Monday, September 29, 2008
In 1960 Nancy Kwan earned a Golden Globe nomination for her title performance in THE
Once a month my Irish grandmother took my older brother and me to the Loew's Orpheum in Boston. I was 8. My grandmother was an indeterminate age. She claimed to have been born in the Year of the Crow. Her gravestone later marked her birth year as 1898 although it doesn't seem likely that a 62 year-old fervent Catholic would have taken a child to a movie about a Chinese whore.
"Don't tell your mother." Nana swore us to secrecy.
My mother would have died to learn of exposure to forbidden subject, however Nana liked good-looking leading men and William Holden filled that bill playing Robert Lomax, an American artist questioning his muse, until he moves to Hong Kong and falls in love with a beautiful prostitute living at his hotel.
I used to have dreams about living at Wan Chai Hotel and Suzie Wong.
East meets West.
The Malaysia Hotel in Bangkok came close to the Wan Chan, although none of the go-go girls from Patpong held a candle to Nancy Kwan, except when the lights were out and then I remade the scenes never shown in the original film.
Cut to the love scene and fade to black.
Films such as THE WORLD OF SUZIE WONG fly straight in the face of American morality. Loving a whore is never a fit subject for a nation consumed with religious righteousness. Any strays from the straight and narrow are castigated as proteges of Satan. Whenever I mention in the West, that I live in Thailand, women's eyes glare with condemnation. I ignore their antipathy, because life over here can be a mirror of THE WORLD OF SUZY WONG or a bad porno movie.
Being a pseudo-intellectual I opt for the first.
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Some people can't help being do-gooders.
Pattaya has its own share with its local police volunteers. These Dudley Dorights act as informers for the fight against crimes such as naked girls, foreign prostitutes, visa overstays, and after-hours drinking. Some are Thais and a few are farangs. The most noted of their police works for the Pattaya TV as a commentator.
You know. The bald food expert.
If this epicurean witnesses the wrong kind of fun, he'll drop a baht in the nearest phone box to inform the police or jaeng dtam-ruat and the fun-seeker will end up in the monkey house on Soi 9.
Most weekend nights this chubby civil-minded farang is located on Walking Street.
You can salute him with the mat finger.
Good work. Yet mun.
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GOTHAM BOOKS has disappeared from NYC along with my favorite bars, restaurants, and hardware stores. They have been replaced by tee-shirt shops selling XXXX size to overweight tourists bussed from Scranton PA or fancy bars serving $10 Buds to Wall Street junior execs and their fat fiancees.
At the Gotham the staff debated which den of inequity deserved the dubious title of best dive bar on Manhattan. My vote went to the SUBWAY INN next to Bloomingdale’s. That venerable den of inequity still serves the cheapest drinks Midtown. A toast bygone eras of errors, but we also discussed everything pertaining to inebriation.
Here’s the cashier Michelle’s list of giveaway signs of a drunk lady.
1. WE HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHERE OUR PURSE IS.
2. WE BELIEVE THAT DANCING WITH OUR ARMS OVERHEAD AND WIGGLING
OUR BUTT WHILE YELLING “WOO-HOO!” IS TRULY THE SEXIEST DANCE
3. WE’VE SUDDENLY DECIDED THAT WE WANT TO KICK SOMEONE’S ASS
AND HONESTLY BELIEVE WE COULD DO IT TOO.
4. IN OUR LAST TRIP TO PEE, WE REALIZE THAT WE NOW LOOK
MORE LIKE A HOMELESS HOOKER THAN THE GODDESS WE WERE
JUST FOUR HOURS AGO
5. WE START CRYING AND TELLING EVERYONE WE SEE THAT WE
LOVE THEM SOOOOO MUCH.
6. WE GET EXTREMELY EXCITED AND JUMP UP AND DOWN EVERY TIME A
NEW SONG PLAY’S BECAUSE “OH MY GOD! I LOVE THIS SONG!”
7. WE’VE FOUND A DEEPER/SPIRITUAL SIDE TO THE GEEK SITTING
NEXT TO US.
8. WE’VE SUDDENLY TAKEN UP SMOKING AND BECOME REALLY GOOD
9. WE YELL AT THE BARTENDER, WHO WE BELIEVE CHEATED US BY
GIVING US JUST LEMONADE, BUT THAT’S JUST BECAUSE WE CAN
NO LONGER TASTE THE GIN.
10. WE THINK WE ARE IN BED, BUT OUR PILLOW FEELS STRANGELY
LIKE THE KITCHEN FLOOR (or the mop?)
11. WE FAIL TO NOTICE THAT THE TOILET LID’S DOWN WHEN WE SIT
12. WE TAKE OUR SHOES OFF BECAUSE WE BELIEVE IT’S THEIR
FAULT THAT WE’RE HAVING PROBLEMS WALKING STRAIGHT.
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Chris Rock does a piece about why men get married.
“You don’t want to end up the old guy at the club.”
The old guy at the club.
Pattaya is filled with them.
Drinking, drugs, chatting with girls, going to sin here and there.
I’m a witness. I like the night life. Always have. My wife hates it.
She tolerates my going out, because she knows after two drinks I’m devoted to the paganism of drinking. I’m a failed writer, a poet, and half-Irish. Booze is in my blood and I don’t really speak with any farangs during the week.
As i got on my bike Saturday night she told me to drive safely and I head to Waking Street to meet my friend, Sam Royalle, at Heaven’s Above.
This go-go is run by Patrick, who owned a pimp club in East St. Louis. He has great stories about the 70s and has revive the legend of his old club at his place on Soi Diamond
The upstairs bar is decorated in white like the Milk Bar from CLOCKWORK ORANGE. The dancers are temptations from Satan. My will is weak and I quickly order a drink. It goes down in two minutes. Thee next in five. I’m saved from any threat of infidelity, especially after Sam orders tequila shots. His girlfriend collects strays to accompany us to Casino. We drink more. It’s past midnight.
I try to escape, but Sam grabs my arm.
“One more drink.”
I’m easy and drink until someone pulls my stool from under me.
I fall through a gaggle of go-go girls. My hands clutch at them. Bras snap off their bodies. I hit the next table and then the ground. The bar staff help me to my feet. Someone laughs. A pretiy girl says, “Mao.”
Drunk. Damn right. Drunk.
Chris Rock is right. It’s time for this old guy to go home.
