Canuck Pissed At Towelheads

This letter was sent to me by Big Al prov

This was written by a Canadian woman, but oh how it also applies to the U. S. U.K. and Australia

Here is a woman who should run for Prime Minister!

Written by a housewife in New Brunswick, to her local newspaper. This is one ticked off lady.

'Are we fighting a war on terror or aren't we?

Was it or was it not started by Islamic people who brought it to our shores on September 11, 2001 and have continually threatened to do so since?

Were people from all over the world, not brutally murdered that day, in downtown Manhattan, across the Potomac from the nation's capitol and in a field in Pennsylvania?

Did nearly three thousand men,20women and children die a horrible, burning or crushing death that day,or didn't they?

And I'm supposed to care that a a few Taliban were claiming to be tortured by a justice system of the nation they come from and are fighting against in a brutal insurgency.

I'll start caring when Osama bin Laden turns himself in and repents for incinerating all those innocent people on 9/11.

I'll care about the Koran when the fanatics in the Middle East start caring about the Holy Bible, the mere belief of which is a crime punishable by beheading in Afghanistan.

I'll care when these thugs tell the world they are sorry for hacking off Nick Berg's head while Berg screamed through his gurgling slashed throat.

I'll care when the cowardly so-called 'insurgents' in Afghanistan come out and fight like men instead of disrespecting their own religion by hiding in mosques.

I'll care when the mindless zealots who blows themselves up in search of nirvana care about the innocent children within range of their suicide bombs.

I'll care when the Canadian media stops pretending that their freedom of speech on stories is more important than the lives of the soldiers on the ground or their families waiting a home to hear about them when something happens.

In the meantime, when I hear a story about a CANADIAN soldier roughing up an Insurgent terrorist to obtain information, know this:

I don't care.

When I see a wounded terrorist get shot in the head when he is told not to move because he might be booby-trapped, you can take it to the bank:

I don't care.

When I hear that a prisoner, who was issued a Koran and a prayer mat, and fed 'special' food that is paid for by my tax dollars, is complaining that his holy book is being 'mishandled,' you can absolutely believe in your heart of hearts:

I don't care.

And oh, by the way, I've noticed that sometimes it's spelled 'Koran' and other times 'Quran.' Well, Jimmy Crack Corn you guessed it,

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

My response was typical for an anarchist beer-drinking ex-punk cyber criminmnal

You stupid cunt!

I agree that people behind 9/11 deserve the worst punishment known to man, however they died on those planes and this Canuck is pissed off, because she's heard too many lies to recognize the truth.

After 9/11 I asked my brother, a smart guy, "Why did they attack us?'

"I don't care." was his answer.

His wife had worked for the CIA.

Her answer was the same.

Not apathy but an anger as blind as an elephant with fire ants biting its asshole, but almost seven years have passed since 9/11 and the anger by this time should have cleared for people of the West to realize what happened.

4 planes attacked America.

19 men

4 pilots.

Not one of them Iraqi or Afghani.

Most of them Saudis.

Out partner in the war on terror or TWOT.

Change the On to Against and you have TWAT

Are all Muslims pieces of shit?

No, most people are the same as everyone else.

They wake up in the morning, brush their teeth, shit, and go to work.

Simple same as most people so why do they hate us.

Firstly if you want to avoid terrorists avoid Israel.

When I traveled in the Orient I asked the hotel owner. "Do you have any Israelis here?"

If they did, I moved to a hotel that didn't.

Simple

And it's with Israel that this war starts.

In 1948 30% of the Palestinian population was awarded 50% of the land because the Nazis killed 6 million Jews. Not one Palestinian worked in the death camps, but the surviving Jews weren't moved into houses along the K'damm in Berlin. They wanted Israel.

"Because we have a contract with God."

Well, no one has seen that contract.

No one, so the Israelis stole the land from the Palestinians, who were rightfully pissed. Imagine someone coming into your house and telling you that from now on you're going to live in the basement, because 200 years ago my uncle's cousin from his wife's second marriage lived in a tent on this land.

Huh?

You'd laugh in his face.

Instead the West armed Israel and the Arab armies were destroyed by under-armed Zionists.

This i don't understand, but Yahweh was on their side.

There you have one of the beginnings. The rest are too numerous to mention. The Byzantine Empire fighting the Persians to the death 30 years before the first jihad boiled out of the camel fodder lands, the crusades, TE Lawrence, oil, The CIA backing dictators, Afghanistan, Pakistan ad nauseum. Every step of the way the USA, Brits, French, Germans, and Russkis fucking over the Muslims.

And you thought blacks had a chip on their shoulder.

So 19 men seize 4 jets and kill 3000 people.

Mind you not one black box was ever found from any of the crash site and in the entire history of the black box only four haven't been found after the crash. But that's crazy talk right?

No government would act against its own people?

Like by invading a country not even involved in 9/11 base on a lie distributed by the Mossad.

We're smarter than that aren't we?

Duh, you want another beer?

You know it.

But all that's bullshit.

We're fucked, because America doesn't fight wars to win. The pentagon fights wars to fight wars. It's their business. Win a war and you get your budget cut, so forget we're fighting a war on terror. That's bullshit. If a Thai bar girl was owed 500 baht by Osama Bin Laden she would have found him within a day, but the CIA, NSA, FBI and the rest of the spooks can't find him.

"Which way did he go?"

Stupid fuckers1

So we're still fucked and the Muslims are blowing up bombs not so much on Americans but their own fucking people. How fucked is that?

Damn fucked if you ask me, but if you don't want Americans blown up by them then avoid the towelheads.

See yah.

We could have given every Iraqi family a Ferrari for what this war cost.

Or had free medical care and I'm more scared of getting sick in America than terrorists.

Phil Gamm was right. This has become a country of fat-assed whiners.

This woman from the snowlands has no idea what the war is about because it's never televised. I saw the people jumping from the World Trade Tower first -hand. It was no Rambo movie. They crashed into the sidewalk like a bag of tomatoes and I was pissed, but not at Iraqis. At the fucking Saudis.

And this woman repeats my brother's answer to the question about why.

"I don't care."

Dumb fucking Snowback.

You better care or else we will be in Iraq for 100 years.

And fuck Jesus too.

I only believe in beer.

ZULU the movie

Barack Obama lists these movies as his favorites on Facebook

Casablanca, Godfather I & II, Lawrence of Arabia and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Casablanca is my all-time favorite movie, but very few people know that Barack is a secret admirer of ZULU, a 60s film about the battle between a small detachment of British solders and Zulu impis at Rourke's Drift in Natal.

Not for the battles.

But for the opening scene with the naked girls.

Of course no one running for president can admit that, so he picked the GODFATHER instead.

Personally I was pulling for the Zulus, then again I'm Irish.

McCain no MC

"I ate the music my kids play," John McCain told reporters.

Here's a list of his daughter Megan McCain's CDs

David Bowie, Bob Dylan, Radiohead, Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, the Who, the Beach Boys, Madonna, Jay-Z, the Smiths, Björk, Kanye West, the Cure, T. Rex, the Velvet Underground, 2 Pac and Dr. Dre, Elliott Smith, Modest Mouse, TV on the Radio, JAMC, Tom Waits, the Roots, Pulp, Blur, Ladytron, Spoon, Iggy and the Stooges, Goldfrapp, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, "Young Folks".

Sounds like a punk except for fucking Madonna and Blob Dlyan.

I hate them too, proving everyone has common ground if you look into your heart.

Low-Brow McCain

Years ago a friend of mine went to a boxing match in Jakarta. Muhammad Ali was a guest of Tommie Sukarno for the event. He was visibly suffering from the onset of his ailment, but greeted his fans and My friend went over to shake Ali's hand.

"You know you look a lot like my cousin Ernie." Ali rasped in a ravaged voice.

My friend was devastated by his idol's comment. He was Boston Irish. He thanked Ali and walked away shaking his head at how far Ali had fallen from those monumental fights with Joe Frazier. The fight was heavyweight match. No contest and my friend went to the bar. As he ordered a beer, Ali whispered in his ear, "And my Cousin Ernie was ugly too."

