Pattaya, 29 febr. 2012.
I am not about to fall into the all too common trap of worshiping the women I share my more personal and intimate moments with...I am, after all, devoted to my bachelor's excistence...
Nor am I all that opposed to the idea of Nong, Song, Saam Daeng, a extra chunk of mamoth meat in exchange of the adults only game which is the main resaon of income for many local ladies here in sin city Pattaya...
The accomplishes of organised religion and their unabashed criticism of the "trade" while they themselves are busy trying to excuse yet another pedo sex scandal, "God will judge our actions", do not wash much dish water with me...
Nor does the mainstream media's negative and/or sensational stories about the female asian way of making the dough cut much green grass with me...
Nor the malfeasance of incompetent governments and their on-going campains against the exploitation of the "Trade" in third world countries have much of my personal interest though the consistent sex scandals of Western politicians seeing day light despite costly efforts of moping them under the public carpet amuse me highly, Clinton with his sigar adventures or maybe Gingrich extra-marital affairs, the rape stories of French IMF topman Strauss Kahn better known as Monsieur 33 cm. do make better reading material I have to agree tough.
Me I just live it up here in South/East Asia, a simple ambulant seller from the Amsterdam streets trying to make the best and most of a modest amount of non-declared Euros that will otherwise have no real meaning...
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
My old lady friend Noi
Pattaya, 28 febr. 2012.
In some forgotten prehistoric age a unknown cave woman hit upon the bright idea of offering sexual services to her male comtemporaries in exchanged for some extra chunks of mamoth meat, a good deal for both parties involved, the woman got stronger by the consumption of more bloody flesh and the male providers felt happy the day after and therefore became better hunters...
Interesting trail of thought I guess while I work myself up the stairs of a huge apartment complex just off Soi Bhukhao, sidestepping all sorts of human produced junk littering the steps and different floors...
Four or five girls descending, cooing and complimenting me, even trying to grope my more personal physical equipment, telling me "you handsome man", me like you too much' and more of the same though I presume they are after that extra chunk of mamoth meat...
enormous amounts of typical female platform shoes in front of the rooms, racks with feminine garments drying in the harsh sun, tell me more about this place, half empty bowls with limp looking noodles attracting birds and big rats alike an even bigger proof to my suspicions, cheap and a bit away from the centre, local ladies sharing rooms being the norm rather than the exception in a apartment complex like this, share the rent and bed space...
I am actually on the way to see Noi, my lady friend from last year who works at the Pattaya Festival as Mhe Baan, cleaning jobs of twelve long and boring hours each night with hardly time for Sanuk, Sanuk but apparently waiting for me in room 115, a text message on my phone with the necessary info but not the reason why though I am reasonably sure what sort of Trabajito is expected of me today...
After the "act" we end up at the Noi restaurant which I consider a fitting name considering the name of my table- and former bed partner...maybe the Mamoth became extinct but a free meal of Gai and Khao Pat should be in order here...
In some forgotten prehistoric age a unknown cave woman hit upon the bright idea of offering sexual services to her male comtemporaries in exchanged for some extra chunks of mamoth meat, a good deal for both parties involved, the woman got stronger by the consumption of more bloody flesh and the male providers felt happy the day after and therefore became better hunters...
Interesting trail of thought I guess while I work myself up the stairs of a huge apartment complex just off Soi Bhukhao, sidestepping all sorts of human produced junk littering the steps and different floors...
Four or five girls descending, cooing and complimenting me, even trying to grope my more personal physical equipment, telling me "you handsome man", me like you too much' and more of the same though I presume they are after that extra chunk of mamoth meat...
enormous amounts of typical female platform shoes in front of the rooms, racks with feminine garments drying in the harsh sun, tell me more about this place, half empty bowls with limp looking noodles attracting birds and big rats alike an even bigger proof to my suspicions, cheap and a bit away from the centre, local ladies sharing rooms being the norm rather than the exception in a apartment complex like this, share the rent and bed space...
