A Few Answers To Questions You Always Wondered About

September 5, 2018 | No Comments » | Topics: Life Experiences

What is it like being a single bachelor in China knowing that the men outnumber women by 34 million?

I am a single bachelor living in China, but I’m a foreigner. For expats, it’s pretty good being single, as there is that foreigner mystique and the general idea that all expats are rich, so finding women is pretty easy.

As for Chinese, it’s a bit of a different story. The actual number is closer to 38 million more men, but also realize that this doesn’t mean either single men, gay men, or anything else – it’s an overall statistic.

That said, there are a LOT of single Chinese guys. Almost every guy in my office is between 21-30 and they’re almost all single. To even consider getting a wife, a Chinese guy needs to own a home (apartment in a big city), a car, and preferably make XXX money every month. The women have high expectations (as they’re expected to pop out their one-child policy kid before the age of 24-25).

Also keep in mind that there are A LOT of girls/women in various types of sex-related jobs, and many rich successful men get married to someone their family likes then buys 2 or 3 more apartments for their mistresses.

It’s a skewed situation either way, but basically, unless you have money as a single guy in China, you’re not that well off. Many girls will date the fat, disgusting, old guy with a wife because he can give them $10,000 a month over the handsome, young, kind guy that lives paycheck to paycheck.



How do weaker inmates survive in prison?

I can only speak to low-to-medium security California prisons, but here’s what I know.

Firstly, unless you’ve got a sentence of 10 years or more, you’re probably going to end up in a Level I or II prison, like I did. First you’ll go to Reception, which has inmates of all different security levels, but it’s highly regulated in Reception, and you’re in your cell 23 hours a day, so you’re not likely to have the opportunity to get into too much trouble, especially if you’re new and don’t have some sort of problem already with somebody you meet there.

Once you get out of reception and are “endorsed” to a particular prison, you’ll get transferred there. For many, this will probably be a level II joint (meaning the majority of inmates there are probably in for drug crimes and for middle-class larceny). Some might get endorsed directly to a “Ranch” (a level I facility); if not, you’ll probably have an opportunity to go to one once your ‘points’ go down a bit (during Classification, which is one of the things that they’re doing to you while you’re stuck in Reception, you find out how many points you have, based on a variety of factors including the number of years you have to serve, the nature of your crime, your priors, whether you’ve been to prison before, whether you have any violence in your background, gang affiliation, etc.).

The thing to remember is, at a level I or II prison, you’re probably not going to encounter anything like prison rape or serious riots where people are getting stabbed left and right. To give you an idea of the level of seriousness we’re talking about here, at most level I facilities, you can just walk away from the prison if you want to (of course, if you do that you’ll never set foot on another level I yard) and a level II is just the next more serious yard; so it’s not too hardcore.

That being said, people do get beat up, or occasionally stabbed. Usually this is for one of a couple of reasons: 1. An argument over a punk (homosexual inmate). 2. Drug or gambling debts. 3. Blatantly and repeatedly breaking the ‘rules’ of your group (mostly race-based) such that a bunch of them, or just one who has been ‘assigned’ to do it, kick the shit out of you and force you to ‘roll it up’ (either to PC — Protective Custody — or to another dorm/yard/cell). Sometimes if you take your ass-whupping with equanimity, and promise to change your wicked ways, you can stay on the yard, and even earn a bit of respect in the process. Once you go PC, you’re basically that way forever, no matter what prison you go to from then on. Word has a way of getting around, and inmates take an active interest in researching your “jacket”. If you’re in for something like child molestation, you might as well just go directly to PC.

The rules vary among different groups. For white, non-gang affiliated inmates, they’re basically: 1. Don’t snitch. 2. You can have a certain amount of association with other races, but you shouldn’t a) get into debt to a member of another race; b) go to them for help of any kind before asking your own race; c) side with a member of another race against a member of your own race; d) get involved in, including just open your mouth about, some internal issue that another race is having that has nothing to do with you or your race — just let them deal with it and don’t offer your opinion. If the member of the other race is black, then there is also: e) don’t “eat after” them, which means accept any sort of non-sealed food item from them; f) don’t “smoke after” them (you can give a black the second half of your smoke, but you can’t take the second half of his… this rule, by extension, becomes “don’t ‘snipe hunt’ — that is, pick up cigarette butts from the ground — because you don’t know what race has smoked them); g) don’t play cards or board games with them unless it’s some sort of ‘tournament’ that involves everybody and has been agreed upon by the spokespeople for the various races. 3. Association / interaction with guards should be kept to a minimum (this, in some prisons / among some groups leads to other rules such as ‘don’t approach a guard to speak to him unless you have another inmate with you (to allay suspicion that you might be giving the guard information)). There’s also, to a greater or lesser degree, usually some sort of 4. You have to work out at least somewhat, so your race isn’t made up of all the weaklings on the yard (you’re generally excused from this one if you have some sort of disability or are over 50) and 5. Shower every day / keep your area neat.