My friend laughed, relieved that Ali still had the life in his heart, but John McCain showed his age as this week he compared his competition Barack Obama to high-profile party girls Britney Spears and Paris Hilton.

Excuse me, they're white girls.

Barack is demi-black.

Britney can dance. Barack probably electric slides with white man's overbite.

Paris Hilton looked good on a porno video.

I don't want to see Barack naked or McCain's wife and especially not John McCain.

Hell, I don't look at me naked in the mirror and I never porno-surf Britney Spears.

Maybe that's where John McCain's political advisers got this idea.

After all we know GW Bush likes the pop vixen.

Barack Obama responded to McCain's puerile attack by saying, "I do notice that he doesn't seem to have anything to say very positive about himself. What they're going to do is make you scared -- of me and they'll say he's not patriotic enough. He's got a funny name. He doesn't look like all the presidents on the dollar bills,'" said Obama, who would be the first black U.S. president.

And they're right.

He is a nigger.

But he's my nigger and I say elect the N-word not some old coot like McCain.

Burma Gem Ban for USA

Thaksin is meandering about Beijing this afternoon, contemplating the old Clash quandary "do I stay or do I go' as the Thai courts announced Sept 16 as his date to face charges involving corrupt Burma business associates.

Are there any other kind?

Drugs, oil, timber, gems and repression fund SLORC and the USA has stepped into the fray for freedom by banning US gem dealers from importing Burmese rubies and jade, unquestionably the finest merchandise available in the world. GW Bush is expected to sign this legislation this week, although neither the US or HUMAN RIGHTS WATCH have attempted to curtail France's TOTAL from exploiting the natural gas reserves of the impoverished nation, since over 17% of Thailand's gas reserves come from their neighbor.

As for the ban on gems, China will buy up the surplus and ruby dealers in the US will be knocked out the business forever and nothing spikes profit like a ban. Just look at cocaine and heroin. Whatever people wants, people will get and nothing embargo will stop Burma's military government from mistreating its populace.

Not with big China to the north and no one caring about the opinion of the USA.

The change in the US law would stipulate that retailers keep records documenting the origin of rubies and jade to prove they are not from Myanmar.

The law has 60 days to take hold after being signed into law, so it's time for all the ruby dealers to stockpile the gems for the long-run.

Madame Thai Helmethead Sentenced to 3 Years

Ex-PM Thaksin's legal advisers must be telling him to take an extended vacation away from his native land, for the Thai criminal court has found his wife, her brother, and secretary guilty of tax evasion charges, despite Ms. Potojam's sincere protestations that the sold shares were a gift and not a business venture. The court was less than convinced and sentence 'Helmethead' to three years in prison and lambasted defendant for her disregard to her position of wealth and power. She was granted bail on appeal and her 1000 supporters descried the ruling as strictly political.

The court has also summoned her husband to face various charges. His travels plans remain fluid for the present.

Clearly the former prime minister has no friends on the bench, although some touts are saying that this punishment only clears the way for the Man City owner to conduct his affaire des couer without interference from his marital partner of over 30 years.

"Itsarah." is the Thai word for freedom.

And Thaksin was probably saying, "Thank you very much."

"Do you think we can get front row seats for the synchronized swimming?" Some reporters overheard Thaksin asking his personal secretary.

I'm sure there are some scalpers ready to take care of him.

BabeWatch Pattaya

If the greatest compliment is plagiarism, then the Thais are the best complimenters in the world. Fake watches, fake bags, fake love. Fake top 40 bands at beer bars cranking out dinosaur rock for those stuck in the 70s. Copies of your favorite meals. Even the soap operas follow the scripts of DALLAS , but I often have wondered why Thai TV never copied the #1 syndicated TV show in the world.

BAYWATCH

Bird McIntyre, the top Thai Idol, could play Michael Hasselhof's role.

Any girls off the firepoles at the Nana Plaza could play the extra lifeguards.

Only one problem.

I've never seen a lifeguard in Thailand.

At top-end hotels perhaps, because they're worried about a guest drowning and not being able to pay his minibar bill, but I've been to beaches all over Thailand and not seen one lifeguard.

Not at Pattaya, Jomtien, Hua Hin, Phuket, Koh Samui, Rayong, or Koh Khang.

Once you step in the ocean, you are on your own, which is why most Thai beach goers opt for the inner tube. 20 baht and you can float out over your head. Ain't no one coming after you if you go under. I know it's not politically correct, but Thais can't swim worth a damn, yet somehow the males think that drinking lots of whiskey helps them swim.

Wrong, they have the buoyancy of a rock.

Once drowning, they'll flail the water like a duck trying to take flight, but everyone else on the beach will be ignoring him, since they don't want to get involved in case the police come on the scene and start asking too many questions.

To combat this problem a local sea rescue squad purchased a hovercraft for 10 million baht, however the contractor has yet to deliver the instruction book. Say it costs another million. In English too.

Last week the Pattaya sea rescue had a swimming test for its crews. two nearly drowned and the rest came out of the 200 meter swim like they had seen god.

But no one ever said Thai Babewatch babes had to go into the water.

And they don't have to wear number either at least not for a soapie.

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Gentleman's Massage Pattaya 3rd Road

I write for several small publications and getting free-bies is an expected perk of this job, since it pays so little. A month ago the editor of Pattaya Beyond asked me to write a review about gentleman’s Masssage on on Soi 1 3rd Road in North Pattaya. I didn’t mention this assignment to my wife and drove my bike to the interview.

Gentleman’s Massage and Spa is a welcome change from the usual massage parlors and hotel spas of Pattaya. The management has taken great care in selecting a massage staff with an eye for beauty tempered by a skilled understanding of the traditional Thai Massage or Nuad Phaen Boran to incorporate a sensual grace essential to re-align your body’s energy.

As soon as you enter the pleasantly decorated greeting room, the staff strives to insure this evening will be one that you want to relive again and again. You will be seated in comfortable sofas and served drinks to contemplate your choice of the wide range of massages available.

Massage A 900 baht/ 90 minutes
Gentleman’s Aroma and Oil Massage B 950 baht/ 60 minutes
Gentleman’s Aroma and Oil Massage A 1400 baht / 90 minutes
Bikini Aroma and Massage B 1250 baht / 60 minutes
Bikini Aroma and Massage A 1600 baht / 90 minutes
Angel Aroma and Massage B 2000 baht / 60 minutes
Angel Aroma and Massage A 2500 baht / 90 minutes

The masseuses are attractive and slim. Each has been professionally trained in massage. The manager explained that the girls were chosen to please the eye, since a Thai massage is designed to please all five senses, which was why gentlemen’s Massage and Spa goes to great length to provide its customers with the most attractive masseuses possible.



I chose Oum for a Gentleman’s Aroma and Massage. On the way upstairs she spoke decent English and explained that she had studied massage in Bangkok and worked at a hotel in Pattaya before coming to work at Gentleman’s Massage.

Oum showed me the deluxe room, which is elaborately decorated and also has a whirlpool bath for soothing your muscles prior to a massage. She led me to my room. A bed and shower were conveniently within. The walls were adorned by paintings and the bed sheets were fine Thai silk. A stereo is in every room for your listening pleasure.

I showered for several minutes.

Thais are very sensitive about cleanliness and smells, so I suggest a thorough bathing and drying off before taking your position on the bed face-down.

I lay on the bed wrapped in a dry fluffy towel.

Having been to many massages I feel no discomfort from being naked, except for the towel. It is all part of the treatment.

Oum came back into the room with a glass of water and then proceeded to oil my feet to begin the massage. Oils are an important part of a massage, since they help rejuvenate the skin along with filled your olfactory sense with a pleasing fragrance.
Throughout the massage Oum used the towel to cover my body to prevent it from getting cold, but showed no signs of embarrassment by my body.

I was pleased that she devoted the time to the massage rather than talking and I relaxed even more as the minutes dropped away uncounted.

Traditional Thai massage dates back over 2500 years to its origins in India and its healing effects are well-known throughout the world. Nuad Phaen Boran is based on the principle that all levels of the human being are naturally interconnected. Therefore its main objective is the integrity of nature, body, mind and soul, thus it concentrates less of the musculation of the body as with the stroking and kneading of Western massage than seeking the energy lines and fields according to the tenets of Chinese medicine.