At home my wife asks, “What time is it?”
“Dunno.” I didn’t have that many fingers,
“How much you drink?”
“One bottle of beer.”
“One big one.”
I do as I’m told.
Any man in my condition at 3am would, if they know what is good for them.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
"What did you miss about New York?" My friends ask me and looking around the city I have to admit that during my 6 year absence I missed nothing of the now, but everything of the then. Gone are CBGBs, the St. Mark's Theater, The Orchida, Times Square, the Babydoll Lounge, Max's, Dave's Luncheonette ad infinitum for as you get old you forget, but as you get older you are forgotten.
When I was living in Boston as a child, my father took his family to Warmuth's once a week. The restaurant had children's menu which could be worn as a pirate mask., a hamburger platter with thick gravy, and a mast from a schooner in the entrance. I loved that restaurant and so did many Bostonians, but it has vanished from the universe and now the only reminder on the internet of Warmuth's is a matchbook for sale on Ebay.
So many places, people, and things leaving our collective memories to be replaced by useless information such as who's on DANCING WITH THE STARS, however one online site is dedicated to vanishing New York and it's worth a visit to remember what we were when those places still were in existence.
Ain't many of 'em left.
So enjoy them while you can.
Keith Haring lived in the East Village. He hung around with my girlfriend, Ann M. I saw him at various art galleries around the world. His paintings on dog boys on their knees found a niche in the market. He made millions and left it all to his friends and foundation. Keith was a good guy and probably would appreciate Jirapat Tatsanasomboon's stealing his image for his recent paintings for a show in Bangkok.
Plagiarism is a great compliment, although Ferrari didn't think so when I was knocking off their shirts and jackets.
Jirapat has incorporated traditional Thai heroes for his versions of works by Haring, Warhol, Jeff Koons, Robert Indiana and other pop icons. None of their lawyers have contacted him yet, but I'm sure Andy Warhol's foundation will come knocking.
Art is just not a man's name.
To see Jirapat Tatsanasomboon's work click on this URL
A recent survey conducted in Thailand has compiled some interesting insights into the length of farangs’ stay in the Land Of Smiles. Two years to be the average sojourn for those westerners who say they want to live her forever. Reasons for leaving are topped by financial set-backs ie the bar went broke, the internet company went broke, or the restaurant went broke.
Your loving wife has heard ‘mai mee sitang’ from enough Thais to bear hearing ‘I don’t have any money’ from a farang. She’ll abandon the sinking ship with everything useful on a rice farm in the hinterlands.
To stay in Thailand you need money.
The solution is doing whatever it takes to get money in the bank and the prize for the hardest working man in Thailand goes to the star of www.asianstreetmeat.com
This bald-headed entrepreneur has run a rampantly he-man sex site for sex addicts who like rice. He does the writing, directing, editing, and acting in the photo shoots and videos. His life has been put on the line for his art judging from the wicked scar that runs down his chest to lower belly.
Supposedly some jealous boyfriend decided to sign his girlfriend’s release form with a knife.
This auteur ( clever artist in french ) will commit any sexual act and his subscribers can request special perversions. The girls aren’t always pretty, but these actresses are almost as hard-working as the star of the show.
The hours he spends on the casting couch must be punishing.
Occasionally a friend wearing a wig helps out, but this chromedome takes the brunt of the action; oral, 69, waters sports, missionary, mercenary, standing sitting ad climax.
And all to stay in Thailand doing what he loves.
Studying tantric love practices.
My cowboy hat goes off to him.
Yankee Stadium is coming down after this season. The seats, the field, the hot dogs stands, and men's rooms will become dust under the rubble of that exalted playing field, but one fact shall remain forever sacrosanct, for a recent survey revealed that less than 1% of men at Yankee Stadium washed their hands after using the urinal. Even scarier was that less than 2% did so after squatting on the porcelain throne. Thankfully more than 20% did so after puking cheap hot dogs and worthless Bud beer.
I decided to conduct an informal survey at the go-go bars in lower Manhattan, only to discover they had vanished in my absence. No more Baby Doll Lounge or Billy's Topless. There were only Gentlemen's Clubs and I'm not going to any strip club catering to gentlemen, so I went to the Patriot Bar on Chambers Street. The PBR beers are $2. I asked the men coming back from the bahtroom, if they washed their hands. They looked at me strangely until I disclosed my mission.
None of them had washed their hands.
"Why should I wash my hands? I don't pee on them." One bearded boozer said with a frown.
I don't either, but I wash my hands to make me different from the rest of Mankind.
Still a one-percenter, mostly because I’m such a bad shot.
New York was my hometown for over 26 years. I’ve been away over 6 years. Everyone has been asking me if I thought it had changed.
“The World Trade Towers still aren’t there.”
That isn’t the answer they seeking, so I concentrated while sitting on a bench in Central Park.
Women passed in all the splendor available to females in Manhattan; Prada bags, Armani dresses, Manoli heels. Their coifs cost more than I earned last week. Not one of them met my gaze and they dropped their eyes to the ground like I was a convicted serial stalker. Then I noticed they were doing to all men. Younger good-looking studs too. Aha! I knew what was different.
New York City had become the city of the unlaid.
I asked unattached men, "When was the last time you had sex?"
"Just last night."
"I don't mean masturbation." I have worked as a physionomiste in Paris. I can tell the truth about some things and sex is one of them.
Some men admitted to an abstinence of weeks. Others confessed to periods of celibacy longer than a Trappist monk, who is having it off with an altar boy. This was a sad state of affairs for the city once known as the Western Babylon, but this non-sexual binge has infected the female side of the equation. Those over 35 couldn’t remember having had sex in years.
And this included masturbation.
Hopefully the young are getting in on, because anyone over 30 ain’t, but even worse there is no sin in this city of the unlaid.
Unless you go to a strip bar for a lap dance. $20 for five minutes and no touching or else the bouncers with throw you out on your ass and that costs another $20 not counting the tip.
“Please don’t hurt me, big big monkey man.”
No touchey no feeley.
I feel like the last sinner on earth and I shall do everything in my power to rekindle desire in men's souls, for as Luis Bunuel once said, "There is no pleasure without sin."
Friday, September 26, 2008
a joke from the roue of Bangkok, Alan Platt
The 7 Dwarfs go to the Vatican and, because they are the 7 Dwarfs, they are immediately ushered in to see the Pope. Grumpy leads the pack.
