Cold As A Witch's Teat

Tonight's weather has been predicted to be the rainy, which will certainly be better that New Year's Eve 2018, the coldest end of the year in the history of New York.

I've been in other cold nights in this city.

Most memorial.

1971.

Doctor Nick, Wayne Shephard, Eddie Mickie, and Wayne's sister drove up to Central Park for concert.

In Nick's Mini-Cooper.

Eddie weighed 450.

He sat in the front.

The biggest man this side of Andre the Giant.

We parked by the Plaza Hotel. The cold wind was sharp as an ice razor. Every exhalation hung as frost before our faces. It was deep winter.

Eddie walked about two-hundred paces and then sat on a bench.

"I can't make it any farther."

"To the concert," asked Wayne.

"Either way." He was hyperventilating hard.

"You cold?"

"No, I just can't walk no more."

"Not in this weather."

We retreated from the park and returned to Eddie house.

It was nice and warm.

Tonight it's raining and I'm thinking of staying in, but there's always a chance I might gone out.

I do like the nightlife.

New Year's Eve 2007 Pattaya

On the afternoon of December 31, 2007 heavy lorries, pick-up trucks and 125cc motorcycles with sidecars exited from the distributor at the end of my soi with thousands of beers every minute. Thousands of Thai and farang tourists were flocking into the city for the year's final drunk in the beach resort's countless bars, go-gos, hotels, and brothels from Jomtien to Naklua.

"What are you doing tonight?" Sam Royalle asked on my porch in the shade of a Norfolk pine. He had been out the previous night with our friends and couldn't remember coming home. His skin exuded a sheen of excess alcohol.

"Nothing." I had avoided the debauch and fallen asleep before the TV during a Star Trek ENTERPRISE marathon. The mozzies had partied with my feet during my unconscious state and I was scrubbing the red splotches with salt.

"Nothing?"

"I worked in nightclubs through the 70s, 80s, and 90s. My fellow workers referred to 12/31 as 'amateur's night' and the same stupid behavior of fights, accidents, and stupid conversations held as true for Pattaya as it had in New York, London, Paris, or LA.

"I'm giving it a miss. My wife is going out with her friends though, so I get to care back of my daughter. We're going to watch the fireworks from my garden."

"Have a party." Sam was a family man and understood kids came first. He drove off on his scooter in the direction of home.

My wife left the house at 8:30 without any good-byes. Angie didn't care. She and I had KFC and played rodeo on the bed. We had a glass of Pepsi and watched some more Star Trek. It put both of us to sleep before 10. I was dead sober.

I heard the fireworks and tried to open my eyes.

Not a chance.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

What has happened to my wickedness?

Children.

They tend to rescue a bad man's soul.

Better them than the devil.

Ambroseli Safari - Kili Initiative 2019 # 19

My night after the goat intestine soup was a rough one. I lost count of how times I hit the toilets and blew my chips in the bushes. Ma'we came out once and asked, "You want to go to hospital?"

I shook my head.

"I've only been to the hospital once in my life. At birth. I'll be fine."

Dawn came with the preacher man ranting in tongues across the valley and my stomach was raging with revulsion. I emerged from my tent to another visit to the WC.

Jubbah, Jackman, and Larry were waiting outside.

"Are you okay," asked Larry.

"I'm fine. Just an upset stomach."

"No, M'zee, you sounded like a sick lion all night," Jubbah commented with a smile. "Better a sick lion than a hungry lion."

The word 'sick' spurred my guts and I ran back inside.

I walked up to the dining room filled with trepidation.

JM said, "We are going to do the safari today."

"I

might stay here." I buttered toast and poured a sugary milky tea. I knew better than to try anything else.

"No, you should come. Everyone comes to Kenya to go on safari."

"Or the WC."

"That too, but I'll make sure you are okay. Just drink water and everything will be good."

The Nile explorer Richard Burton was unable to walk on their second trek to the great lakes of Africa. Speke was blind due to an ear infection. Both men lose weight. I had been suffered from intestinal parasites in the Himalayas and the Yucatan, but nothing like this.

I fortified my body and soul with two Guinness on the advice of David, the Kibo Slopes bartender.

"You are Irishman. Guinness is good for you."