Acupressure and reflexology massage both follow the natural flow of the body’s energy to achieve success in health and pain control, which is why Thai massage targets certain parts of the body such as the feet, legs, back, and hands to alleviate pressure on the corresponding organs and body parts. The stretching of the muscle system also aids the flow of blood to the skin, joints, muscles, and organs to the general benefit of the body.

Oum worked on my feet with aromatic oils before working her way up my calves to my thighs. The strong stroking, kneading and rubbing can soften even the larger muscle groups and should not cause any pain, otherwise the muscles will become tensed in self-defense and any positive effects will be negated.
Oum’s touch was strong without being painful and she was cautious not to overtax my knees past their limit of extension. I drifted into a state of contentment, as she kneaded my buttocks and back with a steady press of flesh and I wished I had said 90 minutes rather than an hour. In this case more was definitely better than less.

The second half of the session was on my back. The tantric effects of a massage are well-known and I closed my eyes as Oum deepened the touch to my legs and lower thighs. My body tingled with the joy of a subdued stimulation and I was grateful for the attention Oum paid to any request. The massage finished with a gentle head massage and Oum brought her cupped hands together to strike the top of my head several times before telling me the 60 minutes were over.

Happy ending? Yes.

I showered again and went downstairs to the lobby. The staff gave me a glass of green tea and I complimented Oum’s services with a tip. This gratuity is not necessary, however highly suggested since the masseuses depend on these for an addition to their wages.

Before leaving the manager explained that Gentleman’s Massage and Spa is offering a special to its customers. If you go with a friend, then the friend is 50% off. For the services of a second masseuse the second girl is discounted 50% off. I asked about a frequent flyer plan and he laughed saying they were unfortunately not an airport, although the new airport could use a place like gentleman Massage and Spa for weary travelers. I left felling pampered and told several friends about the experience. Each one later verified that my massage was not an exception to the rule and I hope yours shall be worthwhile as well.

Nut @ PP Massage

Nut and I flirted a lot at the Buffalo Bar. She was pretty and liked to drink Heineken. These beers seemed to dismantle her decision process when choosing who to accept as date for the night. She’d go with the fat, short, ugly, and tall. Afterwards saying, “We did nothing.”



It’s not easy working at a short-time bar and one day she announced her retirement. “I’m going to work at a 7/11.”

“Really.” I wondered if they were opening a short-time room for that corporation.

I wished her luck and looked for her at every 7/11 in Pattaya.DDidn’t find her until I stopped into the infamous PP Massage.

Just going there for research mind you.

Entered the establishment. The director pointed out his favorite. She happened to be Nut. Sitting there all pretty and not in a 7/11 outfit. I said, “Right, I’ll take her.”

She explained that the money was better at PP Massage.

“Better than 7/11 too.”

“Better.” She said soaping my back and I believed her too, because there’s no way I’ve ever spend 2000 baht in a 7/11 and felt okay about it afterwards.

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Sophie's Bar Phnom Penh - a touch of darkness

Entry by Ty Spaulding

This Phnom Penh landmark is located on an unlit side street. It is not easy to find. The taxi motorcyclists on the sidewalk eye your entrance as you’ve had your ticket stamped by the devil. You climb up a decrepit set of stairs, which look like the Khmer Rouge might have executed cadres against the walls. The second floor door is double-bolted. A knock opens it. The main room is a bar about the size of a Holiday Inn suite. Only there’s no bed, just six stools and a few tables.

But you didn’t come here for the decor.

The girls are 18-30. The number about 20. The attire is flimsy. Young and old, beautiful and ugly. Something for everyone’s taste. They swear to be Khmer and not Vietnamese, as if working at Sophie’s fulfills a patriotic duty.

Once inside the red-lit bar four hostesses will seat you before auditioning to star in a remake of DEEPTHROAT. Your permission is not asked. Resistance is futile.

At this point the old hag behind the bar asks if you want a drink.

You order a beer, because you can’t tell who’s been drinking out of the glasses.

The male clientele are NGO pervs fighting off a heroin habit, incurable drunks, balding sex tourists on a Viagra binge, Euro-trash libertines, and missionaries seeking to save souls somewhere other than Sophie’s.

You exchange glances. This is a very compromising situation and you check the ceiling for VDO cameras to make sure you aren’t being spied on by the NSA or worst your friends porno surfing the net.

I couldn’t find any.

About two minutes after your first breath in Sophie’s (the smell of cigarettes, cheap liquor, and man sweat) the girls break their crotch huddle and ask who you thought was best and do you want to retire to a side room for more research.

As sinful as it may seem, saying no was more damnable than saying yes. Two or three girls will drag into a back room, where you will be their darling for however long it takes. The shabby rooms are decorated with cracked walls and soiled sheets to maintain the atmosphere. You can hold conversation with your friend in the next room or at the bar. The walls are thin as cheap pizza and almost as greasy.

The ménage-a-trois cost $20 and beers at $2.

The price for your soul. Eternal damnation.

Hypnotism for Men

Click on this URL
http://vili.us/hypno.html

Girls like girls in Pattaya

My wife/girlfriend got tired of my staying at home.

“It’s holiday. Go out with friend. Don’t come back until you mao kah.” Basically meaning get legless. She knows what I like and I went to meet several friends at What’s Up a Go-Go. The manager is a tom boy. Several of the dancers are fag hags. A good number are lesbians. Few of the male customers notice this, because near-naked girls dancing to techno tend to appear straight to a drunken farang, however several girls were glaring at others with jealousy, as a pretty girl was bar-fined by a westerner khang-noi or little elephant. Some of whom are not so little.

At first I thought it was envy, but realized the vicious look directed at the male was that of a lover. The Jefferson Airplane once sang. “Saddest thing in the whole wide world, see your baby with another girl.” Same goes for a girl going with a man.

I asked Oy, the manager, if her girlfriend gets jealous.

“Huung like a snake.” She rolled her eyes mentioning the real Thai word for jealous. “My girlfriend thinks I have sex with every girl here. But not true. I only love here.”

“So you don’t look at any other girls?”

“Looking not same as making love.”

“So when you look, you don’t think about making love with the girl.”

“I not say that.” Oy ordered a round of kamikazes to shut me up.

My friend’s girlfriend was cuddling with another friend’s wife. The two appeared comfortable and when the wife went to the ladies room, I asked the girlfriend, “I know you like girls. Why you go with my friend?”

“He has good heart.” Cher looked across the bar to where he was buying a dancer a drink. She raised a thumb to approve of his choice. They would share the performer for a ménage-a-trois later. “But if I not have him, then I stay with lady. Better than man. Lady love you. Man only want to_____you know. You not think girl love girl bad.”

Bad?

North Hollywood sells several billion dollars worth of DVDs dedicated to lesbianism. I wrote a novel about it. NORTH NORTH HOLLYWOOD. Men fantasize about a love triangle incessantly, only this solipsical equation doesn’t run true to the dream. Girls who like girls like boys only because they really like girls. At best you’re a man-slave. At worst you’re a spectator.

In 1975 I was hitch-hiking in Big Sur. A hippie. It was getting dark in the forest on US 1. Cars were few. The trees were huge. Camping solo seemed my only option, until a pick-up truck stopped. Two men scurried from the flatbed and ran into the forest like they were wanted fugitives. Tow women were in the front. Both cute in a rubenesque fashion.

“Where you going?”

“LA.”

“We’re going to San Diego. What you think about getting some wine and camping with us tonight?” The cuter one asked from the passenger seat.

“Cool.” And I jumped in the back.

1975. Over thirty years ago. Long hair. Hippie girls. Big Sur. We bought a jug of wine and drove off the road to a grove of redwoods stretching into a cobalt blue sky. Stars were glowing above the treetops. We exchanged names. Theirs were Flower and Sammy. I gave mine as James.

“James Bond?” Flower was older and had long brown hair.

“James reefer Bond.”

