Tonight I’m having a Triad-themed party. This is not the first (nor the last, no doubt) Asian-themed parties I’ve had. Why do I love this raven-haired race? Why indeed.
They are small.
They are cute.
They make nice noodle soups (if you want to know the best Laksa in Sydney, ask me) (it only costs $6.50- $7, depending on how much she likes you) (OK, OK, it’s in Eat World in Chinatown! At the back on the left!)
They are cool. Hell, even this evil dictator dude has dope sunglasses.
They own the best supermarkets. Many a happy hour can be spent wandering Thai Kee IGA in Market City, buying:
Who-knows-what-laden iced coffee.
Edamame, the thinking-woman’s beer nuts.
Fake money to appease the gods.
And so on.
They are responsible for Japan, which I love.
Even their mafia members are nice. I say this after starting a brawl in downtown Sapporo one night, after which, at the police station, the yakuza dude came and apologised to me for “receiving a hit” to the face. Soooo sweet! Sure, then he made my friend pay $2000 for kicking a pedophilic billboard, but whatever.
And most importantly, they love me too. No evidence needed to back this up.