That was the truth and I joined the 2019 Kili Initiative 2019 team for the safari. The sky overhead was clear of clouds. I was going on safari and got in a van chanting, "Lions, tigers and bears."

No one got it.

"The Wizard of Oz."

Old films for young people don't exist before 2005 and I recounted Dorothy's adventures in Oz on the thirty minute drive to Ambroseli National Park.

We stopped at the entrance. The team checked out the souvenirs, while I visited the WC. When I emerged, JM said, "There will be no getting out of the vans in the park. No tigers or bears, but there are lions."

"Will we see a pride?"

"If we are lucky."

The first European to penetrated the area heard the feared tribesmen call the plain Empusel or 'salty, dusty place'. Ambroseli is larger than Rhode Island or Delaware. The dry lakebed is watered by several large swamps, creating a home for the African bush elephant, Cape buffalo, impala, lion, cheetah, spotted hyena, Masai giraffe, Grant's zebra, and blue wildebeest.

Our first sighting was a giraffe.

Zebras.

And then there were elephants.

Lots of elephants.

With little babies napping in the dusty sun.

Natalia ahhed their cuteness.

"I just want to go out and pet them."

"I wouldn't do that."

I knew elephants from Thailand.

Old Yai was my good friend.

He loved my mango tree more than me.

"Best for you not to leave the van," warned JM.

I agreed and told the team in our van about Peter Beard getting gored by an elephant in Kenya.

Peter Beard had recounted the incident to a movie star. "So anyway, there was an amazing gaping hole and there was no blood coming out of it by the way, but I couldn’t see it. I got splintered hips. I didn’t get speared, ’cause I couldn’t see the thing."

"I'm not getting out of the van," answered Natalia.

We passed a lone Gnu.

I always liked Gnus. They were an easy score in Scrabble, but I asked, "You know what is between the toes of elephants?"

"What?" asked Jubbah.

"Slow running people." Elephants have a top speed of 25 MPH, although the pachyderms don't corner well.

"No one is getting out of the van." JM repeated his mantra.

Roads led off the safari guest lodges. People with money stayed there.

My stomach was in turmoil.

I wanted so badly to relieve myself with a nice WC.

A tusker shook his head. I held my fluids.

Damned goat intestine soup.

The road ran straight.

I checked my nausea.

Jubbah pointed out a pride of lions.

"The cubs are so cute. I want to pet them," said Natalia.

"No leaving the van," admonished JM. He lived in Loitokitok. He understood the danger of lions. "They are not pets."

Humans were more dangerous, but I said nothing, however I didn't think any animal wanted to eat someone as sick as me.

Elephants meandered toward the swamp.

Water was life.

For everyone everywhere.

I spotted a big tusker.

"His name is Tim," explained Ma'we. "His tusks are over five feet long."

He wouldn't have lasted a day outside the park.

Poachers loved tuskers.

Tim wandered away from the road.

The lakebed was as flat as Kansas.

We stopped at a rest area. The hill gave a great view of the plains. I spent most of the time in the WC.

Vanessa asked if I was better.

"I lied and said, "Much better."

All I wanted was to lie down in bed or be in a toilet.

The vista pavilion offered a 360 degree view of the park.

The team was happy to be here. They were all friends now. I was a friend too. M'zee. Very old, very sick, but one of the team.

Daima or always.

Fast Steve said it was time to go.

I was the first person in the van.

Even with a stop at the WC.

I had had enough of lions, elephants, giraffes, and baboons.

Sadly, not not enough of WCs.

They were my best friend.

Christmas on Walking Street 2007

Twelve years ago my 4 year-old daughter had a long Christmas Eve.

Gifts in the morning.

Khao Khio Zoo at noon and then a swim at the Shaba Hut pool.

By 7pm her eyes drifted together and weary muscles refused to support her weight. I carried Angie into the bedroom and laid her on the mattress. She fell asleep within 30 seconds.

I cracked open a bottle of Chardonnay and poured two glasses. My wife took a sip. It was a little off, but I drank the wine while listening to Serge Gainsbourg's BALLADE OF MELODY NELSON. Not really Christmas music, yet still is the best 27 minutes of music ever produced by France.

I wandered back into the main house and my wife was putting on make-up. This was not a good sign.