Both of them laughed and Flower tolled a joint. She wore overalls without a bra. Her breasts were big. Sammy’s were small. We started a fire and ate fruit, smoked pot, and drank wine. Within 30 minutes we were naked on a scratchy blanket. They called my cock 007, even though it wasn’t that long. We had sex throughout the night. Flower could take everything I gave her, but the second I entered Sammy my pleasure reached a climax like a storm wave.

Hardly one in-and-out.

Flower didn’t like this. I was supposed to be a tool. As the dawn broke over the redwoods they withdrew began a long sumo wrestling match into a 69 Death Grip excluding any male touch. Flower sneered at me, as if her groans were merely a subterfuge to entice Sammy into this embrace.

They had pulverized my libido and I understood why the other tow men had fled the truck. I crawled away from the redwood grove and caught a ride south, knowing that girls like girls and that was it.

Same in Pattaya.

My friends think these girls are experimenting. Most are tom-dee or lesbians and like Gore Vidal said, “Once is experimentation. Twice is perversity.”

They’re only playing a game otherwise.

I left my friends that night and returned home. My wife and daughter were asleep. I lay on the bed and read a little. Ezra Pound. Within a few minutes I was asleep, because these two girls are the only menage-a-trois in my world.

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6 Defrees of Separation ala Pattaya

John Guare in his play SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION contends that everyone in the world is no more than six people away from each other.

GW Bush to George Bush to his father to Hitler.

Me to my sister-in-law to George Bush Senior to GW Bush to his father and then Hitler

Me to Carrie Carey to Ahmed Bin Laden to Osama Bin Laden.

Me to Howie Montauk to Victoria Lockwood, Countess Spencer to Earl of Spencer to Princess Diana to QEII.

I’d be a little harder pressed to establish the lineage to Bill Gates but in some case you want more than six degrees of separation especially if the end of the line is a brutish blonde pimp named SS Tommy.

In 1982 I was working at a nightclub in Hamburg. A delightful sunny seaside town in the summer and a dark dangerous industrial wasteland in the winter. BSIR’s was fronted by Jurgen, a playboy. The real owners were the GMbH. The city biggest gang of pimps, whose leader was a black German/American. Nigger Cali’s right-hand claw was SS Tommy and this zuhalter resembled a pit bull on steroids. I had managed to keep my distance from the monster. It seemed the best thing to do.

A week before Christmas SS Tommy slapped a bill on the bar.

“20,000 Deutschmarks.”

“For what?” That sum was about $13,000.

“For having sex with Astrid.” Tommy smiled, as if he had told a secret.

“Astrid?” The ephemerally stunning lingerie model was supposedly studying German literature at university while not posing her divinely sculpted body for catalogue photographers. “She works for you?”

“This is Hamburg. Everyone works for someone.” SS Tommy had over two hundred girls on his string

“20,000.” Astrid had been coming over my Mittelweg apartment ever since she broke up with Kurt. Four months twice a night.

“And that is cheap.”

“Yes, I know.” $100/sex was a bargain if you had it. My bank account was short the bill but 14,000 DMs.

“And it’s not negotiable.”

“Sure, I can understand that.” I had 1000 DMs in my pocket and the keys to my orange VW Beetle. It wasn’t worth much since a late-night collision with a tree on Eppendorfer Weg, but handing him the keys bought time for my getting on the midnight train to Paris.

I never returned to Hamburg, fearing for my life.

Cali showed up in Paris once. He said SS Tommy wasn’t happy with my car. “I don’t think he will buy a used car again.”

Kurt had had no idea about my relationship with Astrid. “I thought you were my friend.”

“What’s a girl between friends?”

“Not glue.”

Astrid and I continued on our relationship through the 80s in Paris, New York and London. SS Tommy’s bill was never a subject of conversation and I refrained from mentioning my debt to the English barrister who later became her husband. I haven’t seen her in years.

To be safe I googled SS Tommy’s name every couple of months. The search comes up blank. I thought he was either KIA or MIA.

I was completely wrong as usual.

Several years back I had an affair with a Thai hooker. That kind of relationship is hard to avoid in Pattaya. Tut was a short vixen into ja-bah or mad medicine. The rumor on the street that she had worked as a prostitute in a brothel. I was no saint and didn’t ask questions, especially since I was paying for her company.

Once she heard me speak German and asked, “Where you learn German?”

“In Hamburg.”

“I had a boyfriend in Hamburg.”

Boyfriends who let their girlfriends work in a whorehouse are called Zuhalterei in Germany.

“What was his name?”

“Tommy?”

A chill slithered down my spine like a snake let out of a freezer.

“Was he a body builder with blonde hair?” I should have said ‘pimp’.

“Yes.”

“Did he have any black friends?”

“One called Kelley or Charlie.”

Nigger Cali was one of kind. “Did any of his friends call him SS?”

“Ja. What’s it mean?

Like ILSA SHE-WOLF OF THE SS. “Schiesse.”

“You know him.” Tut seemed as scared as me.

“I did but don’t anymore.”

Tut ran out that night to meet a boyfriend in Phuket. She called a week later for airfare back. I said I’d send it ASAP and blocked her number from my cellphone. We never had sex again and SS Tommy disappeared from my life once more and I hope he stays twenty separations away instead of one, because even though he’s 60 now, someone like SS Tommy never forgets his debtors.

What else would you expect from someone built like an elephant on steroids?

For more on SS Tommy read the excerpt from ALMOST A DEAD MAN

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The Perfect Thai Girlfriend

Standard joke about the perfect western girlfriend.

Her father owned a pub, she’s 3′4″ with a flat head so you can put your beer on her.

Simple needs, but in Thailand more than likely your girlfriend’s father is distilling moonshine lao khao or rice whiskey, she’s 5-3, and there is no way any Thai will let you mess with their head even if it’s flat.

So what qualities make up the perfect Thai girlfriend?

I google ‘perfect thai girlfriend’ and the search engine came up with over 870,000 results.

The late mangosauce’s contribution was his reverse alchemy factor where a Thai girlfriend can turn gold into a base metal. Funny, but more a warning shot over the bow than a helpful hint as to what pluses might answer a farang’s fondest desires.

Thailovelinks.com promises the perfect Thai girlfriend.

The girl on the home page seemed right for me, but she’s nowhere to be found within their promo pages, plus my attraction was only physical. Being near-sighted I don’t need a beauty queen. Pretty yes, but I don’t want to fight duels over the perfect Thai girlfriend every other farang wants.

The next website was asiastreetmeat.com.

No one is looking for girlfriends here.

Only girlfiends who serve their purpose well.

I’ve had several Thai girlfriends.

Vee was the nicest. One-eyed and beautiful in sunglasses. My friends thought she was money-hungry. They were right, but at least she bought me a cake for my birthday.

Mem won the 2001 worst girlfriend award in voting from a UN of western and Thai men. Even her brother thought she was demented.

Twice burned I came up with a list for the perfect Thai girlfriend.

No tattoos / especially if it’s a heart with a name scratched out.

Minimal to zero English / Not long on the bar scene.

No cigarettes or drinking / nasty habits in a woman, but makes for a good bloke.

Dead Thai boyfriend / hopefully by a meteorite to the head so everyone would be scare shitless at the mention of his name.

No children / Mem had three and two Thai boyfriends.

No internet skills / Dead give-away of a foreign boyfriend, who strangely shows up when you are leaving town. “Not worry, he only friend.”

No Gold necklaces / Another indication of sucker boyfriend, although we have to defer to mangosauce’s theory of reverse elements. Diamonds to ashes.

Your first date should be a short-time from Soi 6 although there no more blinding passion than lust at first sight.

And penultimately of all no slash marks across the wrists / the warning sign of a true dangerous maniac. Also great sex.

She also has to be beautiful, funny, and loving.

Needless to say no such creature exists in Thailand or America or the rest of the world, because no one is perfect.

Charles de Talleyrand manipulated kings, emperors, and statesmen during the 18th Century. This eminence gris had been in love with the most beautiful and erudite woman of the Paris salons. The starlette ditched him for a captain in the Swiss Guards, who was supposedly gay. Being smart she needed a challenge. His marriage to the daughter of country gentry astounded his friends, until he confessed, “One must have loved a genius to appreciate the love of a fool.”

