Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Plaza Hotel in New York is a world-famous destination and every day I see people whose faces adorn the celebrity pages of the newspapers and magazines. Yesterday Susan Lucci entered our jewelry store. My young work wife asked the diminutive TV actress, "Does anyone tell you that you look like Susan Lucci?"
"All the time." Her mouth expressed a sweet smirk at my work-wife's innocence.
"Are you Susan Lucci?" My work-wife was close to hyperventilating. She had been watching ALL OF OUR LIVES since she was 13.
"Most of the time." Susan Lucci's beauty emanates from within.
"Congratulations." My work-wife didn't know what else to say. We had a good laugh about this chance encounter and told the story to the other people working in the Plaza Collection. They all laughed at my work-wife's offering 'congratulations'. Others mentioned having seen David Beckham and his wife Posh earlier in the day. The paparazzi went wild outside the hotel. Fans screamed out his name. It was a madhouse, but the Secret Service locked down the hotel for the arrival of Bill Clinton, the 42nd president.
Agents in black suits roamed the hallway to prevent a prospective assassin. They didn't give me a glance. I'm harmless these days as are most people. Mr. Clinton was dining in the Oak Room with friends. I thought about going up to see him, but customers kept me busy during his visit, but the owner of Leather Spa, the best shoe shine shop in the city, had shook hands with the ex-president.
"He walked out of the bathroom talking on the cellphone. He shook our hands without looking at us."
"I hope he washed his hands." 99% of men at Yankee Stadium don't wash their hands.
"I don't know, but later a customer came out and said he had peed right next to Clinton."
"Did he look at his penis?" It was an honest question.
"No." The customer's answer wasn't so honest. Most guys would have checked out Bill's rig. And it isn't a gay thing either. At least that's what guys think. Of course gays think all men are part gay. So you never know.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Every country has their own Old Wive's Tales. A list of things you shouldn't do. Thailand is no exception. Some of these seem crazy on the surface but most have hidden good reasons. You will still hear some of these being said today in some Thai families.
* Don't eat a double banana because if you are a woman you will give birth to twins.
* Don't eat before your elders because in your next life you will be born as a dog.
* Don't eat food without rice because you will get rickets.
* Don't eat salt under a tree because it will make the tree die.
* Don't eat other people's food without permission because it will make your throat swollen.
* Don't eat the leftovers from your child because it will make the kid naughty.
* Don't eat before a monk because you will become a bad ghost.
* Don't eat corn when you have the flu because it will give you a higher fever.
* Don't eat all of the rice during your evening meal because you should leave some for the elves.
* Don't eat cold rice with hot rice because you will lose your way easily the next time you go out.
* Don't eat egg when you have cut yourself because it will make it worse.
* Don't eat chicken feet because it will give you bad handwriting.
* Don't eat chili sauce in the mortar bowl because if you are a woman you will give birth to a child with big lips.
* Don't eat turtles because it will make you walk slowly.
* Don't eat dog because the dog's spirit will possess you.
Source: Translated from "Boran Oo-bai" by Sanom Krutmeuang
This list is thanks to http://www.enjoythaifood.com/thaisuperstitions.php
On Monday anti-government demonstrators spread throughout downtown Bangkok to encircle the Parliament. Electrical lines were cut forcing legislators to once more take refuge in the old Don Muang Airport in the north of the Thai capitol. The protesters are demanding the immediate resignation of the post-Thaksin coalition on the grounds that the present PM's links to the ousted leader of the PPP render him a de facto puppet of Thaksin. One of the PAD's strident demands has been that the members of the Senate should be chosen by the ruling government instead of elected by the people, because the people are too susceptible to manipulation unlike politicians from the PAD, since they are already have amassed their fortunes.
Not satisfied with the closure of government the PAD forces have shut Suvarnabhumi airport. Only in-coming flights are allowed to land. PM Somchai's plane was diverted to an undisclosed destination by this action, although the Press were told that his non-arrival was due to technical difficulties.
Anyone looking to find out about flights can call the AOT hotline numbers for inquiries: 02-1321882 and 02-1321888. Expect them to be jammed by other irate travelers.
So where does Thailand go from here?
Obviously a cooler head must prevail and only one such person exists in the country.
May he live long.
Upon my return to the USA I posted a request for a presidential pardon to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Every day I check the mail for a response. Nothing has arrived yet and I'm getting a bad feeling that the Bush Administration might not have deemed my application valid, since I have never been convicted of any crime in the USA. This pardon was more for a rainy day. Say when I tried to overthrow the government or bamboozle the American people out of billions of dollars, although judging from the reason bail-outs embezzlers are rewarded instead of punished. My apprehension about not being granted a 'get out of jail free' card heightened with the announcement that the President has pardoned 14 individuals, who have to be smiling since under the Constitution, the president's power to issue pardons is absolute and cannot be overruled.
Men guilty of drug charges, tax evasion, embezzlement, theft of government property and food stamps, plus the purposeful poisoning of an American Eagle.
Bush pardoned none of the prisoners on Death Row during his governorship in Texas.
155 in all and mocked the plea of one woman in front of the cameras
"Please don't kill me."
Stingy then and stingy now.
Where's my goddamn pardon?
"I don't trust the government, I don't trust the banks, I don't trust the political parties, and I don't trust the IMF. We had a good country here and they've ruined it."
These words came from a young Icelandic protester angered by the North Atlantic nation's collapse into an extreme economic abyss. Banks in Reykjavik had bet on the long side of the voodoo surge of world capital. They bet wrong and now the 320,000 inhabitants of Iceland owe untold billions to a kaleidoscope of financial institutions, forcing them to seek help from International Monetary Fund (IMF).
The Viking descendants are indebted to the tune of 50 billion Euros.
$65,000,000,000 or approx. $20,000 per person.
There are only three options left to Iceland; firstly enter slavery, second tell everyone to fuck off and write-off the debt, and lastly dig up those old Viking helmets to become pirate raiders like Somalia. They only ow $1.7 billion and they're paying it off the old fashioned way.
By stealing it.
Monday, November 24, 2008
It's almost high season so better get a head start of reminding punters visiting Pattaya that there are actually rules of behavior for bargirls.
These come from www.globalreport.com and are the other side of the mirror.
Most people ignore rules but what the hell?
Check them out.
1. At the end of the week, specifically Friday and Saturday, many locally employed walking ATM machines will come to your bar, choose carefully! Some have money, but others do not! If he is wearing a suit and tie, check that the tie is not a Pratunam special and check that he isn't wearing trainers.
If he is, forget him because he is most likely an English teacher, and they will only give you peanuts, if they give you anything at all.
2. No matter how fat and ugly he is, no matter how bad he may smell, no matter how drunk he is, make sure you always tell him he is handsome. Sit close to him and run your hands over his body, arousing him.
As soon as he has paid the bar fine, you can stand clear of him. Even if he knows that you despise him, he'll still pay you. The hard part is getting him to pay the bar fine, and as soon as he has done that, the rest is easy.