I am actually on the way to see Noi, my lady friend from last year who works at the Pattaya Festival as Mhe Baan, cleaning jobs of twelve long and boring hours each night with hardly time for Sanuk, Sanuk but apparently waiting for me in room 115, a text message on my phone with the necessary info but not the reason why though I am reasonably sure what sort of Trabajito is expected of me today...
After the "act" we end up at the Noi restaurant which I consider a fitting name considering the name of my table- and former bed partner...maybe the Mamoth became extinct but a free meal of Gai and Khao Pat should be in order here...
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Happy bachelor days come at a price
Pattaya, 26 Febr. 2012.
I feel a bit like the Happy Single since being back in sin city Pattaya, a bit like the hero in Cliff Richard's song "Son, You Are A bachelor's Boy"...not that my happy days with Paddie, not even all that long ago, have vanished from my Farang mind, listening to music togerther late at night in spacious bar beer cafes at the beach front, dancing together at the Bamboo Bar to the sound of Thai love songs, intimate moments to be remembered with a certain physical longing once back in my home town Amsterdam...still, nothing like the Bachelor's Way!!!
A bit like a certain prehistoric Comedia Dell'Arte, exciting, chaotic and colorful, but at the same moment confusing and fearful, never knowing what my lazy days will bring me the moment I wake up in the not so early next morning...
Do know for sure though that those sorry creatures the midnight trade have spitted out I will find on the beach after breakie, no morning coffee and Croissant here but massive hangovers and physical discomfort brought about by the consumption of moonshine shit, smoking Ya Ba and selling their nubile Asian bodies, the Hot Momma trade already in full swing - did it ever really stop? - , make dough the " female Isan way", another smoking session of ice will make you feel better!!!
Miss Mieo, feeling super and great the night before after her well earned shorttime with Johan the Second Mad belgium - Yeah, I believe they pass on their conquests to each other - , crying the next morning, her money gone the way of countless drug induced exits before and her braincells seriously damaged...yeah, have another Big Smoking Session, Mieo, "boyfriend me here, boyfriend me there" she tells me while banging her small fists against the trunk of the many ribboned Bodi tree, pointing her slender fingers at any Farang male passing, big drops of tears rolling down her cheeks, her T-shirt wed with a recent swim, having tried vainly o rid her body of male juices I suspect...only 29 years old and already two thousand "love affairs" further on in her still young life...
Yeah, the happy bachelor days for us farang males come at a price for Isan Hot Mommas...but how many of us do realize that...the endless narrative inside my gray brain cells have started again but find Pad De Solucion to the age old question!!!
I feel a bit like the Happy Single since being back in sin city Pattaya, a bit like the hero in Cliff Richard's song "Son, You Are A bachelor's Boy"...not that my happy days with Paddie, not even all that long ago, have vanished from my Farang mind, listening to music togerther late at night in spacious bar beer cafes at the beach front, dancing together at the Bamboo Bar to the sound of Thai love songs, intimate moments to be remembered with a certain physical longing once back in my home town Amsterdam...still, nothing like the Bachelor's Way!!!
A bit like a certain prehistoric Comedia Dell'Arte, exciting, chaotic and colorful, but at the same moment confusing and fearful, never knowing what my lazy days will bring me the moment I wake up in the not so early next morning...
Do know for sure though that those sorry creatures the midnight trade have spitted out I will find on the beach after breakie, no morning coffee and Croissant here but massive hangovers and physical discomfort brought about by the consumption of moonshine shit, smoking Ya Ba and selling their nubile Asian bodies, the Hot Momma trade already in full swing - did it ever really stop? - , make dough the " female Isan way", another smoking session of ice will make you feel better!!!