And I’m no different.

No matter what qualities I admire in a woman they will be never enough to satisfy my dreams, so we have to be content with what we get, because as the the great philosopher MICK JAGGER said, “You can always get what you want, but if you try some time you might end up with what you need.”

Deviant Londoners would love to see Mr. Jimmy, except the Chelsea Drugstore is a Mickey D. fast food chain instead of a nihilitstic heroin connection, which was featured in CLOCKWORK ORANGE.

Nothing is sacred anymore, especially the profane.

Thankfully some still exist, because sometimes you don’t need nothing if you’ve been to the Chelsea Hotel’s, where Sid Vicious the Sex Pistols bass player was found in bed with Nancy Spungen, his girlfriend. She had been stabbed dead. Room #100.

Sid and Nancy.

Now that’s perfect love.

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Top 5 Attractions for Thai Bar Girls

Most surveys are conducted with scores, if not hundreds of people. Personally I go for the one person who is most representative of the subject group and when I was thinking about the five qualities a Thai bar girl required from her farang boyfriend, I immediately went to Gai, the Buffalo Bar’s version of Anna Nichols Smith.



Gai has been loved by scores of men over her five year career and spent the night a few more. My cousin was one of them. Few had complaints other than Gai really didn’t want to settle down with most of them.

After plying her with several drinks, I asked, “Why?”

“Farang men like Thai men are no good. Say one thing, do the other.”

The lights of Pattaya don’t attract the best catches on the planet, but there are some nice guys. “What do you look for in a man?”

“The opposite of what a man wants.” Gai ordered a Heineken on my tab. No one’s time is free and I waved for another Chang Beer. I like drinking with her.

“Which is?”

“Sex, love, fun, freedom, and faithfulness.”

“Sounds about right.” My top choice after her first is someone having my back or a woman on the same team.

“Most farangs kee-nok think they are the best thing to happen to a thai girl. Look at them. Bald, fat, unable to find a woman in their own country, cheap, except when it comes to getting drunk, then they are just like thai men. Drink everything they have and end up in bed with another woman or lady-boy.”

“That’s a little hard.” But not off the mark in Pattaya. “So all the women her are angels.”

“Not angels. Women. Nothing more and they want something most men can’t give them. Security is #1.”

“Money.”

“Without money I can’t take care of my baby.

“I would say truthfulness, but no man can tell the truth more than second hours in a row. All you have to do is ask them what they are thinking.”

“The answer is usually nothing.”

“And you expect a woman to believe that.”

“Men have minds like dogs.”

“And women are cats.”

“So what’s second?”

“Fun and laughs. No sense in being with a man if he is no fun.”

“What about choice #1. Money.”

“Only if there is no other choice.”

Unfortunately during low season the options were reduced by 50% and bar girls had to make do with the dregs. Sam Royalle calls this time after Songkran the Brad Pitt season, when bar girls call Saudi hunchbacks with mohawks sexy. Gai is lucky enough that she can be choosy most of the time.

“So far we have money and fun.”

“Only two.” Gai lifted her fingers. The nails were long and painted fire-engine red. Respect for family.”

“Meaning your mother and father.” I knew how important that was, however several bargirls started off in brothels to pay off their father’s rice debts. I can’t respect them, but the girls understand the needs of the family supersede their dreams.

“Yes,” She finished her beer and waved to a good-looking farang entering the bar. His smile said he was her first pick for tonight and she finished the top five. “Next comes sex. Good sex is good. Bad sex is good too as long as it’s fast. Last comes love, because you can’t eat love.”

“And you can eat sex?”

“It pays the bills.”

“So it’s money, fun, family respect, sex, and love.” I tipped her a 100 baht and Gai kissed me on the cheek.

Her choices were not the same order as men. Maybe other bar girls would have a different order, but somehow I felt that Gai was on the money, especially knowing Pattaya’s farangs.

After all I’m one too.

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International Write-Off Day

"Every American should own a home." GW Bush had said in 2004 at which time 68 percent of Americans own their own homes. "Home sales were the highest ever recently. That's exciting news for the country."

Donald Trump took his advice and bought a mansion on Palm Beach. He sold it for $95 million. I saw the beach front estate. I don't see that much money in it, but then value is determined by location location location.

Unfortunately not all home owners are as lucky as the Almighty Sweep-Over.

"You should live in exciting times." a Chinese curse and not many homeowners consider their present situation 'exciting'.

The Housing Crunch has hit Florida hard. For sale signs dot the properties around West Palm Beach. House-owners are behind in their mortgage payments on loans that the banks lent them when the real estate market was overheating to bright red. My friend Albert borrowed $1.2 million on his West Palm Beach house. Having bought it for $190,000 he felt like a genius, however prices have fallen by 30% and 3 missed payments have inflated his interest rate to usury levels.

He's scrambling for cover, but there is none.

Bankruptcy is around the corner and this problem has spread from Florida across the USA and the rest of the world.

There is only one solution.

International Write-Off Day.

Credit cards, banks, friends, taxes, car payments et al.

These debts are shared by individuals, business, and nations.

Trillion of dollars in the red with no way to pay off the interest let alone the actual debt, which is why International Debt Write-off Day makes so much sense.

If the banks can write off their debts for the housing-mortgage crunch then why can't you blow off your credit card debt? The IMF forgave African nations billions. How about a little relief by waiving your car payment? Of course they'd be some big losers like anyone holding US Treasury bonds or my credit card debt, but screw them. Everyone starts from zero and this time I'm not running up any debt in Pattaya. The loan shark here play for keeps.

I promise.

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Rocketman

The Greek myth of Icarus appeals to all earth-bound children with the desire to fly. As a kid my friends and I would steal large sheets of plastic from the nearby suburban construction sites. We would then climb to a wind-blown hilltop and spread the plastic sheet to capture the wind almost like a parachute. The lightest of us achieve lift-off. Landing were always rough for youthful thrill seekers and even worse for sky-drawn adults as a Brazilian priest fatally discovered after setting off to heaven in a lawn chair attached to 1000 helium colorful party balloons in an attempt to raise money for religious truck drivers.

"Excuse me while I touch the sky."

His body was found in the Atlantic.

His dream of flight is shared by another sky-worshipper in Wisconsin, who has developed a jetpack for the upwardly-mobile.

"There is nothing that even comes close to the dream that the jet pack allows you to achieve." The 48 year-old designer from New Zealand plans to market his contraption next year at $100,000 each.

At that price the skies will remain relatively uncongested, however one has to remember that in 1904 there were only two cars in all of Iowa and they had a collision and aspiring jetpack aviators will have to make way for birds on their 30-minute flights at 110 dB thanks to its twin rotors and its 200-horsepower.

Zoom.

The inventor's wife calls the noisy 250-pound engine 'a beast' and the designer has yet to quit his day job, but the jetpack does have safety feature such as a parachute in case of emergency.

So far only 12 people have gone up and come down.

None have had to press the panic button.

The inventor has a vision for his device. One he can't explain, but according to him when Ben Franklin first saw a hot-air balloon, someone asked, "What good is it?"

Ben Franklin too a second and answered, "What good is a newborn baby?"

In other words he didn't know, but as a new father I can tell you the real answer is happiness.

ChinEse Chick Art 2008

The Chinese Cultural Revolution scoured anything other than communist art from the vision of the masses. Artists were exiled to the hinterlands and countless treasures destroyed by degree from the Gang of 4. The West turned its back on China without a backward glance, however the sleeping dragon has once more awakened in the Celestial Gulag with male painters commanding million dollar prices. Now a vanguard of female avant-gardettes are attacking this bastion of macho-finger painters according to the NY Times.

Then again who believes anything that mouthpiece of Israel, the NRA, and GOP find fit to print.

Still my attention was captured by a single photograph of Li Shurui. The 20ish blonde possesses a classic Suzie Wong beauty, which must take away Westerners' bad breath as she walked by them. She's married so she's a heartbreaker as well as a cocktease, although this judgment is strictly on the basis of a photograph and probably is less than 75% true, because women in order to be noticed have to sell their body as well as their mind to be noticed by men.