'Grumpy, my son,' says the Pope, 'What can I do for you?'
Grumpy asks, 'Excuse me your Excellency, but are there any dwarf nuns in Rome?'
The Pope wrinkles his brow at the odd question, thinks for a moment and answers, 'No, Grumpy, there are no dwarf nuns in Rome.
In the background, a few of the dwarfs start giggling.
Grumpy turns around and glares, silencing them.
Grumpy turns back, 'Your Worship, are there any dwarf nuns in all of Europe?'
The Pope, puzzled now, again thinks for a moment and then answers, 'No, Grumpy, there are no dwarf nuns in Europe
This time, all of the other dwarfs burst into laughter.
Once again, Grumpy turns around and silences them with an angry glare.
Grumpy turns back and says, 'Mr. Pope! Are there ANY dwarf nuns anywhere in the world?'
The Pope, really confused by the questions says, 'I'm sorry, my son, there are no dwarf nuns anywhere in the world.'
The other dwarfs collapse into a heap, rolling and laughing, pounding the floor, tears rolling down their cheeks, as they begin chanting......
'Grumpy screwed a penguin!'
'Grumpy screwed a penguin!'
Here's a list of death in Thailand spanning 2005-2008 complied by the US State Dept.
Date of Death Place of Death Cause of Death
11-Jul-05 BANG LAMUNG Suicide
24-Jul-05 UBON RATCHATHANI Veh. Accident-Motorcycle
8-Aug-05 CHIANG MAI Drug-related
23-Sep-05 LOPBURI Veh. Accident-Auto
23-Sep-05 LOPBURI Veh. Accident-Auto
3-Oct-05 CHIANG MAI Drug-Related
4-Oct-05 SRIRACHA, Veh. Accident-Motorcycle
19-Oct-05 TRANG Veh. Accident-Other
17-Nov-05 NONG KHAI Homicide
27-Dec-05 MIN BURI Veh. Accident-Auto
1-Jan-06 CHIANG RAI Other Accident
2-Jan-06 PAHYA THAI Suicide
9-Jan-06 DIN DAENG Other Accident
17-Jan-06 NONG PRUE Suicide
18-Jan-06 NONGKHAI Homicide
23-Apr-06 BANGKOK Homicide
17-May-06 BANGKOK Suicide
28-May-06 CHIANG MAI Veh. Accident-Motorcycle
30-May-06 CHONBURI Drug-Related
11-Jun-06 BANG LAMUNG Veh. Accident-Motorcycle
24-Jun-06 PHUKET, Drowning
2-Jul-06 SRIDONCHAI Homicide
20-Jul-06 PHASALI Veh. Accident-Motorcycle
2-Aug-06 BANG KOR Suicide
4-Aug-06 MAK KENG Suicide
2-Sep-06 Bleft Suicide
9-Sep-06 MAE RIM ROAD Veh. Accident-other
15-Sep-06 HAT YAI Terrorist Action
29-Sep-06 CHAING MAI Homicide
2-Nov-06 UDON THANI Other Accident- fall
5-Nov-06 THIALAND Suicide
16-Nov-06 PATTAYA Other Accident - fall
25-Nov-06 HAYACHI HILL Veh. Accident-Motorcycle
9-Jan-07 SARABURI Suicide
8-Feb-07 RATCHABURI Veh. Accident-Train
30-Mar-07 CHIANG RAI Veh. Accident-Auto
28-Apr-07 CHONBURI Veh. Accident-Motorcycle
1-May-07 BANG NA Veh. Accident-Pedestrian
9-Jul-07 MAESAI Veh. Accid-Auto
19-Jul-07 RATCHABURI Homicide
4-Aug-07 MUANG Veh. Accid-Auto
11-Sep-07 SANGKHLA BURI Homicide
16-Sep-07 PHUKET Air Accident
16-Sep-07 PHUKET Air Accident
16-Sep-07 PHUKET Air Accident
16-Sep-07 PHUKET Air Accident
16-Sep-07 PHUKET Air Accident
16-Sep-07 PHUKET Air Accident
30-Sep-07 SATHON Suicide
30-Sep-07 SATHON Suicide
2-Oct-07 BANG LAMUNG Suicide
10-Oct-07 RATCHATHEWI Suicide
10-Oct-07 WATTANA Suicide
29-Oct-07 NAKHON PATHOM Suicide
21-Nov-07 KM1 SATTAHIP Veh. Accid-Auto
24-Nov-07 LAMUNG Other Accident
3-Dec-07 BANGKOK Veh. Accid-Auto
14-Jan-08 BANGKOK Suicide
26-Feb-08 PARACHUABKEREKAN Other Accident
22-Mar-08 CHIANG MAI Execution
8-Apr-08 PHUKET Suicide
18-Apr-08 PHITSANULOK Veh. Accid-Bus
18-Apr-08 PATTAYA Veh. Accid-Motorcy.
19-May-08 PHUKET Suicide
15-Jun-08 BANGKOK Homicide
For the world-wide listing go to this URL
Be careful and be prepared.
Back in the last century Richie Boy, Ronnie D, and I were surfing in the Hamptons. The day ended with beers on the beach. A fire from driftwood warmed our bones and we rehashed old stories, as the sun sank over the salt marsh. Richie Boy's girlfriend asked us to pose for a picture. We stood together in our wetsuits. They took 10 pounds off my waist. Dawn said, "One-two-three." and clicked a photo.
"Stop that." A man shouted from the hightide line. He was British and older than us. "I don't want any photos taken."
"Who the fuck is taking photos of a loser like you?" I yelled back and Richie Boy started laughing, "You idiot, that's Paul McCartney."
"Asshole." I muttered under my breath, as the old Beatle waddled down the beach. He wasn't even in Dawn's photo. I was never a McCartney fan, but he showed his true colors this week by playing John Lennon's GIVE PEACE A CHANCE at a show in Tel Aviv. Maybe some of them will listen, although I think IMAGINE is much more effective a song.
Peace on Mars.
55% of Americans believe that they are protected by guardian angels, however that celestial protection has been lifted for the financial institutes of America.
Yesterday a Japanese investment firm bought Lehman Brothers' European and Middle East holdings for $2. If I had known the price I would have bid at least $3 and Washington politicians, especially the GOP, reacted to the Bush regime's strong-arm tactics about the Wall Street bail-out by saying, "We'll pass."