3. Start collecting email addresses from all of your customers, once you have a good collection of addresses, a visit to your local Internet cafe is in order. Send everyone an email. Simply change the name on each email and send it off to all the guys. If you can remember something specific about them, mention that in the email too.
These walking ATMs all have a soft heart, so you need to tell them a story to get them to send you some of their riches. Start with a sick buffalo and if he doesn't reply, next tell him that your mother is ill. As a last resort, if he still doesn't send any money, tell him you are pregnant and the baby is his!
4. Practice crying on cue. It is essential that you can produce tears immediately. This will have the effect of helping the walking ATM machine to see things your way!
5. When you get a customer for an extended period of time, make sure he takes you shopping, with Rarn Tong (gold shop) being the best place to visit. Make sure he buys you gold and if he doesn't, see rule 4!
As soon as he has left Thailand, take the gold back to the shop and sell it straight back to them, thus increasing your pay out.
6. When locally based farangs are inside the bars, do not speak in Thai with your friends in the bar but rather use Lao, Khmer or any other dialects that you may know.
It's bad enough that some of them can speak and even read Thai, but Lao and Khmer should be kept as sacrosanct. Under no circumstances should the farang be taught our regional dialects.
7. Always see him off at the airport. Thai currency cannot be used in his country, so it is highly likely that he will give you all of his leftover Baht as he leaves and says goodbye.
While accompanying him to the airport, prevent him buying going-away gifts for his family and friends in his homeland, this will leave more money for you.
8. See Asian customers. They understand that we like to gamble, and they understand that we have lots of unemployed brothers and sisters who need to eat. Therefore, they pay a lot better than the farangs.
9. Remember, when you go with a farang, you must always ask for taxi money and give him the excuse that taxi drivers cannot give change on big notes. Don't let him see the small change in your wallet. If taxi money isn't forthcoming, see rule 4.
10. If you are no longer making money in Bangkok, move down to Phuket where you will be able to start making money again. Give Phuket a few years, then move on to Pattaya. Even if you are approaching 50, it is no problem as the walking ATM machines in Pattaya seem to be so blind, they will not notice.
Demel's of Viennna opened a cafe in the Plaza retail collection. A basement mall designed to cater to the high-end tastes of a city on the verge of bankruptcy. Demel's is not to blame for the current economic disaster, but since they opened the staff have decided that I'm their 'oncle', since I've been guiding them through New York.
And the cakes are good and in fact I've been living on cake the past three days.
Nothing but torts, strudels, and coffee cakes.
I had expected to gain lots of weight, however Demel's is not making their desserts like a Twinkie. They expect their clientele to live past their 50s without the threat of obesity.
So I applaud the words of Marie Antointette.
"Let them eat cake."
NASA Astronauts were hard at work this weekend on the Intergalactic Piss Cleaner located on the International Space Station. This device is meant to convert urine and sweat into potable water, thereby decreasing the transport loads of the supply rockets. Unfortunately the urine centrifuge is out of whack and the astronauts have been forced to cut down on their water intake.
"The water should be 70% condensation and 30% urine." At present it's 90/10.
Less piss sounds good to me
None sounds even better.
"Beware of whores that don't want money. The Hell they don't. What they mean is that they want more money." William Burroughs.
I miss seeing William Burroughs shambling through Grand Central Station in the late afternoon.
I miss junkies too.
The other night I was at Elk Gallery on Crosby Street. Jocko Weyland was curating a photography exhibition of lurid bloody vistas of wild Italian youth. Punk, guns, and drugs with a little nakedness. A 50 year-old art critic deemed the pictures derivative. I called him passe and said there was more feeling in these naive photos than Jackson Pollack.
"Because I'm an ex-junkie." I never was a junkie, but it sounds good in these modern times.
The critic wanted to know my name. I said it was unimportant. The artist, a skinny 20 year-old Italian boy appreciated my defense of his work.
"I'd like to shoot you injecting heroin." He had overheard my declaration.
"Sure." I thought it out a little more. "Only if you get me the heroin and a needle. I'll provide everything else. Setting and ambiance."
He took my number and introduced me to his young girlfriend.
"I like old junkies." She smiled with a missing tooth.
The critic asked if I was trying to be a legend.
"Who cares?" I've ceased wanting anything more than a couple of beers before I go to sleep, however I wouldn't mind doing a little dope with a couple of near-naked Italian girls.
Call me square. Never a legend. I've lost my name.
Sangue, Sbocco & Tipe
33 Crosby Street (Between Broome and Grand)
New York, NY 10013
Another morning, another day, another scam, another grift.
I'm tired, so tired of playing the game.
It was Saturday night. I always hit the Plaza Hotel on Sat.night. In the old days I could rock,roll, run through Trader Vics, pick some pockets, sell a key to a Midwest salesman, thinking he's got the hooker of his dreams, upstairs.
Now I swing with the rocks. I got my boys in Africa, they dig for hours, fingers bleeding, they swallow the stones for me. I never knew that diamonds could smell like shit. But I learned that everything smells like shit. The Puerto Rican hooker I fucked last night ,smelled like shit, the Cuban ts freak , smelled like shit. Every Starbucks toilet smells like shit. That's cool, motherfucking white people pay long dollars for a shot of cheap java. What they don't know ,is Starbucks is the 5 star hotel for
every homeless tunnel dweller in town.
I heard the Oak Room was gonna open. It's been a long time.
I worked the Oak, when I was licking old lady's pussy's for the big dollars. I walked in, it wasn't the same. It looked like a fucking airport bar, a Gap shop, I don't know , it could have been a new Blimpie concept ! What do I know. I saw some old faces, Tony the Rat, Jimmy Two Times, Mikey Fish. I had to leave. I was sad. The Plaza meant something in the old days. Big Shots, I could take down the river, Has beens, wanna be's, gonna be's, it was all was good. There wasn't a night I didn't make 2 grand!!
Even if the night was slow, I had an 82year-old lady from Belgium , that paid me to finger her for hours.
Two days ago was the 45th Anniversary of JFK's assassination in Dallas.
"Mr. President, you can't say Dallas doesn't love you," the first lady of Texas commented, as the presidential limousine entered Dealey Plaza. JFK supposedly said, "I would never say that."
Then shots rang out and within a few hours the nation learned that their president had been killed by a single gunman.
In the following decades thousands of investigators have attempted to lift the veil of mystery from this murder without ever arriving at an undeniable truth, however with the election of Barack Obama perhaps a little more light can be shone on this dark moment in American history.
45 years is more than enough to not know why.
It might eb time for a change, but even more so for the truth.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Nick worked 3 months to save up money for his trip to Pattaya. 9-9 driving a taxi in a shitty English town. He flew over last week and sought to rekindle his love for the Last Babylon, but emailed me that Pattaya wasn't the same without me. We were and will be drinking partners and he sent this brief email.
"Been here a couple of days, had a couple of shags ha ha so feel better now. Its not thee same here without you though, went to the Buffalo last night, really shit. Wont bother going there again but next door was ok, had a pizza from Scoby as well and thought of you."
I liked the pizza from Scoby's.
As for the Buffalo.
It's sucked since they re-hired Sandy, the crow-voiced manager. She drives all the good-looking birds away with her harping.