Miss Mieo, feeling super and great the night before after her well earned shorttime with Johan the Second Mad belgium - Yeah, I believe they pass on their conquests to each other - , crying the next morning, her money gone the way of countless drug induced exits before and her braincells seriously damaged...yeah, have another Big Smoking Session, Mieo, "boyfriend me here, boyfriend me there" she tells me while banging her small fists against the trunk of the many ribboned Bodi tree, pointing her slender fingers at any Farang male passing, big drops of tears rolling down her cheeks, her T-shirt wed with a recent swim, having tried vainly o rid her body of male juices I suspect...only 29 years old and already two thousand "love affairs" further on in her still young life...
Yeah, the happy bachelor days for us farang males come at a price for Isan Hot Mommas...but how many of us do realize that...the endless narrative inside my gray brain cells have started again but find Pad De Solucion to the age old question!!!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Red Jack in the afternoon, Chang at night
Pattaya, 24 Febr. 2012.
A party is in full swing when I arrive, knacked and weary from five and a half hours in a local chicken bus, but the big bottles of Red Jack on the table, the familiar face and Flemish accented voice of Luuk The Mad Belgium I met last year, the excited giggles of the lady Receptionistas, make me forget the horrors of traveling local wise instead of just shell out a few more Thai baht and do it the tourist way, minibus without frequent stops to pick up or drop passengers whose baggage looks like they are moving house, or maybe farm considering it is not all that uncommon to find a wooden bamboo basket containing life roosters under your seat, maybe they are on the way to some rural cockfight competition, some facts of Thai life they don't really want us Farang to know about...Western animal rights screaming animal activists could well be done without at these events...
hurrying upstairs, forget about the film of persperation and fine dust covering my large thin frame, don't bother to check out the New Star provided TV in my room for possible malfuncions, just drop the heavy gear, my worn backpack containing my smelly clothes and chaotic sketchbooks on the floor and haul my white ass downstairs, join the whisky party, say hello to Luuk and get smashing drunk with the reception ladies who are always in the mood for Sanuk, Sanuk, despite a whole night's shift of tending La Reception D'Hotel...still have to figure out how these small bodied Asian ladies can hold their liquor, but that is for another day...probably will find myself wide awake tonight, a super dry feeling in my throat induced by Red Jack and off to the boulevard drinking big bottles of Chang Export at four o'clock in the morning watching those Hot Mommas who are well versed in the midnight trade and always willing to share a drink with me, tell me about their crazy lives and entertain me while hopelessly trying to get the whisky out of my system by drinking ice cold beer from the Seven/11..or was it 7/Eleven...never mind, when I drink whisky the Thai way I know how it will end, not much of a good night's sleep but loads of beer after waking up from a troubled couple of hours of sleep...
A party is in full swing when I arrive, knacked and weary from five and a half hours in a local chicken bus, but the big bottles of Red Jack on the table, the familiar face and Flemish accented voice of Luuk The Mad Belgium I met last year, the excited giggles of the lady Receptionistas, make me forget the horrors of traveling local wise instead of just shell out a few more Thai baht and do it the tourist way, minibus without frequent stops to pick up or drop passengers whose baggage looks like they are moving house, or maybe farm considering it is not all that uncommon to find a wooden bamboo basket containing life roosters under your seat, maybe they are on the way to some rural cockfight competition, some facts of Thai life they don't really want us Farang to know about...Western animal rights screaming animal activists could well be done without at these events...
hurrying upstairs, forget about the film of persperation and fine dust covering my large thin frame, don't bother to check out the New Star provided TV in my room for possible malfuncions, just drop the heavy gear, my worn backpack containing my smelly clothes and chaotic sketchbooks on the floor and haul my white ass downstairs, join the whisky party, say hello to Luuk and get smashing drunk with the reception ladies who are always in the mood for Sanuk, Sanuk, despite a whole night's shift of tending La Reception D'Hotel...still have to figure out how these small bodied Asian ladies can hold their liquor, but that is for another day...probably will find myself wide awake tonight, a super dry feeling in my throat induced by Red Jack and off to the boulevard drinking big bottles of Chang Export at four o'clock in the morning watching those Hot Mommas who are well versed in the midnight trade and always willing to share a drink with me, tell me about their crazy lives and entertain me while hopelessly trying to get the whisky out of my system by drinking ice cold beer from the Seven/11..or was it 7/Eleven...never mind, when I drink whisky the Thai way I know how it will end, not much of a good night's sleep but loads of beer after waking up from a troubled couple of hours of sleep...
