I’ve got a friend who shall not be named Speedicut, who’s currently bumming his way around China. China, as you might know, is a really enormous country where there is a large Asian population. Imagine the “chinatown” in your closest respective metropolitan area. Well, this is like a really big one of those, from what I can tell.
Speedy always brings me back something cool, because that’s what I would probably do if I ever went anywhere where there was anything cool to bring back. As I always do when he travels to a far-off land, in lieu of something fun or touristy, I told him that I wanted him to bring me back a forbidden or cursed idol from a lost temple or a secret underground city. If he had to run from the temple just a few feet in front of a mob of angry villagers wielding spears and blowguns or a giant spherical boulder, well, it’s not a requirement, but it’ll make the gift even cooler. Extra points if he gets hit with a few poison darts while running away. Jackpot prize if he’s wearing a fedora through the whole thing.
Alas, he doesn’t seem to be getting around the forbidden temple circuit much, but he is getting around the hotel circuit. Via our super-secret spy-satellite wrist-communicator delta-comm-link (fine, it was Google Chat) he told me that, instead of a bouquet of flowers and candy in his latest hotel room, he was pleasantly surprised to find, on his way to bed, a colorful bouquet of assorted condoms arranged artfully in a basket.
Condoms, you might not know, are used for, err… you put them on your… like a small, tight fitting jacket for your… and a tip on the end for the, uh… you know. It’s a precautionary anti-family device.
Speedy, in the interest of fostering international relations, read the package to himself and decided he liked the condom company’s attempt at English so much that he emailed me a photo along with a note that urged me to share it with the world. So, here you go.
I can’t make it past “crisply crisply itches” without giggling like a maniac. I’m guessing that this particular brand of condom has some sort of built-in vibrating device, but it’s hard to tell from the directions. It could just be a euphemism.
Here’s a bonus picture of a menu item that Speedy saw for your additional enjoyment.
“Fry the pheasant’s cry residue”?! Those monsters! Also, if you’ve never enjoyed fried pheasant’s tears? Well, IS BECAUSE HAD NOT DISCOVERED!
Far be it from me to point out hilarious parts of a foreign culture for the amusement of myself and other, but not that far.
Tags: china, crisply crisply itches, english, engrish, fry the pheasants tears, good try
You’d think they’d have someone who speaks English look at these things before they print them eh? If you like this I would suggest picking up David Sedaris’ “When You Are Engulfed in Flames”, it’s hilarious.
I’m a big fan of Sedaris, ever since he was first “recommended” to me by stuffwhitepeoplelike.com. And that’s a particularly good book of his. My favorite, though, is “Me Talk Pretty One Day”, especially the first chapter about his lisp.
I’ve considered hiring myself out as a proofreader for these Chinese companies, freelance you know? I’d fly halfway around the world and laugh heartily at their attempt to master the nonsensical English language and then rephrase for them and collect a hefty fee. Engrish.com would die a slow death, though, and I couldn’t have that on my conscience.
OMG. THAT is just hilarious!
“Smooth Pheasant’s cry of coke residue”…wtf is that?
Thanks for sharing. Please ask him to send more!
From people who SHOULD know better…
Check the ad slogan at the top of this page:
http://www.nciku.com/theme/detail?catg1ID=5&catg2ID=108
the picture changes each time you “reload” the page (hehe).
I’m sure it will really “BLOW” the competition…. away! (ooooh… the long lost art of the double pun!)
For those who won’t click through, it says “Bang the others with your knowledges!” and, well, you should really just click through Speedy’s link and see that page.
Here is my response.
Nancy – Does the pheasant drink so much Coke that it cries residue? Is it cocaine residue? Is a smooth pheasant different from a regular pheasant? Why is it crying? Is it “crying out”, screaming?
Pondering such things only leads to more disturbing questions, and then to more. In this instance, perhaps ignorance truly is bliss.