Only another 2 months and I'll be there.
I have been arrested 3 times in LA, yes, that would be one too many and they wanted to lock me up for a year and a half. It's a long and not so interesting story so I will spare you the details, but in a nutshell, here goes. The last boyfriend (or a walking excuse for euthanasia) and I got into speedballs, well if you're going to do drugs you might as well go all the way, all my real friends stayed away as they couldn't bare to watch me killing myself, but my drug buddies were very supportive of my new habits and encouraged my crazy schemes and scams to make enough money to buy dope, one of which was a credit card fraud 3 ring circus, the head of which was a 6ft 6ins, ex gang member called Hangman.
Hangman was the CEO of one of the biggest credit card fraud rings in LA, and I became one of his best employees. We would get given a credit card, sometimes the name would be Ho Chin Lin, or something equally ridiculous, and it would work for around 4 hours, we had a list of purchases for Hangman, a leaf blower, a DVD player, 15 cartons of Marlboro, and once you got his requests, you could then 'shop till you dropped' or got busted. I did so well, the shop assistants very rarely asked me for ID, and I would give them my best Princess Di (my nick-name in jail) accent if they ever asked questions. Well, you can only get away with so much for so long and, I was always so high, I felt somewhat invincible, I got over-confident and got caught in Nordstroms, with a driving license that barely resembled me, and said my height was 6ft 1ins, I saw the store detective approaching, (I recognized her from my previous arrest) and I bolted, I would have got away too, but the little do-gooder who worked in the Starbucks, tripped me up, and I fell flat on my face.
Anyway, having had two previous arrests, the first was merely for shop lifting and my ex-husband paid for a good lawyer, and I played the "single mother, abused by philandering ex-husband rockstar" card. Half way through my lawyers excellent speech, the stenographer goes up to the judge, who then calls a "Sidebar" the prosecutor and my lawyer go to the judge, when he returns, I get a slap on the wrist and promptly released. The stenographer had only slept with Billy, got pregnant and he treated her like shit, what a witness!!!!
Needless to say, I wasn't so lucky, the 2nd and 3rd time, and they gave me 18 months. Having kicked dope in jail twice already (I hadn't planned on going to jail and had no choice) at least this time I had prepared, I had a bag of pills up my snatch so the comedown wasn't quite so harsh, it was no picnic either, of course I did them all in a week and was sick as a dog, but I was in there for 3 weeks, Twin Towers downtown, and the front page of the LA times says "Any woman in jail for non-violent crimes are eligible for house arrest, due to severe over-crowding"
YEAH! sign me up biatch!! I waited another 10 days for my interview and BAM! I was out. Not exactly free, but the ankle bracelet sure beats jail, and I cheated when I walked the perimeter of my house, so I got a nice tan, apart from a white ring around my ankle!!
Hormel Foods Corporation is enjoying an upsurge in sales of SPAM, that timeless mystery meat consisting of chopped pork shoulder meat with ham meat added, salt, water, sugar, and sodium nitrite. Tough times are breeding new Spam fans, although nowhere is Spam deemed more eatable than Hawaii and the South Pacific, where even McDonald's offer "Hawaiian Steak". Many food experts attribute the processed meat's popularity to the military surpluses left behind from the Pacific War, however two Samoans on a Honolulu worksite offered this explanation.
"We like Spam, because it tastes so much like man."
"Yes, we were cannibals, but the missionaries stopped that practice, even though they tell us we are eating the body and blood of Christ at Mass." This Samoan was big. NFL big. Tattoos masked his face. "Hypocrites."
"Not that we know what humans taste like, but our grandfathers tell us Spam is pretty damn close." His friend weighed only five pounds less than the first speaker, but the broken toothed grin was a little more scary too. "Only none of the bones."
So is Spam a gateway meat leading the poor into cannibalism, the hunger that dare not speak its name?
Only time will tell.
Polish jokes usually depend on the premise that all Poles are stupid. We know that is not true, however the foreign minister reputedly made the following joke.
"Have you heard that Obama may have a Polish connection? His grandfather ate a Polish missionary."
The Polish government has not denied the statement, but protested it wasn't racist.
This coming from a nation that helped exterminate the Jews.
Sure that was 60 years ago, but better a cannibal than a Nazi in your family.
6,000,000 Jews can't be wrong and cannibals are only eating people because we taste so good.
My friends don't really go to bars. The older ones hit bed early and the young ones like trendy nightspots, leaving me to wonder whether there are any bars for drinkers in this city. Luckily I've found a few that haven't been ruined by slummers or hipsters, mostly because their remote locations protect them from popularity.
Case in point the 169 Bar at 169 East Broadway in Chinatown.
The 80 year-old dive hearkens back to the days of cheap drinks and dark corners with $2 PBRs and the torn covers of the booths. The faux-tiger skin pool table is a plus along with the owner's taste of music; punk, funk, and nothing you would hear on KROC. What else would you expect from a retired punk drummer?
The bar exist for the pleasure of the neighborhood drinkers and those wandering drinkers in need of refreshment.
They even offer free sunflower seeds.
I drink there during happy hour.
Maybe me and three other drinkers.
No need for conversation.
Simply enjoy the music and muse over your thoughts whilst imbibing in a beverage.
They have bands.
I've never stayed late enough to see one.
Capacity 79 people. All of them drinkers.
The 169 Bar, Tel: 212-473-8866
169 East Broadway, NYC, NY 10002-5543
Cross Streets: Rutgers St and East Broadway (Essex & Canal street is close enough)
For the past 6 years I've spent my winters in Thailand. My springs, summers, and autumns too. This year I'm in New York. Latitude 40' 47' N. There are no palm trees in sight. Boreal winds ripped the final fall foliage from the branches. It's official. I'm cold and the temperature will only getting colder, as the season transitions into winter.
My tan is suffering from the lack of direct sunshine.
The only time I sweat is at the 10th Avenue Baths, where the steam room replicates the planetary surface of Venus.
I go swimming in their cold pool.
Nothing like the beaches of Koh Lann.
Another two months separate me from paradise.
I'll be counting every second, except for the moments when I'm drinking to forget where I am.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Back in 1984 my friend bought a fiendishly fast KZ 1100 cc bike in Paris. We were doing smack.
While sitting at an African transvestite after-hour bar in Les Halles, le Savanne, he asked, “How you like to take it for a ride?”My survival instinct had been rendered to zero and I took his keys. The pre-dawn streets were slick with winter rain. As high as I was my death wish was low and I drove the bike underneath Les Halles maze of parking garages. It’s been in plenty of films since then. I got the bike up to 200 kph on a straight-away. Blood sizzling with the desire to live I returned to the bar and my friend asked with a junkie smile, “Fast?”
On an August morning in 1978, French filmmaker Claude Lelouch mounted a gyro-stabilized camera to the bumper of a Ferrari 275 GTB and had a friend, a professional Formula 1 racer, drive at breakneck speed through the heart of Paris. The film was limited for technical reasons to 10 minutes; the course was from Porte Dauphine, through the Louvre, to the Basilica of Sacre Coeur.