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
A lady thief in the night
Pattaya, 22 Febr. 2012.
Sweet sleep, dreams like sugar, Miss Paddie taking care of me and not a soul in the world disturbing me...well, no, being in the sweet arms of lord Morpheus' realm is not to be my destiny tonight, not with that pesistent "knock, knock, knock', softly so as not to wake the German couple sleeping in the room next door but persistently nonetheless like a only a Thai Hot Momma can with the smell of Nong, Song, Saam Daeng in her female nostrils...
I don't need the pregnant air of Thai moonshine whisky drifting through the cracks in the wooden door, to know it is that nutty red haired lady from this morning who drove me to that corrupt borderpost where I lost 1200 Baht getting my second visa arranged...no way I gonna open the door to this Miss Mau lady who obviously needs more of these red bank notes to keep that unquenchable thirst of hers satisfied...
" Hans, mister Hans, please open door, me must talk to you" rummaging around outside my 100 Baht baby room, apperently mistaking my neighbor's door...now, that could get interesting with Misses German not gonna be all that Gluecklich when she finds that red haired local drunk lady in her room with serious hooker interests in her boyfriend...
But, no, I can hear her shuffle around a bit, some sniffles and soft giggles before soft female foot steps hurry down the stairs, the snoring next door continueing, probably never aware of their nocturnal visitor...
Next morning over a cup of strong thirty Baht Nescafe I overhear them complaining to the owner, 3200 lying on their bedside table, has mysteriously disappeared, and yes, Wir Schlaffen Mit Der Tuer Geoeffnet Weil Es So Heiss Ist Waerend Der Nacht...I keep quiet trying to shut out unsuccessfully the image of Miss red Hair sleeping off somewhere 3200 Baht worth of Thai Moonshine whisky...if she survived that amount of alcohol posoin, that is!!!
Sweet sleep, dreams like sugar, Miss Paddie taking care of me and not a soul in the world disturbing me...well, no, being in the sweet arms of lord Morpheus' realm is not to be my destiny tonight, not with that pesistent "knock, knock, knock', softly so as not to wake the German couple sleeping in the room next door but persistently nonetheless like a only a Thai Hot Momma can with the smell of Nong, Song, Saam Daeng in her female nostrils...
I don't need the pregnant air of Thai moonshine whisky drifting through the cracks in the wooden door, to know it is that nutty red haired lady from this morning who drove me to that corrupt borderpost where I lost 1200 Baht getting my second visa arranged...no way I gonna open the door to this Miss Mau lady who obviously needs more of these red bank notes to keep that unquenchable thirst of hers satisfied...
" Hans, mister Hans, please open door, me must talk to you" rummaging around outside my 100 Baht baby room, apperently mistaking my neighbor's door...now, that could get interesting with Misses German not gonna be all that Gluecklich when she finds that red haired local drunk lady in her room with serious hooker interests in her boyfriend...
But, no, I can hear her shuffle around a bit, some sniffles and soft giggles before soft female foot steps hurry down the stairs, the snoring next door continueing, probably never aware of their nocturnal visitor...
Next morning over a cup of strong thirty Baht Nescafe I overhear them complaining to the owner, 3200 lying on their bedside table, has mysteriously disappeared, and yes, Wir Schlaffen Mit Der Tuer Geoeffnet Weil Es So Heiss Ist Waerend Der Nacht...I keep quiet trying to shut out unsuccessfully the image of Miss red Hair sleeping off somewhere 3200 Baht worth of Thai Moonshine whisky...if she survived that amount of alcohol posoin, that is!!!
Monday, February 20, 2012
La Vie Est Un Crime Du Jour
Pattaya, 20 Febr. 2012.
