Insolence

Damn you, unknown Chinese character.

I see you sitting there.  Complacent.  Smug.  You think you’re all that because you’ve got 18 strokes.

Want to hear a secret?

I think you suck big doody.

You weren’t at my fifth birthday party, when I was getting to know basic buddies like 王, 大, and 中.

You weren’t there for me for me in my Chinese school reader when I was 12.  You know who was?  香蕉 was.  So were 葡萄 and 草莓.

My first day of college.  Did you think to say hello then?  No, but communist propaganda did.  Lesson 1: 毛主席，祝你万岁! (Mao Zedong, may you live 10,000 years!)

You weren’t there for me then, you weren’t there for me ever.  And I don’t want you here now.

What’s that?  Are you calling me illiterate?!

*sob*

Fine.  I will look you up.  Just this once.  But then you’re out of here.  What happens tonight stays just between you and me.  王大中 does not need to know.

*flip flip flip*

Now you've made me angry.  Where is the heck is your radical?  You've got so many extra bits, I can’t tell your 横 from your 竖.  Hìjole... you don't need a definition, you need a shave.

I bet you’re one of those kinky characters.  I’m going to tear out all my hair, and at the end of the day, I’m going to find you in bed under some one-stroke radical.

You know what?  I’m not going to give you the pleasure.  I don’t care what you mean or how you used to be pronounced.  Your new meaning is “enormous mole with straggly, two-inch hairs trying to escape from it”.  I see it all the time here, so there might as well be a character for it.  Your new pronunciation is “aaaaaaah”, since I'm looking at you now and that's the sound coming out of my mouth.

I can't wait to butcher you the next time I sing karaoke.