This rejection after the Treasury Secretary went down on his knees to the Democratic house leader, Nancy Pelosi. The Californian said she was for the deal, "But I'm not so sure about your side of Congress."
John McCain had suspended his presidential campaign in a grand-stand effort to rescue the debt relief package, yet sat in the meeting with the president without saying a single word. He is expected to attend this evening's debate in Oxford, Mississippi.
Stupid old white guy versus smart black man in the heart of the South.
There will be a lynching tonight only it will be John McCain hoisting himself by his own petard ie vanity.
If none of this makes any sense, what did you expect from this situation?
Like most farangs I had a hard time learning Thai. It has taken years and only those Thais who know me well can decipher what I'm trying to say with a Bostonian accent.
Conversely most of what is said to me is too fast for my ears to catch the meaning, but one day I was arguing with a woman from whom I rented a motorcycle. I had slightly scratched the front fender. Other scraps graced the bike. She wanted 1000 baht to replace the fender. I knew that was too much and countered with 200. We couldn't meet in the middle and she spat, "Yet mung."
I've been called many things in many languages.
Thanks to Hollywood most nationalities know how to say 'Fuck you'.
But every language has its own lexicon of sharp phrases.
I instantly realized she had the Thai version of the f-word, although when I asked anyone what this meant, they all said, "You can not say that."
"You can, why can't I?"
"Can not." Was the only explanation.
Anytime I have since asked about swears, the Thais mostly smile and say they don't know any bad words. I think they are lying since most swearing occurs behind the wheel of a vehicle and judging from the faces of drivers I have cut off, there seems to be a broad vocabulary for slagging off both farangs and their own countrymen.
My wife's favorite Ngao or idiot.
Mine tends to be hua-kee or shithead, which my Thai friends say doesn't really get anyone worked up, but was one of my hometown favorites.
In really it's better to keep it simple and stay with what the locals use
I advise you not to use them too often.
And be very careful no one can catch you either.
Back in the 90s a German gave a finger to a local in Chiang Mai. A year goes by and the Thai shoots the German dead. Like an elephant he had a memory. Better to use the following words against farangs. Always makes the Thais smile.
Farang ba = Stupid foreigner (we've all been called this)
* Yet = Fuck
* Kuay = Cock (banana also. Amazing how some words have different meanings)
* Ai sat = Twat
* Kwai = Buffalo (we all know what this means 'MOOOOO')
* Hoop baak = Shut up (my wife's favorite expression when I'm talking about $)
* Orn kuay = Suck cock
* I hayer = Son of a bitch
* Gengri = Whore
* Farang keenohk = Birdshit foreigner (Actually said because you're cheap)
* Chong mang = I don't give a fuck
* Ga-ree = Whore, Slut
* Dollair = Bullshitter ( sort of the bad version of barg wan or sweet mouth)
* Sudd-Na-Rok = Damned Devil
* Tood-Muek = Asshole
* Gook Kuay = Damned Penis
* Na-Hee = Cuntface
* Ai Na Dad = Clit face (Very vulgar)
* Hee mah = Dog pussy
* Gratoey = Homosexual
* Yet ped = Duck fucker
* Hee = Pussy
* Baan poh mung = Bullshit (lit. your father's house)
* Naa maw = Flirt (vulgar)
* Laew = Evil (vulgar)
* Baa = Crazy (vulgar)
* Chuk wow = (male) Masturbate (lit. fly kite) (this I understand very well)
* Tob bed = (female) Masturbate (lit. fishing) (no woman will admit to doing this)
* Kun Heeat = A lizard that eats garbage (quite vulgar!)
* Mai chawp khun, dag ling = I don't like you, monkey arse.
* Som nam nah! = In your face! (probably the #2 Thai expression used by farangs)
* Nah peeh = Ghost face
* Hua kuai = Dickhead
* Heeh men = Smelly pussy
Don't ever use the next eight.
I only added these so you understand what is being said to you.
* Mung = Highly derogative form of 'you'
* Goo = Highly arrogant form of 'me'
* Loog-Ga-Ree = Son of the bitch
* Por Mung Tai = Wish your father dead
* Mae-Mung-Tai = Wish your mother dead
* Yed Por = Fuck your father
* Hee mae mang = Fuck your mother
* Mae mung = Your mom (yo mamma)
I only use about 4-5 of them a day unless I'm driving and then I use them all, but only with the windows shut. It's one thing to use bad language and it's quite although to have people hear you swear.
ps I waive all responsibility for any beatings you may receive for usage of these words.
While watching the Hotspurs-Arsenal game, Convict entered the bar. Convict is not his real name. He’s an ex-cop from Australia, but Nick calls all ‘Roos ‘convicts and criminals. Convict had been last seen the previous evening on Walking Street in search of a one-night stand. Usually a fait accompli, yet this evening his face was long as a donkey’s nose and I asked, “Women problems?”
“Yeah, I don’t know how to say it, but I was blown off five times last night?” Convict admitted without any shame.
“Five times?” Convict was in his late-30s. His beer gut wouldn’t win any prizes at the Wet Tee-shirt Beer Belly contest, however Pattaya offers almost 100% success ratio with women and I had to ask. “Were you drunk?’
“Not in the beginning.” He ordered a whiskey from the skinny girl behind the bar.
“Once or twice I can see, but five times.” I had recently been told in Phnom Penh by a woman with whom I had a number of drinks that she didn’t go with men. I accepted her excuse with disbelief, since she had visited the upstairs recreation room with another gent earlier in the evening. But I respected her prerogative to go with whomever she wanted, because it’s not like she was the only girl in Phnom Penh.
“The first rejection was on Soi Eight. I bought the girl a couple of drinks and then invited her back to my place. She said she had a sick aunt in town and couldn’t go.” He sipped at his whiskey with a wounded expression.
“At least she lied to make you feel better.” I’d been fed the same excuse a year ago.
“I figured I could right this situation by going to a go-go bar on Beach Road. A cute girl was dancing naked in front of me. I asked her the same question. She said she could go short time. Went to get her things, and then disappeared with a Japanese man.” Convict shrugged and signaled for another whiskey. The first one had gone down fast.
“That’s only because she wanted more money.” Not many girls would turn down a Jap, who pay more and come like a rabbit on crack. Working girls say only Chinese men cum faster.
