai or even worse forms. But I know he is nothing but a drunkard.

Hey, what's machismo? Nothing if you can't even stand up on your feet. Then I will say to you that the first thing you should never fall into habit of doing is to shoot each other in the back. I am not saying that we should start shooting each other in the front, either. Well, you know what I mean. Then who knows? Machismo may simply sprout from your face when there is enough rain coming down from the heavens. You may grow some spectacular beard. But do you know how to take care of your beard?

The time when proper amount of machismo is accumulated is when you don't feel the pressing need to acquire any of that. But you don't want to be too macho to the point of being a jerk. How many generations will it take for us Chinese to enjoy its right amount of machismo? You are anxious, eh?

But really, don't worry. The state of Chinese machismo is not as gloomy as you may have thought. Take for example a poem written by Yang Lian which follows my nonsensical quibble. It seems that his poetic voice has a strong odor of machismo. Hope it's real enough for you to touch it with whatever organ of yours. And to make you feel better, Yang Lian is not too much older than any of us.

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Nuorilang, the Golden Tree

I am the god of waterfalls and of snow mountains,
I am huge, potent, the new moon appears when I dictate,
only I am the emperor of the rivers.
All kinds of birds inhabit my chest,
a forest shadows the trail to the secret pool.
I am bold as a flight of young stags
and my desire is the month of March when forces of unrest gather.

I am the golden tree,
a tree nourished gold.
A hot seduction comes from the abyss
and I fill it with waves and storm,
ignoring the proverbs of the cowards who surround me.

Wandering women, your reflections brighten on the water,
who among you will tempt me to drink?

My eyes conquered the night
as twelve long horns rein in the wild pomegranate winds.
Wherever I come, shadows are gone
and with my touch each strawberry becomes a flaming star
shooting from the core of the universe.
I am a real man, I possess you all.

********

February, 1995