OK. We’re all
grown ups. We know in China there are a few things you don’t talk about.
Politics. Religion. Security guards smoking bongs.
But in this
land of strict rules, there is one off color topic that’s given the green light
every time.
Pooh.
Talking about
la du zi (diarrhea) 拉肚子 is as acceptable as talking about bootleg DVDs. You compare
crampy symptons and exchange remedies, like
digesting local honey, eating your weight in bananas to
the last resort, Tinidazole, which is a nuclear bomb to your intestines.
Let’s back trak—or
butt track. If cleanliness is next to godliness, China is definitely an atheist
country. The entire country smells like that old refrigerator in your garage
that needs to be cleaned. According to chacha (the most reliable news source on
the internet), there’s over ten billion germs for each person. Times that by
the billion plus people in China and you have over one trillion bugs floating around.
So even if I slather myself with Watson’s hand sanitizer (which claims to kill 99% of all bacteria)
there’s still one million bugs left to cause havoc on my system.
So I’m doomed to get it and so is every other expat who doesn’t have an immune system of a cock roach.
We openly discuss what to do when la du zi strikes, each with our country’s unique remedy.
A Korean swears on rice porridge. A Texan pushes Gatorade. An Irish swears off dairy.
Then I open my
mouth.
Pads.
Admit it.
Those dots and wings come in handy in when you have a fifty-fifty chance that
the fart is more than a fart. And I’m not just talking about the ladies. A few women I know admit that the men in their
lives have worn pads on those anal leaky days.
You could introduce another product, too, called the Schmitten. You guessed it. It’s a disposable Ove Glove for the back door.
Or maybe not.
Below are a few other phrases of pin yin pooh talk, used mostly for insults.Pool of pig
droppings Joo fuen chse
Niou-Se Cow
Dung
Ri shao gou
shi bing Pile of sun-baked dog poo
Shi’ung Zhu
Pi Yi Yung Like a pig’s fart