An anorexia young local woman down in the foyer of my guesthouse whose hair has been dyed scarlet red and sculpted into a hedge on top of her head, drinking whisky despite the early hour of the morning, inviting me to participate...isn't that great, having to go to Hat Yek, cross the border with sour whisky on my breath...the acid rain of reality in full swing here, I guess, though I find myself on the back of her motorbike only mere minutes later, well on the way to Hat Yek, ready to face the border corruption of one the worse in the border corruption department in this part of the world.
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Skeltering across the road at fifty plus kph, 84 kilometers on the way to total oblivion, or else, on the way to notorious border scams, 2000 Thai Baht to get everything done and over with tough any other border crossing into Camodya should be Ten American Bucks for four weeks, but at Hat Yek the issue is non-negociable...maybe why so many shady characters cross La Frontiere here instead of elsewhere...
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Being offered joints and over-priced viagra at inflated prices right under the noses of uniformed border personal while I wait to be processed, Miss anorexia working on her cherished bottle of Black jack, never mind the ice cubes and Cola softerner are nowhere to be seen.
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Reality programming in full swing on the way back, another 84 kilometer but this time with me at the handle bars and Miss Anorexia turning her words into a drag of incomprenhensible slurring, holding on to me with one greasy hand and desperately to the fresh bottle of Regency I bought her before the dreaded return journey, with her other hand, screaming her head off in Thai at innocent passers-by who look on amused and sometimes bemused...
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Back at the hotel with Miss Anorexia passed out on the couch downstairs in the foyer of my guesthouse, the place where it all began several hours early this morning, the rising sun a witness to the insanity of a brand new day in the Thai Kingdom...but then she is gone staggering down the street on her way Lord Buddh only knows where, leaving me with a half empty bottle of five dollar Regency whisky...
Yeah, well, like I said La Vie Est Un Crime Du Jour!!!
An anorexia young local woman down in the foyer of my guesthouse whose hair has been dyed scarlet red and sculpted into a hedge on top of her head, drinking whisky despite the early hour of the morning, inviting me to participate...isn't that great, having to go to Hat Yek, cross the border with sour whisky on my breath...the acid rain of reality in full swing here, I guess, though I find myself on the back of her motorbike only mere minutes later, well on the way to Hat Yek, ready to face the border corruption of one the worse in the border corruption department in this part of the world.
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Skeltering across the road at fifty plus kph, 84 kilometers on the way to total oblivion, or else, on the way to notorious border scams, 2000 Thai Baht to get everything done and over with tough any other border crossing into Camodya should be Ten American Bucks for four weeks, but at Hat Yek the issue is non-negociable...maybe why so many shady characters cross La Frontiere here instead of elsewhere...
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Being offered joints and over-priced viagra at inflated prices right under the noses of uniformed border personal while I wait to be processed, Miss anorexia working on her cherished bottle of Black jack, never mind the ice cubes and Cola softerner are nowhere to be seen.
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Reality programming in full swing on the way back, another 84 kilometer but this time with me at the handle bars and Miss Anorexia turning her words into a drag of incomprenhensible slurring, holding on to me with one greasy hand and desperately to the fresh bottle of Regency I bought her before the dreaded return journey, with her other hand, screaming her head off in Thai at innocent passers-by who look on amused and sometimes bemused...
Isn't life Un Crime Du Jour?
Back at the hotel with Miss Anorexia passed out on the couch downstairs in the foyer of my guesthouse, the place where it all began several hours early this morning, the rising sun a witness to the insanity of a brand new day in the Thai Kingdom...but then she is gone staggering down the street on her way Lord Buddh only knows where, leaving me with a half empty bottle of five dollar Regency whisky...
Yeah, well, like I said La Vie Est Un Crime Du Jour!!!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Images of Facebook
Trat, 18 Febr. 2012.