I wish all the women in China good luck, because even surviving brith is a trial in the nation of little Emperors.

Chinese Monkey-Face Pig

Villagers were shocked after a monkey-like piglet was born in China.

Curious locals flocked to the home of owner Feng Changlin after news of the piglet spread in Fengzhang village, Xiping township.

"It's hideous. No one will be willing to buy it, and it scares the family to even look at it!" Feng told Oriental Today.

He says the piglet looks just like a monkey, with two thin lips, a small nose and two big eyes. Its rear legs are also much longer than its forelegs, causing it to jump instead of walk.

Feng's wife said the monkey-faced piglet was one of five newborns of a sow which the family had raised for nine years.

"My God, it was so scary. I didn't known what it was. I was really frightened," she said.

"But our son likes to play with it, and he stopped us from getting rid of it. He even feeds it milk."

Neighbours have suggested the couple keep the piglet to see how it looks as it matures.

The Marco Polo Pole-Dancing School

My cousin Sherri was a stripper. She was an aerial expert on the steel poles. Naked the slender brunette would swirl around the metal column like an Aztec skydiver. her mother never came to a show, but I always told Aunt Mary, "You're daughter is the best."

"That's because you're family."

"Maybe a little, but also she is better than good."

Of course there was nothing social redeeming in her shows in Times Square. Men came to see a world-famous XXX actress and Sherri never disappoint her fans. She showed them all without ever telling them the tricks of the trade. Pole-dancing was an art for women only, although gay go-go dancers have also experimented on the poles only to have their member collide with the pole in a less than harmless fashion.

Fast-forward twenty years and pole-dancing has lost its negative aura and even females in puritanistic China have taken up pole-dancing as an aerobic exercise at Shanghai's Marco Polo Pole-Dancing School. Women in their 20s feel sexy and this strip show technique allows them to fantasize about performing to a dark room filled with panting men and fantasy is all they have, since the Chairman Mao's wife banned go-go dancing during the Cultural Revolution.

Pole-dancing was introduced to China by a 39 year-old woman. Her parents are firmly against her mission, but frustrated in her pursuit of careers she bucked their disapproval and opened the school several years ago.

"People here have never seen a pole dance, and for that reason they don't associate it with stripping or women of ill repute."

Mostly because the Chinese are so square.

When I visited Cheng-Du in 1995 couples were ballroom dancing to disco.

So times are changing in China and it's only a matter of time before someone teaches the girls to lap-dance.

Preah Vihear Pull-Back

The tense stand-off over the ancient Hindu temple on the Thai-Cambodian border has fizzled after the Cambodian elections. Troops have withdrawn from the no man's land and calmer voices are calling for further talks to settle the differences between the two nations over ex-PM Thaksin's parking lot privileges at the World Heritage site. Khun Thaksin is out of the country on a trip to the Olympics, where he will advise the Chinese on how to cut down pollution.

He had no comment on the border settlement.

"This trip is pleasure. Not business."

While the area next to Preah Vihear covers only 4.6 square kilometres the significance of the dispute centers farther to the south in the Gulf of Siam, where the two countries' claims overlap over 27,000 square nautical kilometers.

The Navy has vowed to protect this land the same as it would Isaan or Yala for the exploitation of the natural resources by US Oil Companies by Chevron.

And everyone knows that it's just as easy to fight over oil as it is religion.

Just ask GW Bush.

Thai Immigration Crackdown on Unwanted Farangs.

Phuket City instituted a new computer program desinged to track undesirable foreigners in that tourist town and Immigration officials vowed to utilize these advances to restore confidence in the nation.

"This is a year of investment for Thailand." The General declared unaware that the global economy is in the shitter. "We need to identify potential trouble-makers who are dragging down the name of Thailand."

Meaning more farangs will be deemed persona non grata by the Immigration officials as soon as they can figure out how to coordinate the new computers with old school work ethics.

The General was angered by the 54 Burmese who suffocated in Ranong, but did not suggest any judicial proceedings against the deceased illegals, rather he blamed the Thai authorities for the tragedy. “I do not deny that fact that the integrity of government officials across the board must now be more closely monitored and action taken against those involved.”

VIP visitors will also be serviced better by the new system.

"Farangs known to be honest, responsible and posing no threat to Thailand can be issued cards that will facilitate swift passage past immigration checkpoints."

In fact funds are in the budget to hire one more sweeper in the Phuket airport to facilitate cleanliness.

And we all know what cleanliness is next to.

Thai tourist Authority TAT Targets Chinks.

TAT launched ‘Wonderful Thailand 2008’ eight months into the year with Chinese high-spenders in mind. Chinese tourist journalists have been invited on 5 day junkets to promote Thailand as a world-class destination to the over 40 million Chinese travelling outside the Celestial Gulag each year.

"We are tired of backpackers and football hooligans." The TAT officials admitted to the press. "We don't even mind if the Chinese spit, since clearing their throats is their mating sound. Of course the pollution in Thailand is non-existent in comparison to our neighbor to the North. In Bangkok they can see clear skies and visit Gucci shops without coughing."

High-end tour groups charge up to 50K baht per person and the Chinese spend even more during their holidays like the two Chinese tourists recently arrested for marijuana smoking.

"We thought that it was a Thai tradition." One of the criminals told the police.

"Ignorance is not excuse." The Pattaya police jailed the two men for processing through the sin-bon system.

This incident aside, TAT is sure that the Chinese will increase their visits from 500,000 to at least 505,000 due to their 'Sawadee Chinks' campaign.

"After all it's a small world."

Michelangelo's David Ends USA Tour

After a two year tour of the United States,
Michelangelo's David is returning to Italy!

Big Al's Baby Boy

Here's a photo of BIg Al's wife 'Yim" and their son " Aj" at 9 weeks old. He's 18.5 lbs already.

"I'm not a baby expert but I think that's a little heavy!" Big Al writes me.

My five year-old daughter weighs 19 kilos.

Big Al's AJ is sumo big.

And it doesn't come from his wife's side of the family.

She only weighs 43 kilos.

FENWAY SMITH COMETH

Yesterday my Thai mistress Mem gave birth to my son, Fenway Smith.

3.6 kilos

A big boy.

And I'm a proud father again or at least until my wife finds out.

BET ON CRAZY # 7 / BAD PRESS by Peter Nolan Smith

Valentine's Day 1990 was a big holiday in Manhattan's Diamond District. Manny loaded up our window with gold hearts and diamond stud earrings. Loyal customers flocked to the Randolphs across the aisle from our display cases and we handled all the walk-ins i.e. jewellry shoppers without a destination.

"Can I help you something?" I asked a young man with snow melting on his shoulders. It had been a cold winter.

"I'm looking for something to give my girlfriend." He was staring at the merchandise in the counter, which we considered Richie Boy's and his brother Googs' inheritance, since the styles had passed out of favor decades before.

"You have a price in mind?" Richie Boy had instructed my approach to potential buyers. He called the process qualifying a customer. It was something that he had read in a self-motivation sales book.

"$500 to 600." The young man avoided eye contact. His was guilty of something. Something a box of chocolates or flowers would not cure.

"We have plenty of beautiful pieces for that price."

"What about a gold necklace?" I pulled out a 14K link chain. We had bought it from a taxi driver the previous week. He had found it in his cab. Once polished the chain gleamed with promise. The cost was written in code. $350. I pulled it across my jacket. It moved like a snake. "I can give this to you for $600. A bargain."

"I don't know." His hesitation was born of doubt.

"Diamond studs are nice." My last girlfriend had been in Paris. I bought her Chanel #5. It was too old for her. Even though the French don't celebrated it, we broke up on April Fool's Day.

"I can't afford them. What's your best price on this?"

"My best price would be $1000." Manny was standing to the side. He was ready to bump me off the sale. The phone rang. I was on my own.

"$1000?"

"Best price for me." A little humor to loosen him up. He wasn't smiling. "How will you be paying?"

More qualification.

"Cash."

Credit cards ate 3-5% of the profit. Cash was good.

"How's $525 sound." This was too easy.

"What about $500?"

"You ready to buy it now?"

"I might be." He still hadn't looked me in the eyes.