“She asked for 2000 baht.”
“And you countered with 1500.” Bargaining for a girl’s body always cuts against the grain. “So this was a financial disagreement. What about #3?”
“I went to the Street behind Tony’s. There was a girl at a beer bar. She had nice eyes. I like bar girls better than go-go girls anyway.” Several of the drinkers were surreptiously listening to Convict. “I bought her a drink and then after the appropriate amount of chitchat popped the question about coming back to my place to watch some movies.”
“Art films.” Convict’s porno collection was as legendary as his museum of dildos.
“They help set the mood.” Convict smiled impishly. “She said she would love to, but she was working as the cashier. Couldn’t leave.”
“Cashiers rarely go with farangs.” I’d hit on many and gotten nowhere.
Convict agreed that he had been fooled into thinking she was into the game. “It was getting late and decided to go back to soi 8. Maybe the first one would change her mind. She wasn’t there. The mama-san said she had a sick aunt. Another girl started talking to me. I popped her the question. She said she would, but had her men. I said I didn’t care if she was on the rag.”
“Rejection #4.” Convict’s night was like my trawling the bars in Manhattan. A land of No followed by a taxi ride to an empty apartment. “But you didn’t give up.”
“No, but I had one more try in me.”
“I’m not saying.”
Nick, a Hotspurs fan, had heard about 80% of conversation and shouted, “The last one was at home. Even his hand wouldn’t fuck him.”
The bar laughed and so did Convict. There were plenty of nights I didn’t want to go home with me after drinking myself into near-oblivion.
“No, I’m not saying who #5 was.”
The bar begged for a confession. Convict locked his lips. “I’m not saying.”
I was the only one who caught the eye of the girl behind the bar. She was missing a front tooth, but was pretty in a bony way. This bar was on Darryl’s way home. She smiled and I knew she might be #5.
“Guess it’s over to Soi half-dozen.” Convict was headed to Pattaya’s notorious short-time bars. “No one gets shot down there.”
We wish him luck, but no one accompanied him to Soi 6.
Nick lifted his beer. “Last thing I need is Convictitis. I get enough of that back in London.”
“And New York.” Within a month I’d be back in Manhattan. I didn’t hear any nos until then, because my wife has a headache and it’s never a good time to ask for love when she has one of those.
Not if I know what’s good for me.
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Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Bill Clinton is a piece of shit. After what he said about Sarah Palin this week I understand why Al Gore wanted the president to have nothing to do with his election campaign.
"I come from Arkansas, I get why she's hot out there. Why she's doing well."
Bet old Willie can't wait to meet her one-on-one.
ps the pix is a fake
My sister had bad skin as a teenager. She visited a dermatologist every week and her nights were consumed by arcane cleansing rituals. I'd come into the bathroom and throw water on my face. After two seconds I'd wipe the dirt from my face, leaving a Shroud of Turin visage on the towel. My sister hated me for this, even to this day, but I love her dearly. Whatever acne I deserved, she got. I never even used Clearsil, but acne is a problem for teenagers worldwide and those suffering from pizzaface will go to any length for a cure from the spots.
This summer Thai teens began importing Number One Plus sex lubricant from Cambodia for acne treatment, after women of the neighboring country averred spreading the lubricant on their faces have vanished their pimples. After an exhaustive investigation the Thai FDA have told the public that Number One Plus lubricant has no medicinal value against acne.
"There has been a misunderstanding about the properties of the product."
But many youths are happy with the product, which they swear has helped them if compliment with sex.
Good luck to them all.
New York City is under siege by steroid-ridden security forces determined to protect the leaders of world leaders gathered for GW Bush's final United Nations General Assembly. He blathered before the diplomats about Russia, Iran, Iraq, terrorism, and finally addressed the issue of America's economic melt-down.
"I can assure you that my administration and our Congress are working together to quickly pass legislation approving this strategy."
World leaders responded to this claim by rolling their eyes along with his telling the world to accept that "life has improved dramatically over the past 20 months" in Iraq. He was politely applauded by his admirers in the audience.
All four of them.
Leena Jungjanja ('Leena Jung'), a Bangkok governor election candidate, fell into the polluted Saen Saeb Canal during a campaign junket to the Pratunam pier. Amazingly she was still all smiles after the tumble into those troubled waters. See how she feels about it tomorrow.
Passing gas has been a great source of humor since Adam's first fart aka the undivine wind. Comedians throughout history have eked jokes from this human frailty. My best ie worst fart was at the Ritz in New York City. Public Image was on stage. I had eaten a bad oyster and my intestines gurgled with an exiting vapor. Richie Boy and Werthel were standing next to me. I told them both to vacate the dance floor.
"Something bad is in my gut."
We had spent many evenings eating BBQ, drinking beer, and watching Monday Night Football and they recognized the urgency of my warning.
"We'll meet you in the balcony." Richie led Werthel to the stairs.
Two seconds later the fart ripped through through my jeans. I ran to the stairs and joined my friends at the railing. Public Image was playing behind a screen. The crowd was getting angry. They wanted a show not shadow theater, then the crowd parted in the center of the concert hall exactly where I had been standing. Their faces were contorted with disgust and their eyes searched the nearest faces for the guilty party. No one stood in the circle of death for a good two minutes after which the anger at Johnny Rotten's band overwhelmed their sense of smell. Bottles flew through the air to the stage.
"Nice fart." Richie Boy was proud of me. Werthel could only laugh, but not everyone these days considers a fart so funny.
A SC motorist was arrested for drunk driving. The police drove the guilty party to the station. At one point the drunk man farted in the proximity of the arresting police officer. It was so bad that the officer charged the DUI offender with assault and battery.
Crime in America today.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
A good leader has been defined as the ability to hide your panic from others. This past week the New York Stock exchange gave investors the frights with a free-fall of 500 points on Monday. President GW Bush responded to the closure of two of America's largest investment firms with an admission to the press that the US economy was in the shitter. The market flirted with disaster until the Fed Chairman and the Treasury Secretary convinced the Congressional leaders of the dire need to bail-out the financial institutions or else ATMs and credit cards would flatline by the week's end. Faced with such a doomsday scenario Congress greenlighted a $700 billion rescue package destined to restore confidence in the banks.