The photos bring a rush of remembered emotions, a certain sence of regret but also loathing, relief and pain...the sort of pain experienced when something vulnerable could have been replaced, the fear that something human and very civilised will come back to me, still vividly remembering that rush of excitement all these years ago when I decided enough is enough, leave it all behind and do my own thing, Adios to the folks and a childhood gone completely wrong, travel across the egdes of this piece of mud, look for an early demise on the garbage heaps of this sorry excistence called Terra... didn't happen though with some sort of higher being convinced otherwise...
It all comes back with a vengance when I see the pics my Nongshao back home in the very cold of southern Holland, that boring province called Brabant where I grew up, uploaded 84 year old Dad blowing his birthday cake candles - whetet or not he managed to blow them all out seems unimportant here, really - instant recognition and the memories of a yought tried so hard to leave behind...
But Thailand is the land of day to day,no thoughts for tomorrow or was is past sence, hire my bicycle and cycle all day, live like the locals on a here and now utopia mental high, ignore modern technology, that Facebook nerd back in the good old US of A and sweet sweat, perspire under the harsh Thai sun, big drops of it rolling down my brow while I excercise and try hard to ban these images of an old man from a former life, blowing out candles on his number 84 birthday cake...
But then if that were all true sleep would come early tonight instead of not at all!!!
The photos bring a rush of remembered emotions, a certain sence of regret but also loathing, relief and pain...the sort of pain experienced when something vulnerable could have been replaced, the fear that something human and very civilised will come back to me, still vividly remembering that rush of excitement all these years ago when I decided enough is enough, leave it all behind and do my own thing, Adios to the folks and a childhood gone completely wrong, travel across the egdes of this piece of mud, look for an early demise on the garbage heaps of this sorry excistence called Terra... didn't happen though with some sort of higher being convinced otherwise...
It all comes back with a vengance when I see the pics my Nongshao back home in the very cold of southern Holland, that boring province called Brabant where I grew up, uploaded 84 year old Dad blowing his birthday cake candles - whetet or not he managed to blow them all out seems unimportant here, really - instant recognition and the memories of a yought tried so hard to leave behind...
But Thailand is the land of day to day,no thoughts for tomorrow or was is past sence, hire my bicycle and cycle all day, live like the locals on a here and now utopia mental high, ignore modern technology, that Facebook nerd back in the good old US of A and sweet sweat, perspire under the harsh Thai sun, big drops of it rolling down my brow while I excercise and try hard to ban these images of an old man from a former life, blowing out candles on his number 84 birthday cake...
But then if that were all true sleep would come early tonight instead of not at all!!!
Thursday, February 16, 2012
SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!!!
Trat, 17 febr. 2012.
The kind of look this skinny bloke gives ME probably makes women lament same-sex attraction though the man is Nada to write home about, his clothes falling of his too lean frame like they were potatoe sacks...smoke coming out of his nostrils despite the non-smoking sign on the front window of this mini-bus to Trat, nostrils that belong to a thin and long nose with a couple of bumbs on it making it pretty clear to me he got his orphanatory organ smashed on more than one occassion, probably giving other confirmed hetrosexual-oriented males the same sort of I Want You look, a pencil thin mustache riding a lipless mouth, his hands, long and bony, are marked with lesions that are probably a sign of the AIDS virus he is suffering from...a swagger to his gait as though his hero Numero Uno Freddie Mercury is constantly singing inside his bony head...
Not that I mind gays all that much, the more of them the merrier, less competition in the gene pool, major competition out of the breeding game!!!
Not that I am looking my best myself today...the Kloster drinking session with daughter number one Joy last night probably still clearly visible in the lines that streak my Farang face, my paint-spattered jeans and sweaty singlet, my hairy armpits transmiting the smell of stale beer, a three days' rubble of grayish beard on my chin...
Mister My Name Is AIDS inmediately starting a monoloque about young and willing cambodyan boys, never mind I am interested or not...five hours from Bangkok Ekkamai bus station to Trat, having to listen to this shit...SHIT,SHIT,SHIT!!!
