Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow!

New Mr. Gay China Heads To International Gay Beauty Pageant!

A Chinese Muslim man is the winner of the Mr. Gay China Pageant, and he is headed for the International Mr. Gay Pageant Competition.

Looks that kill

BEIJING — He is 25, Muslim and comes from a part of China recently known for deadly ethnic rioting. This weekend, he is competing for the title of Worldwide Mr. Gay.

As with all such endeavors in China, the journey has been long and winding.

The Chinese delegate at Worldwide Mr. Gay was supposed to have been the winner of Mr. Gay China, a pageant originally set for Jan. 15 in central Beijing. But at the last minute, the Chinese authorities shut down the show, saying the organizers did not have the right permits.

Nevertheless, 11 people — the three organizers and eight pageant participants — quietly got together in late January and voted to send one of the contestants to Norway. That turned out to be a man from the western region of Xinjiang known publicly only by his nickname, Xiao Dai, or his English name, Andrew. His official pageant name is Xiaodai Muyi, and he landed in Oslo on Tuesday, a day after getting a Norwegian visa.

“After the cancellation, we thought our attempt to educate the Chinese public had failed for now,” Ben Zhang, an organizer of Mr. Gay China, said Friday in a telephone interview. “By sending someone to Oslo, I guess we’re sending out a message to the world that still China is able to send a representative.”

According to the official pageant Web site, the finale takes place on Saturday.

Xiao Dai has been trying to maintain a low profile, and he could not be reached by telephone on Friday. “His schedule is very packed,” Mr. Zhang said.

As is his Hershey Highway, I'm guessing.

But seriously, you know his schedule is packed as tight as a Suicide Bomber's Vest with ways to avoid all the "moderate Muslims" who would cut off his head for being a homo.

Because that's Mohammed's prescription for all the faggots in the world; DEATH!

You know, I remember, I met Mohammed once. He was a very handsome young man. (Now, admittedly, these were the pre-Jihad days, before he had grown a beard, and decided to forgo porking ... uh, I mean, pork.)

Anyway, I met him in this remnant Roman club called the Manhole. He was dancing to a tune by Lady Gaga, as I recall. He was wearing very tight pants, and his cock and balls were all smushed against his left inner thigh. (In retrospect, I find this particular detail of my recollection quite interesting, because any Muslims knows, you are to enter Mosque right leg first, but I digress...)

I offered to buy him a drink, and he demurred.

His teetotaler pose said, "No, no, no," but his veiled and beguiling smile said, "Yes, yes, yes."

I must admit, he almost had me. But then, I realized, I'm no homo, no matter how far from home I am. So, I pulled my shoe off my foot, and beat his ass with it.

Next thing I know he's whimpering and quivering, crying like Nancy Kerrigan, "Why me? Why me?"

Because, you're a faggot, Mo! You stupid fuck!

Mohammed fucking

Anyway, I left the young Mohammed to his playful, boyish ways, and chalked the whole thing as one to regret. Yet another apple along the road.

I hope I haven't bored you with my story. An older gentleman will tend to ramble when thinking about all the things left behind.

We really, really, really need a palette cleanser after that one.