"Better $495. The extra five will buy you a beer. You want me to wrap it up?" We didn't have wrapping paper. Only boxes. Blue, black, and red. Manny didn't like giving away the expensive ones for a sale under a hundred, but I pulled out a black velvet necklace pouch and laid the gold chain inside.

"How do I know it's really gold?" The young man lifted his head.

"It's stamped here 14K. If it's not, you can return it any time you want for your money back." 47th Street has a funny reputation. The money-back guarantee could push him across the threshold.

"Can I get it appraised before I buy it?" He didn't trust me at all.

"Sure, but you'll have to pay for it."

"How much does that cost?"

"$25." Appraisers calmed shoppers' fears. Only first-time buyers used them. I thought that they were a scam, although some were honest. "That's dinner for one."

"I'll think about it." His hands sought his pockets. This deal was almost dead.

"If I dropped another couple of bucks, would you buy it now?" This move was an act of desperation.

"No, but maybe I'll be back." These were dreaded words to a salesman. He walked out the door and the deal was officially dead. I replaced the gold necklace in the showcase and went to the front window. The 'hawk' next door was dragging the young man inside his store. Hawks were like carnival shills. They could sell Eskimos yellow snow.

"Nice, you blew that sale." Manny whispered in my ear.

"He was suffering from the doubts."

"Another doubting goy." Manny went back to his desk.

I had lost the customer, because of the street's reputation.

It happens all then time, but especially on the weekend, when the busloads of tourists from Shawallagah, PA or Dover Delaware armed with a box of chicken wings and a bag of quarters gawked at the jewellery and demand incredulously, "Those aren't real diamonds, are they?"

"All of our diamonds are real and set in 14K and 18K gold or platinum jewellery," I answered cordially, for the most part. We might enjoy poking fun at these out-of-towners, yet their purchases can only add to our profit line, so once they're in the store we treat them as we would any valued customer, even if they're only looking for a Big Apple charm or want to tell us about their great-grandaunt's opal ring. As Manny says, "Be nice. It can't hurt."

Manny, Richie Boy, and I were honest within reason, but a few of our competitors prey on tourists like wolves tailing a cripple calves and every year ABC NEWS1 20/20 puts out a report to warn about unscrupulous diamond dealings on 47th Street.

Typically during holiday season the show's producers send out a young man to purchase a diamond engagement ring and inevitably ends up getting nailed by the same dealer on the corner of Sixth Avenue. The entire process of the sale is recorded by a hidden video camera to reveal the dealer's misrepresentation of the diamond's quality.

Weeks later Diane Sawyer will confront the dealer with the proof of his lies and in the show close with a warning for the public to beware.

One would expect that the dishonest merchant would be punished by such negative publicity, however inside this diamond dealer's ship hangs photo of Diane Sawyer hanging on his wall and he proudly states, "Diane shops here every year. One of my best customers."

To avoid getting fleeced, I suggest anyone looking for a diamond to head up to Tiffany's or Cartier first and get one of their diamond buying guides, which are free and offer a great thumbnail source of information to the novice.

Otherwise caveat emptor. Let the buyer beware and remember if it sounds to good to be true than it is too good to be true.

For any questions on jewellery or the diamond trade stop by Richie Boy and me and even Manny.

The first piece of advice is always free.

BET ON CRAZY 6 / The Color of the 4Cs by Peter Nolan Smith

The last week of February I was hurrying down the sidewalk on West 47th Street. My watch read 9:35. I was late for the third time this week and it was only Wednesday. Lenny the bum was standing in front of Berger's Deli. His lightly-clothed body was steaming in the sub-zero temperature. Fat people generate a lot of heat.

"Can you give a little?" Lenny said to a passing Hassidim diamond dealer and then pointed a quivering finger. “There’s the goy who gave me a dollar yesterday. The good goy, Damien.”

“His name isn’t Damien___” The dealer recognized me at Manny's store.

“I like the name Damien fine.” I couldn’t resist Lenny's utter helplessness. "You want a bagel?”

“From Berger? That’s not kosher.”

“Just what the world has been waiting for, a finicky bum,” The Hassidim laughed, but Lenny cringed with hurt and shambled off with a mutter. “I’m not finicky, just don’t eat tref. See you, Damien.”

Berger’s was definitely kosher, though not dairy glatt, and I crossed the street. It was 9:38. Manny was in the front window, tapping his watch. I entered the exchange and Manny said, "Every day you're late. Two minutes, five minutes, fifteen minutes. Why can't you get here on time?"

"I try." I got up at 8. Somehow 90 minutes weren't enough time to get from East 10th Street to Midtown. "I’ve taken the N train, the L, the 4. None of them are faster."

"So leave a little earlier."

"Okay." I took off my leather coat and hung it over my chair. Richie Boy and Domingo were running late too. Nothing really happened on the street until lunch.

"Okay what? Okay you'll be on time?" Manny handed me a tray from the safe. The metal box contained the heavy goods for the front window. Diamond necklaces and engagement rings.

"Manny, when you going to teach me about diamonds?" I needed to change the subject

"What's there to teach?" Manny had little time for on-the-job training. "You do what I tell you and you can't go wrong."

"Yeah, but here are two 3-carat diamonds." I held up two engagement rings in 14k gold; a marquise and round stone. "Both the same size, color, and clarity, but they don't cost the same."

"I told you about the 4Cs." Manny sighed with exasperation. He hated wasting any time from his beloved paperwork.

"Carat, color, clarity, and cut." These 4Cs determined the price of a diamond. "Your lesson lasted three minutes."

"What you expect to know everything in a week? A month? A year?" Manny motioned to set out the goods faster.

"No, I listen to what you tell customers and you inevitably tell them every stone is a G VS, unless it has a certificate from the GIA."

"I hate the GIA." Manny had no confidence in the Gemmological Institute of America, having sent several stones for certification only to have them come back a lesser grade than his original estimation. "Upstarts."

"They've been around since 1931."

"And I've been around since 1925." Manny was a little younger than my father. "So I beat them. They think that they're the be all and end all of diamonds. We never sold those stones on the Bowery. Only when my hero and your friend, Richie Boy, moved me up here did I have to deal with GIA stones and that 4Cs crap."

"It's not crap." Richie Boy lifted the counter top. The braces had come off his legs, so he was able to wear his suits again. Armani, Zegna, Calvin Klein. I had inherited several hand-me-downs. They were little small on me, but better than a 20 year-old suit from Jaeger.

"It's crap. The G comes into the store for a 1-carat stone. He doesn't know a D color from a J, but he knows how much he has in his pocket. He has $3000. You tell him the stone is G VS. He has $4000. You tell him G VS. He has $2000. You tell him G VS, because that's what he wants. A white clean stone. Nice and easy."

"Except if he has $10,000 in his pocket and he wants a 2-carat F SI stone. Then your formula gets shit-canned." Richie folded his cashmere coat and hung it behind the safe. "Manny, the GIA helps the customers and it helps us. Get used to it."

The telephones started ringing ending this discussion and my education. I put the two diamonds back in the trays and filled the window with rings, necklaces, tennis bracelets, pins, pearls, chokers, and antiques.

"Manny's nervous enough to make a statue twitch." Richie Boy hobbled to my side. "Do us a favor and don't wind him up."

"All I asked was about the difference in diamond prices."

"It took Manny 50 years to know what he knows and doesn't know. Leave him alone. If you want to learn about diamonds, just keep your ears open. In the meanwhile, run this setting up to Eenon to pick out 20 stones. G SI. Five pointers. Got it."

"And afterwards the stones will be G VS?" 100 points made up a carat, so five pointers were 1/20th of a carat.

"It's what the 'G's want." All customers were 'G's, not because they were goyim like myself, but they always asked for a G color stone like Manny said. I left the store and headed down the street to the front of a 9-story building. Lenny was in front mumbling about deBeers. His audience consisted of errant snowflakes, as everyone rushed about on their chores. He was too drunk to notice my entering the building and I got in a packed elevator, pressing the button for the 8th floor.