No streets were closed, for Lelouch was unable to obtain a permit.
The driver completed the course in about 9 minutes, reaching nearly 140 MPH in some stretches. The footage reveals him running real red lights, nearly hitting real pedestrians, and driving the wrong way up real one-way streets.
Upon showing the film in public for the first time, Lelouch was arrested. He has never revealed the identity of the driver, and the film went underground until a DVD release a few years ago.
I tried to find the url for the video, it had a Trojan.
I remember seeing it in Paris.
Damn they were fast.
But few people drive as fast as drunk Thai boys on their little scooters. No helmets. No lights. Death wish 2007.
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Traditionally Europeans flock to Thailand for the cold season, however this year tight budgets are forcing foreigners to stay home. Already shops, bars, and hotels depending on the holiday trade are sensing a drastic downturn in sales and the national airport is already reporting a 33% per cent decrease in arrivals. Everyone is going to be hurt, however this hasn't stopped Pattaya bar-owners from raising the price of barfines for the Christmas season.
"We have to make sure the girls stay in the shop or else no one will be there." One Walking Street go-go owner professed to his clientele.
So look for empty streets, cheap hotels, and expensive dates with the girl of your choice.
Sounds like fun to me.
Last year the nation's of the world declared glam-rocker Gary Glitter a persona non grata after he was freed from prison in Vietnam. The singer of ROCK AND ROCK Parts 1 and 2 sought to avoid a return to his native England by deboarding in Bangkok. He was shuffled off to Hong Kong, but the Chinese said 'mai xie xie', leaving the aging felon only one choice.
A flight back to the UK.
Thailand's man in the move is in a similar position after the UK revoked his visa.
He divorced his wife last week in Hong Kong. This week he's in Dubai, obviously trying to sort out his finances with the co-owners of Man City Football Team.
After that who knows where.
Thailand certainly is ready for him with a prison suit and cell.
Welcome home indeed.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Bad times get worse for the Thaksins who announced this week that their 32 years of marriage will terminate in divorce. Friends were shocked when the former PM said at a Hong Kong dinner, "We divorced in order to make everybody feel comfortable."
His wife was not invited to this dinner.
She was not the last to know, since they signed the divorce papers at the Thai Consulate.
That official will have some questions to answer since both parties are criminal fugitives from justice. Thaksin blamed the separation from his beloved wife on the 'privileged elites'.
Curse those anti-lovers.
Somehow Shirley Bassey has a reputation for golden showers. Supposedly it was good for her voice. NASA has lent this myth credence by installing a water-recycling system which will clean the their urine for drinking another time.
"We did blind taste tests of the water," said NASA's Bob Bagdigian, the system's lead engineer. "Nobody had any strong objections. Other than a faint taste of iodine, it is just as refreshing as any other kind of water."
"I've got some in my fridge," he added. "It tastes fine to me."
Next thing you know and they will be selling designer astronaut piss.
The American Press theorized this week's meeting between Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama would lead to the New York senator's appointment to the position of Secretary of State in the next administration, however sources within the Obama camp have intoned that the incoming president made no offer.
"More like nice of you to come by, see you later."
And I can't blame Obama.
Who wants to see all those pantsuits every day of the week.
And that laugh.
A braying donkey would be better company.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
I hate Daylight Savings Time. Sunset comes an hour earlier. The streets of New York host a predatory menace under the chrome lamps and the threat is real. I work in a diamond store off 5th Avenue. A good address. Not 47th Street. Dusk is always a little scary from November to March. This afternoon I received a phone call from a friend in Bruxelles.
"Are you all right?"
"Sure, why not?" I hadn't drank anything the previous evening. That's a lie, but one martini in the Oak Bar couldn't hurt my system.
"There was an armed robbery in the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel." Alan was an art dealer. Criminals in that field never use guns. "A guard was shot by the robber."
"It doesn't surprise me." My police friends have been warning about the rise in crimes of opportunity. Times are tough. Budget cuts deplete patrols. Criminals are freed from prison. "The city feels a little like 1976."
"Rome seven days after the Huns burn it down." He was quoting my line from my book about punks. "You be careful."
"I will." With two kids in Thailand I have not interest in getting shot.
At least not over money.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Loi Krathong has long been Thailand’s most beautiful festival.
Not anymore in Pattaya.
Few girls and women were dressed in the traditional costume. The police banned fireworks. Their marine patrols gathered the krathong offerings less than 20 meters from shore. No one was allowed to light a fire balloon, perhaps the most exotic image to grace a night sky.
Instead drunken Thais and farangs race cars and motorcycles, as if to tell the water goddess celebrated by the holiday, “Yet mung.”
My wife was up-country, my mia noi and I were a thing of the past, so I celebrated with two beers and fell asleep dreaming of times gone when the world still appreciated beauty.
I woke without my traditional holiday hang-over.
Not much to do on a Sunday, if you’re not reliving KRIS KRISTOFFENSEN SONG sunday morning coming down.
I got on my motorscooter and drove south to Ban Samae San. The traffic was light. The drunks were sleeping off copious intakes of whiskey. Arriving at the outskirts of Ban Samae San I avoided the fishing village, since behind those of the houses racks of fish dry in the sun to encompass the air with a particularly pungent odor.
There’s only two things in the world that smell of fish and one of them is fish.
I rode to the hill temple overlooking the undeveloped offshore islands. Not a single worshippers was in sight. I struck the bells with a wooden mallet and wai-ed my respect to the water goddess. Afterwards I went down to the navy pier. No one was there either.
The air was about 75. A good summer day in Maine. I stripped naked and dove into the crystal clear water. My balls shrunk to peanuts and my penis to a cashew. Only Cialis could revive them to normal size, but I was celibate these days, so I drifted on the current for several hundred metres and then swam back to the pier.
To be truthful it was a struggle.
But the water goddess forgave my year’s excesses, otherwise I’d make the Pattaya Mail as another farang suicide with a photo of me wrapped in a white sheet.
I’m not quite ready for that yet, because even at 55 I got a lot of living to do.
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The headlights reflect off the rain-scarred streets. I saw her eyes,twisted, bloodshot red, dazed, she looked at me. She didn't see the gunshot wound. It wasn't the first , and I know it wouldn't be the last . I fucked up. Its hard, fucking hard, trying to make a quick peso, a fast G, in the back streets of Marseilles. I sipped the last drop of bouillabaisse, took a long taff, an asked for another nasty Richard. Enough, I was bleeding, I asked the Marocaine toiletgirl , to call her sister. She had stitched me up before. It wasn't a problem, I'm a fast healer.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Benjamin Franklin proposed the turkey for the national bird. The turkey of his era was nothing like the domesticated bird slaughtered for Thanksgiving. The wild turkey was a cunning wood creature living in large communes of fellow avians. Huge flocks of brightly plumed turkeys would cloud the skies. Benjamin Franklin was vehemently against the choice of the eagle as the national bird.