Wall Street rallied at the week's end to show they had balls of steel and no one was jumping out the windows, claiming this downswing was unlike the Depression. I had predicted a meltdown to 9500 on the Dow Jones. It seems as if I was wrong. The fundamentals of the American economy withstood this attack of negativism, but I still fear the worst is yet to come.
My rich friends in Palm Beach and Millbrook spent the week jockeying their money into safer havens, so that when the collapse really hits home they won't close everything.
So looking into the future, I say if you're going to panic, panic constructively.
This will be interesting.
I'm in Upstate New York. 120 miles from the Canadian border. The population is 100% white. This is not Manhattan and I ask the people at stores, gas stations, and bars, if they're voting for Obama. Most men glared at me, as if I had shit in their beer. They are most certainly voting for the Old Geezer, however last night at the Green Acres Tavern in Greenwich a 55 year-old man scratched his head and admitted he was in the ranks of the undecided.
"Why?" I like seeing into people's minds.
"There's something I don't trust about him." The man worked at the local paper mill. It's running 3 shifts a day. He considers himself lucky.
"I don't know." He ordered another beer.
"Thanks for talking about it." I went back to my Labatt's Blue. Arguing about his indecision was counter-productive, since the reason was more obvious than dog's balls. White men won't vote for Obama, because he's black and they considered 'blacks' violent, lazy, and irresponsible', this according to a poll from Stanford University which concludes 40% of White Americans think of blacks as the n-word.
I think someone is lying, but nearly all would admit they'd rather have Obama on their basketball team rather than John McCain.
For years my good friend Ty Spaulding has been moaning about corporate welfare; subsidies to agriculture giants, tax credits for oil companies, budget packages for defense contractors. He's a fiscal libertarian and thinks these companies should fly under their own strength or crash beneath the weight of their failures.
"This is supposed to be a free market, yet whenever a favored industry is threatened by extinction, the federal government comes to their rescue. If it were up to Congress, the dinosaurs would still be alive." Ty is a fiscal libertarian living in San Francisco. No one ever listens to what he says, because he's a little nuts. Same as me and he went ballistic with the bailout of the baking industry. "Better they crash and burn now because these clowns will do this again. What we have is another massive transfer of wealth to the private section and the people who will pay for this in the end are people like you and me. Well, maybe not you, since you don't pay taxes."
I don't keep any secrets from Ty. We have trekked through the Himalayas in search of the truth and decided that neither of us know anything. Ignorance is bliss.
"Worst is that no one in America understands what this bailout means to them. This is the end of capitalism."
Remember when the 1st Bush claimed the fall of capitalism made the world safe for capitalism?
It was long ago.
Yesterday my sister called and after berating me for having fathered a child out of wedlock without any income in sight, she declared about the Bail-out, "America has gone communist."
"Not communist, but socialist with state controls. That is normally called corporate fascism." I studied economics under Barry Bluestone at BC. He was a socialist. I'm more an anarchist. I could tell from the silence from the other end of the receiver that my sister deemed me mad, but corporate fascism has supplanted democracy thanks to nearly 30 years of GOP rule in America.
Because Clinton was a GOP plant.
The revolution will not be televised.
My sister is angry at me for fathering a baby with my mia noi and yesterday she said that I should get a vasectomy. I told her that there was no danger of my copulating with Rubenesque women of America and I would think about having my procreation devices cut upon my return to Thailand. When I mentioned this exchange to a female friend, she said that her husband wouldn't subject himself to the operation since it increases the chances of testicular cancer. I hadn't thought of that risk, because I'm more concerned for the human race.
"Say every man in the world is exterminated by a space virus and I'm the last man on Earth. I would be the only source of sperm on the planet and as such be required to seed every woman possible no matter what my age. The fate of humanity rests below my waist, so I have to safeguard against this seemingly distant possibility."
My friend said I was mad.
Then again she is a woman going through menopause as is my sister.
Mad cows all, but I love them.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Gandhi overthrew the British rule of India through non-violence and with the exception of
several violent clashes between the pro- and anti-PPP factions, the stalemate has been conducted without much conflict. The police and army have avoided the fray, leaving the courts to oust PM Samak. The Senate has approved Thaksin's brother-in-law for Prime Minister in hopes that the demure 65 year-old will resolve the differences between the two groups.
Amazingly Thailand continues to function without any real government, bringing some people to question why have any government when all you need is a bureaucracy, however Thailand is suffering from huge losses in tourism and manufacturing as foreign investors regard the country as unmanageable.
Some up-country couldn't be happier, but not the girls of Soi 6.
They love their farangs long time.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Prime Minister Somchai Wongsawat has assume power for the PPP. He has spoken with PAD leaders to reach an accord on the future of his leadership, but has yet to comment on his familial connection to Thai fugitive from justice Shinawatra Thaksin. The answer is his blood link to Potajam Thaksin, the ex-PM's wife. Expect the situation to become a little most testy as Old Blue Eyes exerts his control over his brother's-in-law choices for a cabinet.
Nothing is going Thailand's way these days.
I wish my adopted country chok di.
Pattaya was surprised by a 300 meter-high water spout bearing down on the city from the Gulf. Beach vendors and tourists dashed to safety while the funnel of doom spun across the water before the Elephant’s Trunk or nguang cháang spent out its fury. No longtime residents could recall ever seeing a sea disaster off Pattaya and wonder if this phenomena harbingers good luck or bad.
I've only seen wind devils twisting in the western deserts of America.
I always drive the other way.
I am voting for Barack Obama.
I'm a basketball player. Not good unless you count fouls as a plus in stopping the offense. Barack can hit the three. I'd be happy to play on his team and I've emailed my more conservative friends to vote against the grain for the N-word.
Some of them are a little stubborn and my good friend Rocco replied to my request in this fashion.
"I'd rather vote for Hitler with Mengeler as a VP and Gables as NSA, with Rudolph Hess as Sec. of State, than vote for that charlatan Barak Huessein O'bama!"
I thought this a little harsh and responded thusly.
"You can vote for Adolf as a write-in. Mengele might still be around. Almost as old as McCain. The Old geezer can be their ambasador to Israel under the neo-eichman pogram program. This time they can get it right.
Why do you think Big Ears Barack's a charlatan anyway?
Because he's a n-word
He's only a half-n-word at that. If he changed his name to Barack Alabama, he'd win the old South.
The Vegas odds are 9-5 he'll win, which is better than the Jets going to the Super Bowl, but once his mailing address switches to 1600 Penn, Vegas will start accepting bets at www.shootthen-word.com
That website is an open domain.