These rules have some flexibility, depending on the particular prison, etc. There are some exceptions; for example, from what I’ve seen you can claim “Christian” if you want, and sit at a table with other Christians of various races, and eat after them or whatever… but then most other inmates will avoid you, treating your group as if it’s its own ‘race’… and they’ll be watching to see how sincere you are about it, if they suspect that you’re just doing that to get out of having to follow the rules, you’re going to have a problem. And no backsliding, either… once you go that route, you can’t just change your mind later.

Also, sometimes you can get around the rules, if you have something that other people want. I was always a clerk in prison, and clerks have access to all sorts of stuff that others don’t: for instance, when I was the Watch Commander’s clerk, I could ‘lose’ a write-up if it were important enough (you were going to lose your visitation rights just before a conjugal visit, for instance). And at other clerk positions, there was always some other ‘perq’ that I could translate into, “No, I’m not going to work out, I’m reading. Next time you need that [whatever], come talk to me, until then leave me alone.” (Or whatever.)

Beyond that, if you avoid prison politics as much as possible, you shouldn’t have too much of a problem. Be respectful to everyone in the way you speak to them, and don’t be an idiot, and you should be fine.

(By the way, please do not infer from this that I in any way endorse or support the sort of racist rules and politics that go on in prison. I didn’t make the rules, but not following them isn’t much of an option there.)

– Joshua Englehart



What’s it like to regret having a disabled child?

I regret having my 9 year old with autism and oppositional defiance disorder every single day. She is very verbal and can be as sweet as a peach when she gets her way, but doing the hard work of parenting her correctly has been a nightmare.

She was an unwanted pregnancy when I was a dumb 20 year old. I was in a lot of psych meds before I realized I was pregnant that I think messed her brain up. I had taken plan B perfectly like on the instructions the one time I had unprotected sex, I figured that would have been the end of that worry. I didn’t realize I was pregnant until she was about 10 weeks gestation and immediately stopped taking my meds but alas. By the time I could get the money together for an abortion (the closest planned parenthood was a 7 hour drive so no-go there) the pregnancy was too far along. I wish I would have looked into adoption now.

Biological dad has never been in the picture and the first five years were pretty rough but manageable since I had family help and a super supportive husband. Once she started kindergarten she was getting suspended from school constantly for stupid shit like throwing an empty water bottle at the principal or hitting her teacher. Her IEP was essentially worthless and I couldn’t hold down a job or go to school because I had no one to watch her every single week at random times I’d get called to take her home for 2-3 days at a time. So I did what I thought was best and we packed up and moved out of state with her to a much more supportive area with better schools.

We have been here for three years and it’s been hell. Her professional supports – school, in home therapist, the community have all been outstanding but I have no support for myself besides my husband and we are moving back to our home state in three weeks because I’m becoming too ill myself from all of this. She bites, kicks, screams, runs away into traffic, calls us grotesque names when she doesn’t get her way.

Wednesday I had to call the police because she refused to get into the car when it was time to go home and when I was finally able to literally drag her kicking/biting/70lb ass into the car and close it she tried to bust the window open. She took an ambulance ride to the hospital and was a little angel for them when she calmed down and they said she wasn’t a threat and sent her home.

I am very bitter and resentful, I’ve done everything I can for her to give her a good life – she has in home specialists come to teach her coping skills 5 hours every week, she is in one of the best school districts in Pennsylvania, I pay for acting and swimming classes for her but when I sit down and have to discipline her or make her do her homework, I get verbally and physically abused and there’s only so much one person can take when you give-Give-give and get nothing in return. I feel guilty because her baby brother is neurotypical and we have a very strong bond and I love him more but I am becoming more apathetic every day to my toxic feelings towards my daughter.

Almost always I hope that when we move back home that she gets arrested and ends up in juvenile detention so she can see how good she has it at home with me and so I can get a break from her.



What’s it like to be an unattractive woman?