"Where do you think you're going?" I slurred in my Boston-accented Thai.

"We're going to Walking Street. My mother will take care of Angie."

"We?" My wife hated the nightlife and I avoided?the popular destination?during high season like an Ebola-infested Congo village.

"Yes, we." Nu glanced at my clothes.

My twenty year-old shirt and torn jeans didn't make it on Walking Street, the Champs-Elyees of Pattaya.

"Go get changed and look handsome."

"That'll be easy."

After a bottle of wine my reflection in the mirror resembled a young Rock Hudson. I changed into a white Armani shirt and Versace jeans with Gucci loafers. None were a copy either.

My wife waited in the garden. She was in a new dress. I kissed her on the cheek. "You look beautiful. What about we go to the bedroom first?"

"No." Nu wasn't buying this trick to not go to Walking Street.

Nu's mother waved tonight. I had 2000 baht was in my wallet and I surrendered saying. We hadn't been to Walking Street in years and . At least not together. "Okay, let's go."

We got on my motor scooter and I drove to Soi Diamond. My wife didn't want to go to any go-go bar. Neither did I. They were packed with sex-starved Western men and there was no telling what they wanted from man or woman. Instead we wandered through the throngs of sweating Russians, wide-eyed Indian men, and giggling Chinese tourists to the Hot Tuna bar.

Pi-Ek, the owner, sat on a stool. A glass of whiskey was on the small table. He wai-ed my wife and we sat down for a few drinks. My wife didn't take long to ask about my mia noi.

"Only time I see your husband here, he is always alone." Pi-Ek was telling the truth and I wouldn't ask him to lie, because?I wouldn't be caught dead on Walking Street with another woman, because my wife would kill me and I have full intentions of living out my natural span of life.

After a 3rd drink my wife was enjoying herself. She laughed at our jokes and made fun of the passers-by, but by 11 we were ready to call it a night and headed back home. She kissed me before falling asleep and I laid on the bed ready for dreams of sugarplums.

Everyone wished us "Happy Christmas."

The Thais love a good time.

Tonight everyone was all smiles and I drove back to our house with my wife's arms around my waist.

There was no telling what Santa Claus would do in Pattaya on Christmas Eve although neither would I tell Mrs. Claus and neither would any of his reindeers, if they didn't want to end up as reindeer stew.

And I knew the same.

Christmas Truce

Peace on earth.

I'm declaring a Christmas Truce on all bad thoughts.

Enjoy.

Happy XXXMas

Bordelle, the high-end lingerie line, came out with Christmas delights. One 18K-plated girdle dress will cost over $7000 in London's Selfridges department store.

There are less expensive options for a rich man to offer his mistress.

Fashion stylist Sasha Lilic asked, "Would you spend $7000 on lingerie?"

My answer was simple.

"I'd spent it to take off lingerie."

But I only have $200 in the bank, so for now I have to be happy with looking at $7000 on the flesh.

I have a good enough imagination to furnish the pleasure of giving and taking.

Plus I've been nice than naughty this year, although more out of laziness than choice.

Trump Tantrum - Go Fuck Yourself

Throughout his presidency Donald Trump has communicate with friend and foe through twitter.

He has set thousands of terribly short tweaks.

I've not read one.

Then again I've never read anything from a Tweating Twitter.

Ok-Boomer yeah.

Anyway Old Donald emailed a tortuous six-page letter to Congressional Majority Leader Nancy Pelosi accusing the opposition party of of declaring “open war on American democracy.”

Old Chicken Neck Mitch McConnell joined Trump in attacking the Democrats by stating, "From everything we can tell, House Democrats’ slapdash impeachment inquiry has failed to come anywhere near – anywhere near – the bar for impeaching a duly elected president, let alone removing him for the first time in American history."

Trump's fiercely loyal backers are ready for civil war.

That rebellion to support slavery and racism really went well last time, but while I ask myself how did an illiterate man write a six-page letter, I do have a good response.

It is really short too.

Three words.

GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Goat BBQ Loitokitok - 2019 Kili Initiative #18

I returned to the Kibo Slope GH after a few glasses of Konyagi. Woody had set my tent away from the rest of the team. I said nothing, but someone must have have complained about my not washing for a week.

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