As with killtheyid.com or fuckgwbush.com
Anyway when we meet for dinner no politics or religion until after the 3rd drink. On election night I'm dosing you an oxycontin cocktail and the next morning roll you into the voting booth in blackface to vote for Barack.
Ma name isz Buckwheat Cea. Iss yo new neighbor.
Beware of what you eat.
By the way I'm starting to look a lot like Whitey Bulger."
Rocco was in good humor after seeing my photo along the Saco River.
"You sort of look like a -x- between Whitey and Chuck Wepner, the Bayonne Bleeder, in his hay-day. Handsome in an ogreish type of way. Hell, I'd bone ya."
Now there's the love.
Back in the late 80s my friend, Rocco, was a narcotic detective for the NYPD. The 27 year-old Brooklyn native raided crack houses and dealer's apartments. He was the first man through the door. A shotgun was his calling card. Once the battering ram smashed down the door, Rocco dropped to his knee with the shotgun seeking any danger. Most suspects froze in his sights. Some fled through elaborate escape route chopped through the walls of tenements buildings. Rocco was infamously known as 'Dead-eye', although he swore to me that he had never pulled the trigger on a fugitive. His salary was $27,000 a year.
I was working at the Milk Bar. Rocco came for pleasure, not business, however every drug dealers left the club in a hurry. Even in his street clothes they read him for what he was. A narco cop.
One night he arrives at the club and asks if he can use the office. I shut the door after him and Rocco pulled a paper bag from under his jacket. It was packed with cash. $20s. All very crisp.
"What you think?" He handed me a bill.
"It's good." The touch was silky same as a $20. The images were clear. I held it up to the light. Something wasn't right. "It's a fugazi. Where you get them?"
"I was raiding a dealer's apartment in Bed-Stuy. I knocked down the door. The perps scooted out the windows. My boys chased them. I was in the apartment by myself. There were paper bags in the corner. I looked inside. I found this." Rocco took back the bill. "I thought I'd give myself a raise."
"How much you think is in there?" Cops are honest whenever there's more than one of them around, but like everyone else in the world, no witness breeds thieves.
"Only one way to find out." Rocco dumped the phony cash on the desk.
We counted out just under $5000.
"You know someone who can rid of this?" Rocco only believed in breaking one law at a time. He had done his share, now it was my turn. "I can get you 20 cents on the dollar."
"Then do it."
I stashed the money in the safe and told Rocco, "Don't tell anything about this."
And he didn't. We split the money two ways later that week. He never asked where the fugazis went. I never said where. Secrets are better that way. Rocco retired from the NYPD a hero. I never questioned his valor.
In 1942 the Bank of Thailand began the issuance of paper money in response to the shortage of metal during the Japanese Occupation. After the war coins once more served the nation as the currency of choice, but the 50 baht note were again reintroduced in 1985, with the 10 baht note replaced by a coin in 1988. Counterfeiting was rare, but with the advent of laser copying machines poor quality 1000 baht notes were flourishing in the hinterland as well as being use to scam farangs at bars.
The ruse was simple.
The drinker would pay for his bill with a g-note. The server would return with another bill, saying it was a fake or 'gay'. A security guard usually completes the scenario along with a request to pay your chek bin.
Newer fakes are hitting the streets. Lower denomination bills are washed of their color and reprinted as larger bills. Always check the hologram strip. Those are impossible to change.
Check your bills, the money you save might be your own.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
"God made dinosaurs 4,000 years ago as ultimately flawed creatures, lizards of Satan really, so when they died and became petroleum products we, made in his perfect image, could use them in our pickup trucks, snow machines, and fishing boats."
Bloggers were delighted to publish this statement as something Sara Palin stated in 2006.
She never said it, but maybe the GOP VP wondered about it once or twice.
The stock market continues to crash through the flimsy safety nets of the Federal Reserve. I predict a 9500 bottom, although at this point no one is sure how low is low and even the filthy rich have been suffering as their fortunes are down-sized by stock devaluations beyond their control however Mr. Bill Gates remains on top of the heap, as Forbes Magazine has declared the Mircosoft founder the richest man in America for the 15 year in a row, yet even his $57 billion estate has dropped $2 billion in the last year. Fellow billionaires on this list also lost wealth thanks to a fundamentally strong economy undergoing 'adjustments'.
The full list of America's rich can be seen on http://www.forbes.com/forbes400
Forbes also reports 275 of the richest people made the list on their own back as opposed 75 who inherited it. Somehow that doesn't add up to 400. I guess 50 of them just are rich.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I've been predicting the end of cars for years.
My father debunks my soothsaying with the comment.
"You don't know what you're talking about. They'll always be cars."
In the 1930s his father drove to his patients in a sled.
Only in the winter.
The above picture shows the alternative to a world spanned by highways.
The GOP has made a big deal out of Sara Palin's ability to kill a moose. She used to wake up at 3am to shoot them. Most people would still be in bed. I have nothing against guns, but coming from Maine my relationship with moose is different from the Alaskan governess with her motto 'god guns and lipstick'.
Moose in Maine are traffic hazards. The big relatives of elk are responsible for hundreds of accidents in the Great State of Maine. The DOT suggest the following measures to avoid collisions with moose.
* Drivers should reduce their speed when it is dark.
* Use your high beams where it is appropriate
* Always have everyone buckle up
* Search the roadway ahead to identify potential problem
If you feel a moose-vehicle collision is inevitable, follow these suggestions from the Maine Warden Service:
* Apply the brakes
* Let off the brakes just before impact
* Aim to hit the tail portion of the moose
* Duck down to minimize injury
You could also have Sara Palin ride shotgun.
Me, I drive slower.
No sense in killing a moose when you can order pizza.
The Pentagon has reversed its decision on the sale of bunker-busters to Israel. The White House must have exerted a little pressure on the nay-sayers who feel that this move might exacerbate the situation in the Gulf. Despite this news the price of oil fell $5. This decrease has nothing to do with speculation.
I've always hated whenever a sports commentators has compared hockey or football to ballet. Hockey is hockey and ballet is ballet. My opinion on pole-dancing is equally obdurate in that this dance genre deserves to be preformed in a bar before drunken fat men, although recent efforts to elevated the exotic dance into an art form has resulted in pole dancing classes and contests. Most recently a Thai woman won a championship in Malaysia with a showgirl regime. A man won the bronze for his kung-fu spinning. A man on a pole and he wasn't gay.