"I wish that the bald eagle had not been chosen as the representative of our country, he is a bird of bad moral character, he does not get his living honestly, you may have seen him perched on some dead tree, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labor of the fishing-hawk, and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to its nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the bald eagle pursues him and takes it from him.... Besides he is a rank coward; the little kingbird, not bigger than a sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the district. He is therefore by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest. . . of America.. . . For a truth, the turkey is in comparison a much more respectable bird, and withal a true original native of America . . . a bird of courage, and would not hesitate to attack a grenadier of the British guards, who should presume to invade his farmyard with a red coat on."
Nice talk for the national bird.
Wonder what Eagle would taste like for Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My grandfather and grandmother met in France. The year was 1917. They served together in a frontline hospital for the Royal Canadian Medical Expedition. Neither had much use for God after witnessing the carnage of trench warfare. 90 years ago they were sitting along the Marne for the Armstice. It was signed at 5am, but didn't take effect, until the 11th second of the 11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. Up to that moment the guns along the Western Front unloosed their last cannonade. The 11th second came and went without any abatement in the fury. Soldiers on both sides still had ammo and they weren't taking it home from 'over there'.
It is estimated that over 10,000 men were killed or wounded between 5am and 11am.
The last casualty is reputed to be a Canadian, Private George Lawrence Price.
He was struck in the chest by a German sniper at 10:58am.
One of the 60,000 dead from the Great North.
Pacem in Terrem.
I asked a number of New Yorker about Armstice Day. It's a national holiday. Out of twenty only two could say why they had a day off from work.
"As you get old, you forget. As you get older you are forgotten."
November 12 is Loy Krathong.
Pattaya City is gearing up for the annual water festival by conducting street sweeps of undesirables. The police are on the look-out for miscreants in order to clean up the coastal city’s image for the traditional festival. Last year they banned fireworks and instituted shore patrols to prevent any krathongs or offerings from entering the sea. Water worship was relegated to the reservoir. I stayed in Jomtien and made love to my mistress.
We had a baby boy from that night’s union.
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On the night of Barack Obama's election as the 44th president the crowd in the Select Bar on Lafayette Street in Lower Manhattan sang loudly LET THE SUNSHINE. This song comes from the musical HAIR which proclaimed the dawning of Age of Aquarius, despite common thought that the Age of Aquarius began in 1447. Its debut doesn't matter, since I felt very good about the New Age and so do thousands of Buddhist adherents in southern Nepal, for it appears that the reincarnation of Buddha has re-emerged from the jungle after a year's hiatus.
No one in the Buddhist hierarchy has attested to the validity of Siddhartha's second coming, but the young man's months-long meditation beneath a tree has electrified his followers with anticipation of the Great Awakening.
Let the sunshine.
President GW F Bush was angry after someone on the staff of #44 leaked minutes of the Oval Office meeting between the incoming and outgoing presidents. It seems that GW F Bush won't back the bail-out of the US automakers, unless the Democrats back his much-maligned free-trade agreement with Columbia.
I've asked several smart friends why GW F Bush would insist on this pact with the Latin American nation. None could give an explanation.
As far as I can surmise, Columbia's main exports to the USA are coffee, plantains, lingerie, and of course cocaine.
GW F Bush doesn't seem like he wears lingerie or eats plantains, so his interest has to originate with either coffee or blow.
My vote is for his drug of choice.
Zoot, ye-ho, coke.
Coffee you can get anywhere.
So GW F is more interested in getting blow than saving jobs in Flint, Mich.
Somehow that choice doesn't surprise me at all.
Then again #43 and I share the same vices.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Lou Reed recorded a signature song on his album TRANSFORMER. Actually more than one. VICIOUS and WALK ON THE WILD SIDE was joined by PERFECT DAY, which was later used for a TV commercial.
“Oh, such a perfect day. I’m glad I spend it with you. You just keep me hanging on.”
Normally hearing a song you love selling a motor scooter makes me never want to listen to it again, however with PERFECT DAY I wasn’t watching that my TV during that time and I also forgive Lou Reed because he needs the money. So much so he sold out HEROIN for a Nissan ad.
More forgivable is Iggy prostituting LUST FOR LIFE for VW.
After slaving 30 years for his music Iggy has little to show other than a penthouse duplex on the Bowery and a vast gap of memories. Guess he has perfect days in his downtown aerie.
A perfect day for me and playing with my daughter at the beach, but other people have more complicated desires and Big Al from Pattaya’s Taco empire sent the following list.
PERFECT DAY FOR HER
8:15 Wake up to hugs and kisses
8:30 Weigh in 2 pounds lighter than yesterday
8:45 Breakfast in bed, freshly squeezed orange juice and croissants open presents expensive jewelry chosen by thoughtful partner
9:15 Soothing hot bath with frangipani bath oil
10:00 Light work out at club with sexy funny personal trainer
10:30 Facial, manicure, shampoo, condition, blow dry followed by
12:00 noon lunch with best friend at fashionable outdoor café
12:45 Catch sight of partner’s ex and notices she has gained 17 pounds
4:00 Three dozen roses delivered by florist, card is from secret admirer
4:30 Light work out at club, followed by massage from strong but gentle
hunk, who says he rarely gets to work on such a perfect body
5:30 Choose outfit from expensive designer wardrobe, parade before full length mirror
7:30 Candle lit dinner for two followed by dancing, with compliments received from other diners/dancers
10:00 Hot shower (alone)10:50 Carried to bed . . (freshly ironed, crisp, new, white linen)
11:00 Pillow talk, light touching and cuddling
11:15 Fall asleep in his big strong arms
THE PERFECT DAY FOR HIM
6:15 Blow job
6:30 Massive satisfying shit while reading the sports section
7:00 Breakfast: steak and eggs, coffee and toast, all cooked by naked, wench who bends over a lot showing her Growler
7:30 Limo arrives
7:45 Several beers en-route to airport
9:15 Flight in personal Lear Jet
9:30 Limo to Mirage Resort Golf Club (blow job en-route)
9:45 Play front nine - 2 under
11:45 Lunch: steak and lobster, 3 beers and bottle of Dom Perignon
12:15 Blow job
12:30 Play back nine - 4 under
2:15 Limo back to the airport (several bourbons)
2:30 Fly to Bahamas
3:30 Late afternoon fishing excursion with all female crew, all nude who also bend over a lot displaying growlers
4:30 Land world record Marlin (1234 lbs) - on light tackle
5:00 Fly home, massage and hand job by naked Elle McPherson (bending over, naturally)
6:45 Shit, Shower and Shave
7:00 Watch news: Michael Jackson assassinated
7:30 Dinner: lobster appetizers, Dom Perignon (1953), big juicy fillet steak followed by Ice-cream served on a big pair of tits
9:00 Napoleon Brandy and Habanos cigar in front of wall-size TV as you watch football game
9:30 Sex with three women (all with lesbian tendencies…some bending over)
11:00 Massage and Jacuzzi with tasty pizza snacks and a cleansing beer
11:30 A night cap blow job
11:45 In bed alone
11:50 Blast a 22 second fart which changes note 4 times and forces the dog to leave the room
11:51 Laugh yourself to sleep
Yeah, different strokes for different blokes
No commercial value no sell out
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An intense high pressure system has stalled over Thailand inflicting seasonally cooler weather on the entire country. Pattaya hit 22 (73 Farenheit) and Chiang Mai 12. My wife called from Chai-nat saying it was freezing. I’m wearing a sweater, but I still see UK tourists walking around with bare-chests. I called my friend Nick to ask his opinion.