The kind of look this skinny bloke gives ME probably makes women lament same-sex attraction though the man is Nada to write home about, his clothes falling of his too lean frame like they were potatoe sacks...smoke coming out of his nostrils despite the non-smoking sign on the front window of this mini-bus to Trat, nostrils that belong to a thin and long nose with a couple of bumbs on it making it pretty clear to me he got his orphanatory organ smashed on more than one occassion, probably giving other confirmed hetrosexual-oriented males the same sort of I Want You look, a pencil thin mustache riding a lipless mouth, his hands, long and bony, are marked with lesions that are probably a sign of the AIDS virus he is suffering from...a swagger to his gait as though his hero Numero Uno Freddie Mercury is constantly singing inside his bony head...
Not that I mind gays all that much, the more of them the merrier, less competition in the gene pool, major competition out of the breeding game!!!
Not that I am looking my best myself today...the Kloster drinking session with daughter number one Joy last night probably still clearly visible in the lines that streak my Farang face, my paint-spattered jeans and sweaty singlet, my hairy armpits transmiting the smell of stale beer, a three days' rubble of grayish beard on my chin...
Mister My Name Is AIDS inmediately starting a monoloque about young and willing cambodyan boys, never mind I am interested or not...five hours from Bangkok Ekkamai bus station to Trat, having to listen to this shit...SHIT,SHIT,SHIT!!!
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
A day at the Bangkok Zoo
Bangkok, 15 Febr. 2012.
People are born lyers, all the time and everywhere, not just the bad guys and the guilty, those who have something to hide or mabye, something to win...lying almost llike a opportunity activity, lie whenever the opportunity arrises, innocent people lie as do the those that have Nada to gain, whether they are mothers who have small children and are therefore supposed to be a parental role model, office dicks being King Prick in Pattaya lie about their sexual prowess and conquests though there is nothing to brag about their inmoral behaviour...I have heard grannies with silver-steaked hair lie like their was no tomorrow...almost like lying is embedded into the human genetic code!!!
Still, eavesdropping on my Thai table partners while I have my dinners, I find lying remarably absent in this Asian population's conversations, though gossip rules at any time..or else I have to seriously consider improving on my Thai!!!
Back at the Bangkok zoo I am surrounded by groups of Thai school children.all of whom want their portrait drawn, their white shirts and blue shorts or skirts falling modestly just across the knee caps reminding me a bit of the boarding school where I grew up...I really came here to sketch animals, a welcome distraction after a whole week of dragging my poor feet across this sweltering megapole, little Sois full with fast food stalls, locals and tourists alike being busy with their day to day affairs, often totally unaware of my quick drawings...animals are what was on my mind today when I bought my entrance tickets, vividly remembering the animals I take care of the voluntary way back home in Amsterdam, the petting zoo in Westerpark where I do my horse manure, cow dung, and pork shit shovelling two days a week...lots of kids and even more animal produced waste...
More parents, more school children, more facial kiddie drawings but Pas D'Animaux here in Bangkok!!!
People are born lyers, all the time and everywhere, not just the bad guys and the guilty, those who have something to hide or mabye, something to win...lying almost llike a opportunity activity, lie whenever the opportunity arrises, innocent people lie as do the those that have Nada to gain, whether they are mothers who have small children and are therefore supposed to be a parental role model, office dicks being King Prick in Pattaya lie about their sexual prowess and conquests though there is nothing to brag about their inmoral behaviour...I have heard grannies with silver-steaked hair lie like their was no tomorrow...almost like lying is embedded into the human genetic code!!!
Still, eavesdropping on my Thai table partners while I have my dinners, I find lying remarably absent in this Asian population's conversations, though gossip rules at any time..or else I have to seriously consider improving on my Thai!!!
