Plastic Paradise

From http://www.pattayaghost.com/2008/06/17/snapshots-pattaya-through-the-years/

Versus this scene in 1972

No jet skies, no beach chair mafia, no plastic bags.

And I was 20 years old, so no grey hair or midriff spread either.

Thirty years ago the Old Roue visited Jomtien for seaside romance with a bargirl from Walking Street. “It was sunrise. The sea was gin-clear and little fish were jumping from the water. It was magic.” The ensuing decades have been rough on the Pattaya and its sister beach resort, as the fishing villages have been transformed into gigantic money machines carpeted by cookie-cutter villas and cloned condo blocks offering paradise on Earth. The Old Roue hasn't seen Jomtien in a long time, but for several years I attempted the Sisphysian task of cleaning the beach in front of me, for every high tide deposited beer bottles, oil containers, fishing lines, shiny candy wrappers, and plastic bags onto the sloping shoreline. At low tide I harvested the trash into sea-worn rice bags. Within a half-hour the sand was devoid of any human refuse and I could smugly regard the pristine strand with pride.

While tourists rolled their eyes in disgust at my ecological efforts, the Thais from the beach cafes congratulated my work without ever breaking caste to aid my task. Such labor was beneath them and from under a parasol my girlfriend expressed her embarrassment at my caste-breaking effort. “Tomorrow have plastic again. Every day have. You stop nothing.” They were right and none of them made an effort to stop using plastic bags or throwing them in the trash. Plastic bags are everywhere, as if the manufacturers were trying to seal the world in its product. The inventor of the plastic bag was a Swede, looking for a practical use for in the cellulose film produced by his company. Its monopoly was broken by Mobil Oil in 1977 and soon grocery stores replaced the paper bag with plastic. At present approximately one trillion plastic bags are sold each year. 7/11 customers in Thailand love their plastic bags and any suggestion that the ubiquitous package be abandoned by consumers has been met with resistance by the manufacturers, however countries such as Bhutan, Bangla Desh, and South Africa have a complete ban on plastic shopping bags and Ireland imposed a tax resulting in a 90% reduction in their use. I carry a cloth bag on my travels. It's a small step in the right direction. But one day the day of the plastic bag will come to an end, as governments realizes its true cost to the environment. Hopefully the Earth will not be in a condom on that day.

Iowa 2012

Tomorrow marks the earliest Iowa Caucus since its debut in 1972. No Democrat is challenging President Obama, but a field of seven GOP candidates are vying for the nomination. The three front-runners are comprised of Milt Romney, a moderate, Ron Paul, a radical libertarian, and Rick Santorum from the extreme right.The other participants have failed to ignite the hearts of the party faithful, whose political platform is predominantly anti-gay, anti-immigration, anti-abortion, anti-debt, and anti most everything progressive. The exception is Ron Paul from Texas. He actually has declared in public that he supports a military withdrawal from America's overseas adventures, the abolishment of the Federal Reserve, and the rejection of the Patriot Act. These and other calls for liberty are in line with his beliefs that once a freedom is taken away it is almost impossible to regain that right. His organization is the best in Iowa and the Texas congressman represents a radical departure from business as usual. I wish him luck tomorrow. As for the Rick Perry, Michele Bachman, Newt Gingrich, and Rick Santorum. I wish I could click my heels and send them to Siberia. Naked of course. It's winter this time of year along the Lena River.

Quelle Cad

"If I could get back my youth, I'd do anything in the world except get up early, take exercise or be respectable." Lord Henry Wooten from THE PORTRAIT OF DORIAN GREY

Sucker Punch

The CBGB's bathroom had many uses. The rooms' main purpose was the traditional release of body waste. Another was spray-painting or magic-markering a band's name atop the thousands of previous honorees of the toilet hall of fame. The inhalation of cocaine or heroin in the stalls was more popular than shooting up dope or speedballs. The smell of the urinal kept all activities short and sweet. There was no mirror in the men's room, so self-grooming was reserved for the women's room. Its state of filth reflected Hilly's acceptance of sexual equality. He thought that his clientele deserved nothing better than the worst and that grungy atmosphere suited some people's desire just fine.

After all we were punks.

One night I was at the bar. A red-haired girl in torn fishnet stocking and black plastic mini-dress asked for a JD and coke. Her hair was tousled by the wind and her mascara ruined by tears. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her billowy breasts were a 38-A. A languid gaze betrayed her dabbling with 'ludes. Our dialogue headed in one direction and after two minutes she downed her drink.

"Let's go to the bathroom."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. I signaled to BG behind the bar to watch my beer. The Cramps were on stage. Luxe was singing SURFING BIRD. The brunette waved to the bass player. He gave a sardonic grimace and nodded to indicate that he had been there before. As we passed the dressing room, the opening band called out her name.

"Brenda."

The redhead was popular with musicians. I didn't need to ask why. We descended to the basement and the redhead led me into the ladies room. She pushed open the door to a stall and locked it shut.

"Keep your back to it and don't let anyone in." She dropped to her knees with the grace of a ballerina auditioning for SWAN LAKE.