“I didn’t turn on my AC, but it isn’t cold. You’ve been out here too long if you think this is cold.”
Maybe he’s right. Living in the tropics does tend to thin your blood. I took a bike ride by the beach and Russian vacationers were swimming in the wind-chopped sea, while tour boats were loading Chinese holiday-makers for a trip to Koh Lann, the nearest island to Pattaya.
Two old ladies from the Ukraine were slathering themselves with skin-frying oils. As they lay on the sun palette, I realized that Darwin was completely wrong. Mankind did not descend from apes.
Well, maybe some of us, but the rest of humanity genetic make-up evolved from either ET tampering or orgiastic miscegenation between the species of the animal kingdom.
Dogs and snakes (Jim Carey).
Horses and giraffes (John Holmes).
You get the picture.
In the case of the stocky Ukrainian matrons their first ancestor was a walrus and the skinny old dudes lounging in the g-strings reminded me on monitor lizards basking on a rock.
Evolution from more than one source, because you know Adam wasn’t celibate before Eve.
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My brother-in-law sent this message about a New Retail Store. My wife loves shopping. For women shopping is a sport on the same level as football only they don’t sit on a sofa watching TV. They are on the field and play to win.
It’s my beer money that loses.
Interesting new store format called the “Husband Store” has opened in New York. Needless to say, the store sells Husbands.
When women go to choose a husband, they have to follow the instructions at the entrance:-
“You may visit this store ONLY ONCE! There are 6 floors and the value of the products increase as you ascend the flights. You may choose any item from a particular floor, or may choose to go up to the next floor, but you CANNOT go back down except to exit the building”
So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband.
On the 1st floor the sign on the door reads:
Floor 1 - These men have jobs.
The 2nd floor sign reads:
Floor 2 - These men Have Jobs and Love Kids.
The 3rd floor sign reads:
Floor 3 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids and are extremely good looking.
“Wow,” she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.
She goes to the 4th floor and the sign reads:
Floor 4 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Good Looking and Help with Housework.
“Oh, mercy me!” she exclaims, “I can hardly stand it!”
Still, she goes to the 5th floor and sign reads:
Floor 5 - These men Have Jobs, Love Kids, are Drop-dead Gorgeous, help with Housework and Have A Strong Romantic Streak.
She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the 6th floor and the sign reads:
Floor 6 - You are visitor 31,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please. Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store.
To avoid gender bias charges, the store’s owner opens a New Wives store just across the street.
The 1st first floor has wives that love sex.
The 2nd floor has wives that love sex and have money.
The 3rd - 6th floors have never been visited __________________________________________________
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President-elect Barack Obama visited his home-to-be today. President #43 greeted #44 at the White House. This tradition provided both men with ample time to assess the past and future of America and their spokespeople put a smiling face on the hour-long meeting. President Bush has promised a fast transition.
"I want to get out of the Oval Office and back to doing lines as muy rapido as possible."
He didn't say that, but after his eight-year reign I'm sure he's looking forward to some 'getting down' time, unless he's forced to serve a 3rd term for the sake of the country.
No details of the talks were released, but at least Obama had the graciousness not to punch out old # 43.
I would have.
If you are on a plane, sitting next to someone who won’t klm-landing-airplane.jpgleave you in
peace, the easiest way to shut them up is to give them a heart attack.
1. Calmly open up your laptop case.
2. Remove your laptop.
3. Boot it.
4. Make sure the person can see the screen.
5. Mumble some gibberish under your breath.
6. Close your eyes and tilt your head up to the sky.
7. Then hit this link:
This weekend a Democratic Jersey City councilman was arrested for peeing from the balcony. This golden shower episode would have been considered harmless, except it occurred during a Grateful Dead tribute band concert. The concertgoers weren't happy about his blessing and the councilman has sworn off drinking for the rest of his life.
Most drunks do the morning after a night when they publicly piss on people, although once sober he was political savvy enough to not admit to any wrongdoing. Guess he considers it all good fun.
Wait until he gets hit with a lawsuit by a Dead Head.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Harry Nicolaides wrote VERISIMILITUDE in 2005. This novel based on his life in Thailand sold 42 copies. Its lack of success did not prevent the Thai police from charging the Australian author with the charge of lese-majeste upon his re-entry to the country this summer. His crime; writing what any fool knows you don't write about in Thailand.
He's been in jail for over two months and if convicted could spend the next 15 years in prison. His barrister has been to the Australian embassy and reports, "And so far the Australian Government, from what we can tell, has done nothing."
The USA embassy is no better.
The King thankfully will intervene soon and the author will be freed to his home country.
Persona non grata, but free at least.
The Banglamung District Chief has issued a series of warning to Pattaya bar owners about the various violations deemed unacceptable to the forces of Law and Order.
No drugs except for tobacco and even that has to be smoked in designated areas. No weapons including hand grenades. No dildo shows or sex shows or nakedness. No serving minors under 20. No alcohol after-hours.
Obviously this man has no idea about having a good time, but then he probably comes from the law enforcement field and those men never have a good time unless it's at someone else's expenses. The DC is hopeful that he can forced the bar owners to obey the strictures of his realm of no-no-no.
Another area of concern was the licensing of music.
Seems the Eagles aren't getting paid all their royalty rights for the constant playing of HOTEL CALIFORNIA.
Happy is never having to hear the word 'no'
I am relatively honest and looking in the mirror I have to admit one thing.
I am a fuck-up.
I even have a letter from the CIA dated 1/2/80. Lawrence Woodward, director of Employment, wrote,”….no vacancy has been found for someone with your academic background and experience.” which was mostly smoking pot and hanging out at gay bars hunting for fag hags.
No wonder the CIA can’t find Osama Bin Ladin with those black shoe spooks. They’re all squares, yet I survived the shame of a nation’s rejection. And also many more failures, most recently not writing mangozeen for a while. I could blame writer’s block, which usually arises like a bad case of herpes, whenever my bank account sinks below 4-figures in US Dollars, however the latest dearth of inspiration was derived from something other than a monetary mess.
A wine binge. Beer-vodka-gin too.
Pattaya. Booze. Women.
Actually I excluded the latter from the equation.
Pattaya and booze.
Keep it simple stupid.
My wife was out of town. I was feeling lonely. The beers flowed across my lips like the endless source of the Nile. In the morning my hangovers were less than crippling other than I couldn’t write.
Not a postcard.
Barely my name.
And do I expect this to change?
It has before, so bear with me as I right the ship out of the water. We are back under sail and ready to proceed toward the future.
The battle for freedom.
“Who’s for freedom, who’s for liberty, who’s for going home?”
Anyone who can identify the speaker of this quote gets a free Ramones tee-shirt.
Not previously worn by me.