As a fairly unattractive young woman, I can say that it’s kind of great. Why? Simple. It’s the way men react towards me.

I’ve talked about this at length with my girlfriends, who keep me around to boost their own self-esteem, sort of a living reminder that no matter how ugly they think they look, it could always be worse. We’ve found that a lot of men get kind of weird when they interact with attractive girls. All kinds of insecurities bubble to the surface. And by “all kinds,” I pretty much mean just penis size and penis ability. They think they won’t measure up. They get wrapped up in this anxiety. They feel pressure to perform, which manifests itself first in “scarety wang,” then in premature ejaculation. Occasionally, they feel anger, which they sometimes direct towards the girl.

Then there’s me. I’m like a cool rain on a warm summer’s eve. Not only am I not intimidating, I’m kind of soothing.

Full disclosure, I’m not all bad in terms of attractiveness. I’m slender and have a pretty decent body, so long as I keep my body hair in check (I’m 3/7 Armenian). My hips are somewhat narrow, like a boy’s, so childbirth will be painful, but I make up for it with a couple of perky breasts that are nearly the same size and a vagina that can perform peristalysis on account of all the kegels I’ve done over the years. That’s where the good news ends.

From the neck up, it’s a real car crash. First off. My head is too large for my body. It makes shopping for hats extremely trying. Plus,it sits directly between my shoulders. I have no neck to speak of. I sort of look like a battletoad.

My face itself generally confuses anyone who gazes upon it. It’s like a first year art student trying to channel Picasso by way of Bob Ross (“let’s put a nice little mole with some hair sticking out over here; it’s a happy mole”), but failing and badly. My sloped forehead is buttressed by a semenly perpetually furrowed brow more akin to a lowland gorilla than a human bean. It forms a little shelf for my dandruff to rest upon (I have dry scalp, a side effect of my having narrowly survived SIDS as a child). My eyes operate completely independent of one another. One stays close to my nose, which itself looks like a dong, while the other resides closer to my right ear almost like a fish. It’s not pleasant to look at. In fact, most don’t know where to look when conversing with me. But it does make it easier to check my blind spot when driving, so I’ve remained accident free and my auto insurance is reasonable despite my gender related handicap.

To make matters even worse, I also have a little mustache. Personally, I kind of like it. But it makes people angry, so I must deal with it. It is rather easy. I simply carry one of of those bleach pens wherever I go (works great on my butthole, too).

This whole package means that, when a guy meets me, it’s a stress free affair. Rather than constantly trying to impress me, they can just be themselves instead of being a version of themselves they think is more desirable. It’s more fun that way. Especially in the bedroom.

You see, having relations with me is like driving around in a beater — scratching it up, slamming it thru a wall, and puking in it won’t really affect its value. Honestly, I’m pretty much an old Buick, except I haven’t merely been driven back and forth to church by an old lady, if you know what I mean (I mean I’ve been fucked more than a fan of any sports franchise from Cleveland).

And most of them think it’s only going to be the one time, anyway, because I’m nothing they’d want to be with long term. So I get their footloose and fancy free best. They don’t worry about jizzing too quick, which leads them to pretty much never jizz too quick. No arguments when it comes to condom usage, either. Not a one of them would ever want to get me pregnant. They’re too frightened by what might come out. Plus, I sort of look like I have leprosy. No one wants to catch that.

Even better, I get guys when they’re at their most experimental. You want to teabag me? Sure. Dip them in. Let them steep for awhile. Really extract all the flavor. And no way do they attempt the Springfield Spray Tan with little miss thing and her perfectly plucked eyebrows. She’s haúte cuisine to these guys whereas I’m more like the Taco Bell test kitchen. Put me in a gordita, shoot me full of sour cream, wrap me in a burrito, deep fry my ass, then enjoy me when you’re too drunk to care. I won’t even charge you for extra guacamole.

Any reservations they have about the size, shape, or colour of their hog go out the window, too. I am like Lady Liberty in that regard anyways. Give me your tired, your weak, even your Dutch. Your heaving erections, yearning to splooge freely. I’ll take them all, and with a plum. What’s that, you say? Can you put it in my asshole. Yes. Yes, you can. Don’t worry about making a mess, either. I dropped the extra money on these rubber sheets for a reason and it’s not because I’m a bed wetter. Did I mention I always carry a bleach pen?

Being attractive? It’s for the birds. I’m happy just the way I am, thank you very much.

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