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Chinese Man Eats Wife’s Nose for Not Answering His Calls
A Chinese woman has lost her nose after a row with her estranged husband. The victim, only identified as Ms Yang, recently went on a night shift in Shandong province, eastern China, and failed to pick up her husband’s call at 2am.
Angered by his wife’s behaviour, the man stormed into her work place the next morning and surprisingly bit off her nose, reported People’s Daily Online.
The adverb “surprisingly” seems unnecessary, but I suppose that’s why the Daily Mail doesn’t have the international impact of Ricochet.com. Nevertheless, I’m concerned this was an overreaction on the husband’s part.
In my marriage, the phone roles are the reverse of l’affaire Yang. I hate talking on the phone, so it’s usually the Mrs. picking up the horn to remind me to do one of 318 tasks I had “forgotten.” If I’m busy writing, napping, or staring into space, I might wait a few rings as a passive-aggressive protest to the rude interruption, but I know I have to pick it up eventually. After all, I like my nose.
Ms Yang recalled the bizarre (again, unnecessary – Ed.) event that morning to Shandong Television Station: ‘He said: “Why didn’t you pick up the phone when I rang you?”
‘And the next thing I knew, he pushed my head towards the wall and ate my nose in one go.’
At this point a hack blogger would mention that the problem with eating Chinese noses is you’re hungry again in a few hours, but I am not that hack blogger. That would be in poor taste and, as you know, I’m a sophisticate. Instead I would like to focus on the thought process of Mr. Yang.
Back in my single days, a lovely young lady would, at times, eschew my entreaties. I know, it’s hard to believe, but this was the 1990s when women were hopped up on the bad Zima they scored at Lilith Fair. They were obviously flawed women who didn’t recognize my rugged good looks, winning personality, and deep humility. At the time, though, I thought only two options were available: 1) abandon the foolish girl and pursue a more perceptive lass, or 2) put on a Morrissey CD and sulk. I never considered the third option of going to her workplace and eating her nose.
True, a message would be sent, but why would I want to bite off her nose to spite her face? Her beauty was one of the reasons I pursued her in the first place and I wouldn’t want to mess that up. And, forgive me for being judgmental, eating the nose is truly a bridge too far. It must taste awful — worse if she was prone to allergies. I don’t care if some cultures consider it a delicacy.
After considering both sides, my advice to Mr. Yang is two-fold: Most women love to chat on the phone, so find one of the half billion Chinese women who fits this sexist stereotype. If, on the odd chance none of these women are interested in The Man Who Ate His Wife’s Nose, Spotify has a wide selection of Morrissey songs available for streaming.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to read another Daily Mail story for my thinkpiece tomorrow — “Woman Saved by Her Bra after Being Struck by Lightning.”
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LOL! Jon, you out did yourself with this one. Too funny. Let me add to the fun.
Shakespeare’s SONNET 130, the Manny Version
My mistress’ nose is nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her bloody snout;
If snow be white, why then her nose is dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow out of her nostrils.
I have seen noses damask’d, red and white,
But no such nose see I in her face;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress’ snoot.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far pleasing nasal sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she smells, lacks an olfactory bulb:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As she belies her schnoz with false compare.
Nostrildamus predicted this very event in the year 1511.
I did not want to see this first thing in the morning. Disgusting!
Many mothers would ask you, “How do you know it’s disgusting if you’ve never even tasted one?”
Maybe the husband was a member in good standing of the “two bites club” that my wife always insisted my children belong to.
I was trying to figure out how to make that pun in the article and couldn’t do it. Well done, sir!
All Reagan members get an unmarked manila folder with my scandalous boudoir photos. If you join at the rumored Trump level, they arrive in gold and mother-of-pearl frames.
Is that why some people refer to it as the “Rump” level?