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Strange to think that Thailand has a winter. Westerners spend most of the year sweating like they were in a sauna and usually the coldest spot in Thailand is a movie theater. A Chilly 21C. Brrrr.
Last night riding home on my motorcycle, I suppressed a shiver. Fah nao or the cold season had arrived like clockwork.
Not that we should expect snow.
The mountains in the North drop to 3C above Zero at worst and the season ends in February, but for the next two months Thais will be bundling up like they were in training from Siberia. Except in the go-go bars. Thank the stars for climate control.
Frozen flowers should only be found on mountain tops.
I laid a bet at a bookie that it will snow this year in Thailand.
On a mountain top.
I got 10-1 odds for a 500 baht bet.
The bookie wouldn’t take any more.
The last record of snow dates back to 1955 in Chiang Rai, when the temperature dropped to freezing and rain turned first to hail and then ice flakes. The snow cover lasted 38 hours before melting under the tropical sun. That was over 52 years ago, but I have a good feeling about this bet.
It’s gonna get cold.
Especially around Xmas
This winter I faced legal charges for copyright infringement. The officers from the cyber-crime unit of the Thai Police told me not to worry about the sentence. They said it would be about $100US, however several lawyers warned that I could face deportation plus the declaration of persona non grata, which would have meant my exile from Thailand. My trial proved the police right. The lawyers had only been after my money. Still I had experienced the apprehension of uncertainty, although nothing like ex-PM Thaksin must have felt this weekend upon reading that the UK had revoked his visa to England while he was traveling in Asia.
His ownership of ManCity's football team did not save the deposed leader from this ignominy. His wife was also banned from entering Britain.
Persona non grata the two of them and now they have to ask themselves where to go from wherever they are now. He's building a mansion in China. The Communist country is close to Thailand. His presence there could cause problems, so Thaksin's second option might be the Bahamas, which has offered him honorary citizenship.
Honorary could prove to be very temporary and Thaksin could find himself in the same situation as Gary Glitter last summer.
A man with only one place left to go.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
"Whatever is good for GM is good for America."
I heard this adage throughout the 60s and 70s, even as GM manufactured ever worse versions of badly-designed cars. Gas guzzlers and with no eye for overseas sales. In fact one GM VP had the balls to answer a question about why GM wasn't selling right-hand drive cars in Japan with the comment, "To the Japanese left-handed drive is a mark of prestige."
I've driven left-handed cars in France.
Scared the bejesus out of me.
GM is doomed without a federal bailout but even more doomed unless the corporation purge the entire upper-management, who have invested billions into SUV and trucks despite the upsurge of gas prices.
"Americans are big. We like big cars." Another GM sales pitch.
In truth Americans are fat and can't fit into smaller cars. I heard one obese Texan ask his wife, "Does the H3 Hummer make me look fat."
If GM wants a bail-out, then they'll have to change the way they make cars or else they're still doomed.
And if GM goes, then so be it.
America will live on.
In 1996 Richie Boy flew out to Bali. I met him at the airport. His baggage was a knapsack and three surfboards.
"Why so many boards?"
"Because one of them is for you." Richie Boy had come halfway around the world to surf Kuta, Ulu Watu, and G-Land.
"Me." My surfing skills were taxed by the gentle Atlantic rollers of Lido Beach.
"Yes, you and I'm not accepting any punk-outs."
I took the challenge and that afternoon we hired a car for the drive to Bingin. It was the closest break to Kuta. The beachrats at the parking lot said Bingin was a perfect left.
"100% tube." They chorused on the path down the cliff and one look attested to their claim. A glassy wave broke on a coral reef. The height was double-overhead.
"I don't know about this." This was far beyond my comfort zone.
""It'll be fine." Richie Boy promised and pointed to the sea. "We'll paddle out to the left. The shoulder is easy there. Even you can make it over those."
From the beach it looked simple, but lying on the board in the shore break I recognized these were the biggest waves I had ever seen in my life. I was 38. I scrabbled over the first wave. The second was steeper, but my hands scooped at the surface and I glided into the trough only to be faced with a giant wave."
"Paddle!" Richie Boy shouted from his board. He was a good 30 feet ahead of me and cleared the wave without any problem. My arms burned from the exertion and the wave lifted off the reef to become an insurmountable cliff of the ocean. 50 degree. 75 degree. 90 degree and then I was launched into a planetary washing machine.
Three times I surfaced to gasp for breath. Three times I was buried by another watery mammoth. The fourth spit me up on the beach. A beach rat ran up to the shore.
"You have enough?'
"Yeah." I spent the rest of the afternoon getting a massage from a midget.
But my killer wave was nothing in comparison to the 41-foot wave on which a daredevil surfer rode at a secret surf break.
He survived the wipeout with a separated shoulder.
It would have killed me.
Which is why I only watch now.
See this article
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
The first votes came in quickly after midnight from the tiny White Mountain hamlet of Dixville Notch with Barack Obama receiving 15 votes to John McCain's 6.
This tradition was initiated in 1960 and I thought that the majority of the incorporated New Hampshire Village had always voted for the winner, however this was not the case in 1960, 1964, 1968,1976, 1992or 1996. They have voted for losers, mostly since the North Country is predominantly Republican.
This year they went with the winner.
Feminists around the world have reacted with horror to a new line of lingerie that comes equipped with a GPS tracking system.
The 'find me if you can' range of underwear has been described as a modern-day, high-tech chastity belt.
'It is outrageous to think that men can buy this, programme it and give it to their partners and then monitor them,' said Claudia Burghart, leader of a Berlin feminist group.
'It is nothing more than a chastity belt for insecure men.'
Lingerie maker Lucia Lorio of Brazil says her design targets the 'modern, techno-savvy woman'.
The lingerie combination set consists of lace bodice, bikini bottom and faux pearl collar, with the GPS device nestled in the see-through part of the bodice next to the waist.
'This collection... is a wink to women and a challenge to men because, even if she gives him the password to her GPS, she can always turn it off,' Lorio said.
'It's not a modern chastity belt. Some men think they can keep tabs on their girlfriends with it, but they're wrong,' she added.
Unconcerned with the controversy her collection has raised, Lorio is also dismissive of the global financial crisis and its adverse impact on luxury items sales.
The GPS lingerie sells from a cool £500, complete with a standard Global Positioning System, to £700 with a more advanced model.
'Some women are now interested in buying it for protection,' she said, programming it for partners themselves so they are safe on a night out alone.
'In London, New York, Rio de Janiero - wherever there is danger, the underwear may prove to be a lifesaver,' she added.
But feminists in her homeland have called her a modern-day slaver and urged women to boycott the GPS underwear.
This year Webster Dictionary has allowed a new series of modern slang to be entered into the lexicon of the English language. Most people I know ie English speakers are light years ahead of the educational tome in their vernacular depravity, but here are some words which might make it into the revision for 2007.
1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.
2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject
financially impotent for an indefinite period.
6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn’t get it.