A skinny Hassidic setter hadn't bathed since the Deluge of Noah. I breathed through my mouth until the 8th floor. Eenon's office was at the end of a bleak corridor. The walls were a weak lime green and the overhead neon lights fluttered at the end of a long life. Room 805 was magnetically locked and I rang the buzzer, then lifted my face to the CCTV. The door clicked open and I stepped in the waiting room. An old man face popped into the tiny window. Eenon’s father resembled a featherless chicken and I could hear him say, "The goy is here."

He opened the door and indicated that I should sit on a metal folding chair. The shabby room was decorated with battered desks on which weighing scales were lit by brilliant lamps. Eenon looked up from a parcel of small diamonds with a smile.

"Ach, it is the goy." Eenon was my age. We liked the same music. He liked calling me 'the goy', because there were so few gentiles working on 47th Street. "What does Manny want now?"

"20 five-pointers. G SI."

"He's willing to pay $550 per carat?" Eenon asked like he hadn't heard me right.

"I think so. What's the difference between $500 and $550?"

"A good question." Eenon usually had a little time to speak with me, probably because I was his only contact with the goyim. He reached over to the pile of loose stones with long-nosed tweezers. He placed two small stones on a folded piece of white paper. "The price is determined by the usual factors. Color, clarity, cut, and carat size. No matter what the size. Look at these two stones. Each one is a 20-pointer. Same cut and clarity and both are the same color. Different costs."

"And you can tell the difference?" They appeared to both be white to me.

"My father taught me the difference, although when he was learning they called the stones different colors. D was Jager. E and F were River. G and H were Wesselton. I-J were Top Silver, K-L were Top Cape and the rest to Z were designated as Cape to Yellow."

"Why you wasting your time telling 'the goy' this?" His father was seated at his desk, sorting tiny diamonds, each one a glitter under the electric light of his lamp.

"Because he asked a question."

"You know why they called Wesselton 'Wesselton' or Jager 'Jager'?" The old man pushed back his sleeve. A tattoo was burnt into his wrist, a concentration camp souvenir.

"No." Eenon answered with a grin.

"What's so funny? You think you're tricking an alte kakher into being the goy's teacher."

"No one said you were an old fart." Eenon was fluent in English, Hebrew, and Yiddish. "I want him to know the right thing and not bullshit."

"Such language." His father tsked with the cluck of his tongue. "Wesselton was the name of a South African mine. The stones out of it were G-H in color, although some people called J Wessleton, but no one uses those terms anymore."

"Same with Jager?" Eenon was not through digging.

"Anymore questions are $1 dollar." The old man plucked a diamond from an envelope. Maybe a 90-pointer. Almost a carat. There was no mistaking the gin-clear color was a D. "Jager is the finest diamond color. Why they call it "Jager'?"

"The word means hunter in German." I had taken the language in high school.

"Jaeger." The old man's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you aren't such a stupid goy after all."

"Here are your stones?" Eenon gave me a paper parcel. He had written 20 stones = 1.04 and I signed a memo for the goods.

"When is your boss going to pay for these?"

"Wer wisst." Manny was a notorious slow payer.

"Who knows?" Eenon's father shook his head. "I like this goy more and more. Sie gesund."

"Thanks for the lesson." Eenon had never explained the difference between 500 per carat and 550 per carat diamonds, but Richie Boy likes to say, "Gimbel's told Macy's and now there is no more Macy's."

The best secrets are the ones you never tell.

Bangkok Diamond Theft

This weekend an elderly Thai man showed 2 very large African diamonds, worth almost Bt500 million, to two well-turned out men who ripped him off for his gems and fled on a motorcycle. Police are investigating the crime which occurred in Bangkok at a small four-story building owned by a woman diamond broker.

A Dubai businessman expressed interest in the uncut stones purchased 15 years ago for 500,000 baht each. This man agreed to the price and scheduled a day for giving a 30% deposit, however two days earlier than the appointment the two mystery men arrived purporting to be agents of the Dubai businessman. Seeing a bank book with 100 million baht the woman agent arranged a meeting. The woman agent went upstaitrs to show the diamond, while the aged owner waited with the second man. The first man said he couldn't see the diamond good enough in the dimly-lit second floor and came down to the first floor.

A motorcyclist appeared and the two men vanished with the smaller of the two diamonds.

The police are less than satisfied with the woman agent's accounting of the theft and the best one is that these stones are hideously over-priced in the first place. Diamond appreciate at best 15% per year.

500,000 baht would accrue value up to 2,500,000 baht not 500,000,000.

Who suggested this man go see the woman agent?

I bet it was the daughter.

Oh, the web is so tangled.

I see a series of arrests leading to the announcement that the stone has disappeared for good.

Unless of course the police are lucky and Thai police definitely count on luck for their investigations.

The luck of a dark room and a single light bulb.

"You can talk or else."

Pattaya Police Raid Hookah Bar

The ever-vigilant Pattaya police raided the Nang Len Cocktail Bar in Pattaya, suspecting the gathering of young people as drug violators. Over 30 teens were held for under-age drinking only to discover that there was nothing amiss. No drugs in their urine. No alcohol either. So the cops busted the owner of the bar for operating without a business licence.

Good work for the boys in brown.

Thai Culture Paeng Gawh

The Thai governemnet has proposed doubling the fees at national museums and archaeological sites thoroughout the country in order to cover increasing running costs, although war veterans, the disabled, the underprivileged and students wearing uniform will remain exempt from entrance fees as well as khon yai conducting inspecetion tours and politicians seeking a photo op.

For Thais the price will rise from 5-10 to 10-20 baht and farang kee-nio with be charged 60-80 baht for the privilege of visting such archealogical sites at Sukothai, Kamphaeng Phet, and the national go-go dancing institute in Buriram.

Officials say these increases wqill not adversely affect the inflation rate at leastd for governement officials since they get in for free.

Thai Government Considers Cutting VAT tax

As Thailand's inflation rate hits 8.9% per annum, the Commerce Ministry has moved to consider cutting the VAT or value-added tax (VAT) on consumer products from 7% to 3% for a few months to ease the price pressures on income, especially on food purchases. The department has yet to contemplate axing the penurious taxes on cars, which increase the cost of an automobile by as much as 50% more expensive than in the USA.

A 2008 Toyota Corolla fully equipped costs $17,000 US or 510,000 baht in Miami while the downsized version of the same car will hit the Thai consumers $30,000 US or 900,000 baht.

The price on wine is just as bad and the money earned from these taxes aren't going to the Thai people judging from the fact that the Thai government spends less money per capita on education and health than any of the neighboring countries, including Cambodia.

So where does that money go.

To the kon yai or rich people shopping at the Gucci stores.

"You can always afford Prada as long as you're paying with someone else's money."

Water Buffalo Revival

A warning to farangs living in Thailand.

Be prepared for an onslaught of 'sick buffalo' complaints from your girlfriends, as up-country relatives switch from tractors to water buffaloes to work their fields.

The King of Thailand has proclaimed for years that the water buffalo was a vital part of the nation's agriculture and the animal is more valuable than ever to the future of sustainable farming, as fuel and fertilizer prices have risen to non-profitable heights. The King has been donating buffaloes to rural communities on a small scale since 2000 with hopes that their offspring shall reincarnate the old school of farming, however most farmers need to be educated on the benefits of the traditional plowing and fertilizing the rice paddies as well as be weaned from the technological crutches of the 20th Century.

No easy task for a ill-schooled Isaan farmer who knows that water buffaloes need water to thrive or they forage for food in the nearest forest, but water buffaloes provide free fertilizer for the farmers. Fertilizer more enriching to the soil than the petrol by-products. Nearly 30% of the nations farmers have made the switch to buffaloes, while another 70% are trapped by debt to banks to continue with the tractors, fuel, and chemical fertilizers.

"We can't afford new tractors," said Nataporn Saeng Po, a leader of a farmers' group. "Here they are 72,000 baht [$2,150], not counting fuel costs, while a large buffalo is only 25,000 baht [$746] and unlike the tractor, if you invest in buffaloes, they multiply."

Tractors never fuck, they only fuck up.

Some farangs might go so far as to trade in their SUVs.

It's a rough ride without AC, but the water buffalo might be the wave of the future.