"Pole dancing is an art and it can be sexy without stripping." the winner stated to the Press.
Excuse me, but not a chance. i expect my pole dancers to be naked, unless it's at the Kit Kat Club in West Palm beach. Those crackhead heifers are better off in chadors.
In the winter of 1969 a storm blew an unknown sea creature onto Duxbury Beach south of Boston. The radio announcer reported it to be a 'sea monster'. My brother, sister, and I jumped into our VW and drove through a misty rain to a forlorn stretch of beach. A crowd was gathered around a massive sea creature. its extremities were frayed by hungry fish. Everyone was offering their opinion on its identity.
A whale, a shark, a octopus.
No one said it was alien, although the shape was unlike anything we had ever seen on Jacques Cousteau's TV adventures. My brother stepped forward and touched the dead flesh. He put his fingertips to his nose.
"It smells like fish."
With that the gathering started hacking up the creature. Not to eat, but to store in glass jars and show future generations a piece of the Duxbury monster. The next day the radio said it was a Basking Shark. Most people threw out their mementos. Fish stinks after three days and this fish had been dead a long time. My brother kept his, although he can recollect where.
I thought about this episode this weekend while at the Metropolitan Museum. They were exhibiting a floating shark of Damien Hirst. It looked as ratted out as the water-logged Duxbury monster. The town had buried its corpse in the sand. Damien Hirst's shark was worth millions. A dead shark in formaldehyde. I certainly don't know shit about art, especially when art collectors around the world shelled out millions on a financial doomsday to purchase recopied original masterpieces of the artist.
Copies usually means fakes unless they are by the artist themself, then it's an original reproduction.
I still don't know shit about art.
Last night I was dining at Bar Pitti with Richie Boy, Starvie, and Pollack. The restaurant on 6th Avenue was packed with stockbrokers thankful to have survived the day's mayhem. Ferraris, Hummers, and Mercs weaved through the traffic, each one is more of a hurry to be somewhere else. Richie Boy was telling a story about being robbed for a million dollars. 17 years later he still thinks I did it, which is why he always hires me back to work for him selling diamonds. He thinks I'll come up with the box someday.
Everyone laughed at his loss and I turned out his allegations. The neighboring table was rehashing the meltdown after Sunday's announcement that two of the largest banks in the world had vanished without a trace. They had opinions.
Collapse. Buy. Sell. The economy is sound. Invest in beer.
Pollack leaned over to me and acknowledged his indiscretion.
"No one knows shit."
"Certainly not me." I'd been broke since my arrest in Thailand eight months ago. "But I'm willing to make a prediction."
"The Dow Jones will hit 9500 by the end of the month." September had only 15 more days left. The stockbrokers on the other table had stopped speaking to hear my reasoning. "And on what do i base this forecast. A hunch. Nothing more and nothing less."
Everyone resumed their conversation, except for Richie Boy, who said, "Anyone that knows isn't saying and anyone that says doesn't know."
We all agreed to that.
Monday, September 15, 2008
I arrived in Paris in 1982. My job was physionomiste at the Bains-Douches. I knew no one in Paris. None of the stars. None of the trandy people. No one. The patron said it didn't matter.
"You have an eye for people. Who is fun and who is not."
That eye didn't prevent me from refusing Brigitte Bardot entry, however like a the shill at a carnival who guesses age, weights, and occupations, I can tell if someone is good or bad, which is why I consider massage tycoon Chuwit a dangerous choice for Bangkok governor and Somchai Wongsawat the most likely candidate for the PPP's replacement minister.
Somchai Wongsawat looks harmless, even though he is Thaksin's brother-in-law.
He's served as Minister of education and we all know what a wonderful job Thailand does with its children.
And at 61 his hair is naturally ungray.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
PM Samak has been ousted as government leader by the courts for having been paid for his TV cooking program. His own party the PPP have voted no-confidence and Samak is contemplating his resignation as party leader. The PPP will meet this Monday to choose a new leader.
Sompong Amornwiwat is mentioned often as the main contender along with Mr Somchai.
The opposition has vowed to continue demonstration to end the rule of the PPP.
Could this be the end for old Luang Mook?
The USA has denied Israel the use of certain weapons useful for their proposed attack on Iran. The Pentagon rationalizes that so-called bunker-busters could lead to a greater conflict along with permission for Israeli airplanes to cross Iraqi airspace alogn with re-fuleing privileges from USAF tankers. GW Bush is extremely upset with this decision for he only has another four more months to start armadgeddeon, thus sounding Gabriel's godlen trumpet for the Second Comng of Chirst.
And you thought the reason behind the Iraqi War was oil, the overthrow of Saddam, WMDs, and the democracitization of the Mideast?
It's the neo-con end of the world strategy, which fits into conservatives' religious beliefs; ie Mormons, 7th Day Adventists, and Pentecostals. This apocalyptical addiction harkens back to the 1840s, when the preacher William Miller mathematized with the writings in daniel 8:14 that the world was coming to an end in the year 1843.
,"I was thus brought… to the solemn conclusion, that in about twenty-five years from that time 1818 all the affairs of our present state would be wound up."[
"I believe that the second coming of Jesus Christ is near, even at the door, even within twenty-one years,--on or before 1843."[
With the arrival of 1840 Millerism (no relation to the arcane practice of drinking Miller beer) gained popularity like the hula hoop and the doomdaysayer predicted the last day for sometimes between March 21, 1843 and March 21, 1844. This period passed with any cataclysm striking the earth and william Miller called for the final date to be October 22, 1844, except nothing happened then too.
This event became known as the Great Disappointment.
Lehman Brothers must know how it feels now.
In 1990 I traveled around the world.
The Singapore to Bangkok segment of the trip was overland and I detrained in Suranthani to catch a midnight ferry to Koh Samui. I stayed at Coral Cove for $5 and after two weeks boated over to Koh Phanghan then finally took a little boat to Koh Tao where I slept on an idyllic island with 3 beaches. It had once been a penal island. A fisherman cooked fresh grouper under a billion stars and we drank beer until dawn.
18 years later the world is much different and so is this little island.
The coral is dead. The fish are gone. Only the beer is cold.
I do miss the old world.