I'm about half way though right now. I'm enjoying myself.

>choose all tennis courts

>>8001723
*vapes in your direction*

China is already a world power. It's pretty much colonized Africa already. But the fact is it has a corrupt political system, a disgusting backwards pseudo-Western culture, a brutal legal system and no aesthetic standards at all. It's one giant Kowloon Walled City. Observing China from space is like watching flies reproduce on a piece of dog feces. I'm sure it's fun walking around Guangzhou in your leather trenchcoat, black sports shades and pinstriped fedora while the hunchbacked peasants clack and hurry around your slow-moving gait, but in reality the only reason you enjoy it is because you enjoy a sense of superiority there that you know you will never experience anywhere else as a result of your autism and lack of social grace. Who cares if it's going to be a "major international player"? All that means is that a bunch of figures will change on official government documents. Regardless of muh GDP or muh exports you will still be living as the only semi self-aware human being in a sea of callous clones. But, hey. Who am I to judge right? I mean I'm sure you enjoy taking financially desperate girls who were lucky not to be aborted (forcefull or otherwise) back to your cube-like apartment where you can eat your gutter oil-based food and watch a Chinese imitation of Rush Hour 2 with a Uyghur playing Chris Rock's character. I'm sure it's great wheezing through the smog each morning to teach a bunch of kids who look like anime burn victims how to say "good afternoon!" and "my parents wanted a son!". I wouldn't be at all surprised if your face bears a wide and expressive smile as you stand at your window at night and watch the diesel-guzzling trucks spewing black smoke as they and other vehicles traverse a street lined with the bodies of deceased children. I mean why wouldn't you enjoy the prospect of dressing in your favorite imitation Armani tshirts sewed by some eight year old in Shenzhen and then stepping into an elevator knowing that today may very well be the day it plummets all fifty stories of your poorly engineered apartment building or traps you inside its doors, leaving you to starve as a nation of consumers squat near their bulky televisions and eat rice with chopsticks while watching a reality TV show in which your death inside the aforementioned elevator provides the entertainment. Well good luck buddy, to you and your Samsung wife and your pudgy, asthmatic son who you really didn't expect to look like that.

I have, it is.