8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It’s like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it’s like, a serious
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you’ve
accidentally walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit
And the pick of the literature:
18. Ignoranus: A person who’s both stupid and an asshole.
On several occasions my wife has left town to 'supposedly' take care of her 'sick' sister. Her return date always overlaps an extra weekend. I could suspect the worse, but I never minded being in the house alone. No one, but me and my dog. Could have been a sad situation, except I don’t reside in a hopeless American suburb where the only light at night is the glow of television in the bedroom window.
I live in Pattaya.
It’s Saturday night.
Watching TV is for the near-dead.
It’s party time, even for old gits like me.
There’s a bar at the end of my road. The Buffalo Bar is two minutes away by bike and Walking Street fires off from 9pm to dawn. My friend Derrick calls from the COYOTE A GO-GO. He’s with his girlfriend and she’s with two friends. I shower, shave, and splash on a little cologne. One glance in the mirror tells the truth. My physique might have been the Acropolis once, but now I’m in ruins. No that it matters, because every man is king for a night in Pattaya as long as his ATM card is flush.
I get to Soi Diamond in less than ten minutes. I park my bike under a massage parlor. Walking Street is packed with Chinese bus tourists, western males, backpackers slumming from Koh Samet, Russian families on a cheap holiday, Thai police, dancing girls, bar touts, transvestites, and marines on R&R from a training mission. Thankfully I recognize no one on the way to the Coyote. Especially none of my wife’s friends, who tell her my every move.
Derrick is sitting at a round table. Nung is on his right. Her friends are drinking B-52s. The three of them are under 22. All of them would stop traffic in Iowa, Indiana, and Illinois and any other state beginning with I. ie the state in Illin’.
I order a vodka and cranberry. Nung’s friend smiles at me. When I was back in the States last month not one woman smiled at me. Can’t blame them. I’m nearly a hundred years old to a 20 year-old New York female.
I turn to the stage. The five naked dancers are painted with day-glo flowers. Collectively they weigh as much as two western women fattened by Frankenfood from Mickie D. I come from New York and always thought about taking over Governor’s Island and turning the abandoned Coast Guard station into a version of Pattaya. Better than any casino project. Traffic would be backed up to the Delaware Bridge by men desperate to have a real good time rather than a $20 lap dancer by a gold-digging American go-go girls. The City of New York would be able to pay for new schools. It’s all too good to be true, because the USA is too puritan to allow prurient behavior on the scale of Pattaya.
The girls on stage are dancing to an insipid boy band hit. At least it isn’t HOTEL CALIFORNIA. The bar is dead. It’s the height of the low season. Derrick suggests we vacate the premise to HEAVEN ABOVE. Nung used to work there and has plenty of friends working the firepole. We pay the bill and walk through the back alleys to Soi Diamond.
HEAVEN ABOVE is upstairs from the other go gos. The welcoming staff bow in greeting, their hands pressed together in a wai. We climb the stairs and enter the bar. The music is techno. The girls like it. Derrick orders more drinks. The owner comes over and says hello. He used to own a pimp bar in East St. Louis during the 70s. We speak about surfing in Ventura. “I miss the waves, but this is better.”
Two girls come up to him with kisses. They wear flimsy nighties with nothing on underneath. His eyes roll in his sockets. The devil has a good grip on his soul. Mine too for sin in thought. Derrick is chatting to his girlfriend. He seems happy, although I hope she doesn’t notice his looking over her should at a new dancer fit as the butcher’s dog.
Vittorio enters the go-go. He is trying to start a magazine about Pattaya go-go. It’s a good idea and his photos are much better than mine. He sits down.
“You’ve been here a long time. ” I say and then ask, even if it’s none of my business. “You have a girlfriend here?”
“Yeah, she works here. It’s supposed to be a secret, because she has a sponsor who’s sending her money and is also a friend of the owner.” His eyes betray the object of his desire to me and anyone else. Plus I figure it’s only a secret to the guy sending her cash. She’s a show girl and would stop a car chase on an LA Freeway.
“Trouble is her middle name. We used to be so romantic, but now it’s only sex.”
“She can only give what she can give.”
“I know but I want more.”
“What you want her to be a virgin.”
“You want her to retire from the bar.”
“She wouldn’t do that.”
She’s on stage miming to a Thai love song.
“So relax and just have a good time. That’s all she wants from and you and that’s all you can give her.”
I hate giving advice at a bar, especially after I’ve been drinking and when it’s advice I myself wouldn’t follow. I order another drink. I’m over the limit and signaled Derrick that I’m leaving before the Hypocrite Police shoot me for sounding stupid.
“Are you taking someone home?”
“Me?” I was so drunk I didn’t want to go home with myself. “I’m faithful to my wife.”
“Only because you’re drunk.”
It was the truth.
Somehow it’s already 2am. The street is packed with drinkers, bar girls, more TVs, more police, more go-go girls. I could go to Marine Disco to see what’s happening. It’s full this time of night. Instead I decided to drive home.
If I were in the States the cops would stop me for DWI. Here I cruise home without any trouble. The streets beyond 2nd Road are empty. So is my house. Not really. My dog is wagging its tail. I fall on the sofa. I turn on the TV, knowing full well it’s too loud, but then it doesn’t keep me from sleeping. Nothing would, because I’m really passing out.
At least I had the smarts to put Tylenol and a glass of water on the coffee table.
The breakfast of drunks.
Judging from the number of spam emails cluttering my inbox, a sense of inadequacy about the size of the male organ is a problem superseding hair loss, obesity, and global warming. I can understand this latest anxiety since most men in the West are rabid porno addicts and these websites feature male performers with truly biblical Staffs of Moses. These seemingly impossible proportions are the goal of any men purchasing pills, pumps, and medical herbals to enhance their girth and length.
“I just want to hear one woman say, “Not with that you don’t.” offered one testimony from a size improvement website.
“Not with that you don’t.”
I don’t know why anyone would want to hear that, but is size really important to a woman?
The girls at the Welkom Inn on Soi 3 in Pattaya see a lot of action. When asked if they liked big the most popular girl said, “I like small and fast too. Not hurt. And not take too much time.”
Another admitted, “Sometime when really horny. I like big. Good. But can’t work later. Small better.”
This doesn’t prevent them from massaging the male ego.
The fellatio expert says, “Man always love to hear he have big penis. If not big, he believe big you tell him big. Stupid kwai.”
My good friend Sherri, who did over 2000 XXX films, professes, “Size isn’t important. Well, if it’s a cashew then it’s a problem, but otherwise most girls in the industry like a normal penis. Nothing too awe inspiring. And quick too. Guys with bog ones, not many of them know how to use it, plus when a guy with a giant cock gets an erection most of the blood leaves his skull so he grunts like a caveman. Gimme a nice Irish or Jewish guy any day. Cut too.”
So there you have it.
Here is a list of the average male Erect Penis Lengths for 10 species
1. Humpback whale 10 ft
2. Elephant 5-6 ft
3. Bull 3 ft
4. Stallion 2 ft 6 in.
5. Rhinoceros 2 ft
6. Pig 18-20 in.
7. Man 6 in.
8. Gorilla 2 in.
9. Cat 3/4 in.
10. Mosquito 1/100 in.
Just remember, it’s never premature as long as you get it in.