Iceland Crapped Out

"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.

2008 Bar Rules for Pattaya

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.

Let Me Eat Cake @ the Plaza

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.

My reward.

Cake tasting.

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."

The Truth about Whores

"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.

"Why?"

"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.

See

Ale Formenti
Sangue, Sbocco & Tipe

Elk Gallery
33 Crosby Street (Between Broome and Grand)
New York, NY 10013

MSSR PLAZA by Mark Kamins

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.

November 22 plus 45 years

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.

Pattaya so far away

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.

Who wouldn't.

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.