My, how you’ve grown, my squinty-eyed princess, over the last few days.  You now know so much more about life and the world.

You now know what the Spanish basketball and tennis teams think when they look at you, my squinty-eyed princess.  And you know, byway of their “apology” that if you take offense to their “squinty-eyed” pose, you are the one with the problem: you are the one who is “confused” and “hyper-sensitive” about their “affectionate gesture.”

You now know what the world thinks of you.  You are the little runt,  the little Chihuahua that could.  A renowned sportswriter wrote that you should be eating baby food and napping in Yao Ming’s shoe.  Apparently, you are too young to appreciate the enormity of the event, and that is why you have an advantage.  You do not have an advantage because you have trained hard and because you have demonstrated gutsy-determination.  No: it’s because you are a cheating runt, my squinty-eyed princess.

And you now know that you have no talent.  You are simply a by-product of the gargantuan Chinese sports machinery which has mechanically churned out athletes who are devoid of personality but devilishly, demonically perfect in execution.  Shawn Johnson, Nastia Liukin: they have innate talent . . . and innate grace and innate beauty and courage and …   But you are a squinty-eyed runt mass-produced at a sports factory taught to whirl around the bars like a monkey on a caffeine high.

And we now know why gold medals hang around your “feathery neck.”  It’s not because of your incandescent, luminous performance on the uneven bars (although you took a hop on your landing, you cheeky little monkey), but it’s because the international judges are behind you in a mass conspiracy to undo the Americans.  Never mind that the judges are not Chinese, never mind that the judges didn’t even decide the tie-breaker system; when the Americans don’t win, it’s a mass conspiracy meant to “rip-off” the Americans.  You didn’t win gold; no, you snatched it off the neck of the beautiful (albeit sulking, albeit whining, albeit . . . ) American.

So tsai-jian, my little squinty-eyed princess.  Even though you are a world-class athlete, I know next to nothing about you, except that you are a squinty-eyed champion somehow to be blamed for not coming second.  Perhaps you hoped that winning might draw global respect and well-earned praise, but instead, alas, it’s brought about such raw snappishness.  So do me a favor.  As you prepare for next Olympics in four years, please get plastic surgery to unsquint your eyes, add some curves to your body, look older than your natural age, and, above all, don’t be such a monkey on the bars again.  My squinty-eyes can’t take it anymore.