I was single, 25, and a punk. We lived for sex, drugs, and rock and roll. This scene most certainly answered the sex part of the equation. A minute passed with her writhing on the tiles. She pulled down the top of her dress.

"When you're ready, cum on these."

I was good at following orders.

A man stormed into the bathroom and pounded on the stall's door.

"Brenda, you in there?" Only a boyfriend sounded that angry. Brenda lifted a fingernail to her lips and stood to pull up her dress. Heaven was not to be mine this evening. She kissed me and opened the door. The man was my size and wearing a leather jacket and engineer boots. His eyes narrowed with fury.

"Brenda."

She laughed in his face.

"We were only doing drugs." She held up a packet of cocaine.

"Brenda's my girlfriend." He wasn't buying her lie.

"Then that means you're next."

Something about sex in a bathroom brought out my cockiness and I returned to the bar to get my beer. The Cramps had finished their set. The bass player winked at me. BG asked if I had a good time.

"Good enough." Another two minutes would have changed my answer. A hand tapped my right shoulder.

The gesture was a classic lead-in to a sucker punch.

I figured it to be the boyfriend.

I ducked and a fist swung over my head. It was the boyfriend. I was too close for a counter-punch, so my hands reached our to clutch at his throat. He responded with the same tactic. Within seconds we were choking each other to death. I couldn't breathe. He was in the same boat.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Brenda taking the drummer of the opening band outside. Her boyfriend noticed her exit as well. Unable to speak our eyes conveyed a call for a truce.

"You had enough?" He gasped for breath.

"Sure, you want a beer?" Neither of us were on Brenda's date list for the moment. "Why not?" He leaned on the bar regaining his breath. Guadalcanal and I became friends after that evening. We never mentioned Brenda in our conversations. She became a cabaret singer with too much style to go to the bathroom with men anymore, but at one time she wasn't bad enough.

Guadacanal and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Like I said.

We were punks.

Public Knowledge

The beach resort of Pattaya announced plans to place public urinals along the Beach Road to better serve the nearly five million tourists expected this year. Most sunbathers piss in the sea and beer drinkers relieved themselves in the bars lining the busy road. Everyone else has to hold their water until the city actually follows through the the Mayor's plans. Paris was famous for its green pissoirs with over 1200 in service during the 30s. These vespasiennes were replaced by more profitable pay toilets. Only one pissoir on Boulevard Arago survived the 20th Century. I haven't ever used the new ones. Not everyone is in favor of public toilets. The 1934 book CLOCHEMERLE satirized the attempts of a small village to erect a urinal next to the Catholic Church. In the end no one is happy with the new arrangement and those in need resorted to the nocturnal tradition of pissing against the church. New York closed its subway toilets as homosexual dens of iniquity known throughout the gay community as tea rooms. The city has been discussing designs for a street toilet ever since without any installations on the sidewalks. Public urination remains a crime on the police books and I have avoided citation by holding my telephone to my ears as I violated the city statute. Pattaya will get its urinals. Private interests love supping from the public trough, but they will never support themselves. It's just not part of the pee equation. The most famous urinal in history in Marcel Duchamp's 1917 Fountain signed R. Mutt. My favorite urinals are those in PJ Clarke's and the Old Town Bar. Big and comfortable. Works of functional art. For as long as the bars remain open. So good luck Pattaya. Until then I will pee in the sea. 20 million Europeans do the same in the Mediterranean every July morning in the South of France. It's only natural.

The Importance Of Size

Judging from the number of spam emails that I have received over the years about adding length and girth to a penis, I would have to assume that the typical porno-surfing male's sense of inadequacy is much greater than his anxiety of hair loss, obsession with obesity, and fear of impotency. Most online XXX films feature male performers possessing truly biblical Staffs of Moses. These seemingly impossible proportions are the goal of many men purchasing pills, pumps, and medical herbals from internet sites 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 the men have asked the question 'is size really important to a woman' since time immemorial.

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 libertine 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 cousin Sherri did over 2000 XXX films, professed, “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, an ejaculation is never premature as long as you get it in.

No Season For Fun

A year ago Delaware's Tea Party candidate for the US Senate declared in previous years that masturbation was considered adultery and she once elected that she would pursue legislation to outlaw any and all onanistic sexuality. The previous White House administration had also deemed masturbation as more serious threat to America than atheism and funded several groups to combat the perversity without success. Furthermore federal money had been distributed to increase scientific research into devices designed to prevent self-abuse such as penis cooling devices and clitoral dams, however most funds had been diverted to expand the practice of circumcision to deny masturbators the extra pleasure from flogging the excess foreskin.

My sinful flesh was cut off without my consent.

The scarring was permanent.

I dream some nights about my amputated foreskin.

Thai hospitals offer an operation to replace the foreskin.

The cost ranges from $10,000 to $50,000 in the States depending on length.

I'll keep mine the way it is, unless the GOP steals the 2012 election and authorizes an end to masturbation by castration. There is no jerking off in their heaven of earth.