Back at the Bangkok zoo I am surrounded by groups of Thai school children.all of whom want their portrait drawn, their white shirts and blue shorts or skirts falling modestly just across the knee caps reminding me a bit of the boarding school where I grew up...I really came here to sketch animals, a welcome distraction after a whole week of dragging my poor feet across this sweltering megapole, little Sois full with fast food stalls, locals and tourists alike being busy with their day to day affairs, often totally unaware of my quick drawings...animals are what was on my mind today when I bought my entrance tickets, vividly remembering the animals I take care of the voluntary way back home in Amsterdam, the petting zoo in Westerpark where I do my horse manure, cow dung, and pork shit shovelling two days a week...lots of kids and even more animal produced waste...
More parents, more school children, more facial kiddie drawings but Pas D'Animaux here in Bangkok!!!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The way I am!!!
Bangkok, 14 febr. 2012.
I feel a bit like a castoff in this excistence, always having considered life itself a major pain in the proverbial ass, my house nearly devoid of furniture, my biggest indulgence these last five or six years or so, an aquarium, some sort of sorry attempt to bring bring other living creatures into my home and life...
Hardly any photographs of relatives or the children I produced, the seed of my loins another major hassle to my daily affairs, loads of failed love affairs nothing to brag about...most of these ladies having thrown themselves into another relationship, married hastily, another daughter who I have hardly seen since her baby years...
As a parent I never practiced birth control!!!
Sitting here with Joy, drinking Kloster cold to the touch, being back in the Land Of The Thais, dreaming about my failed excistence but keeping my face straight and listening to her the stories of her happy life, no Farang tears here remembering the past, it all comes back, Somtam spicy and hot, Khao Pat Kung down my throat and drinking out in the street, some small little Soi off Thanon Si Lom while being surrounded by locals and another outcome of my sexual lust but never a real parent, consciously banning the smile and female giggles of yet another little spermatoide from my Phii and mind...
Memories a-plenty but always having shunned from my responsibilities, not even wanting to answer the phone when I see it is Paddie's number, always having run from friendship and intimate feelings of love and family...
Nongshao back home telling me about the sad state of health and mental consciousness Dad is in, not having seen Him for over twenty years nor wishing too any time soon...it is the way I am!!!
I feel a bit like a castoff in this excistence, always having considered life itself a major pain in the proverbial ass, my house nearly devoid of furniture, my biggest indulgence these last five or six years or so, an aquarium, some sort of sorry attempt to bring bring other living creatures into my home and life...
Hardly any photographs of relatives or the children I produced, the seed of my loins another major hassle to my daily affairs, loads of failed love affairs nothing to brag about...most of these ladies having thrown themselves into another relationship, married hastily, another daughter who I have hardly seen since her baby years...
As a parent I never practiced birth control!!!
Sitting here with Joy, drinking Kloster cold to the touch, being back in the Land Of The Thais, dreaming about my failed excistence but keeping my face straight and listening to her the stories of her happy life, no Farang tears here remembering the past, it all comes back, Somtam spicy and hot, Khao Pat Kung down my throat and drinking out in the street, some small little Soi off Thanon Si Lom while being surrounded by locals and another outcome of my sexual lust but never a real parent, consciously banning the smile and female giggles of yet another little spermatoide from my Phii and mind...
Memories a-plenty but always having shunned from my responsibilities, not even wanting to answer the phone when I see it is Paddie's number, always having run from friendship and intimate feelings of love and family...
Nongshao back home telling me about the sad state of health and mental consciousness Dad is in, not having seen Him for over twenty years nor wishing too any time soon...it is the way I am!!!
Friday, February 10, 2012
Isan ladies and fried grasshoppers
Bangkok, 10 Febr. 2012.
Then usual Bangkok air pollution is playing havoc on my lungs, a ice-cold beer would come in handy, still plenty of time before my scheduled appointment with the Enfant Terrible of the Dutch artworld Peter Klashorst, escape this pack of marlboro smoked air which is gray with dust, infiltrating heat waves that jam my lungs and nostrils producing brown saliva down my Farang throat...
This is Nana Plaza, this is Soi Cowboy, off Sukhumvit Road where small bars are plentifull and the girls everywhere, in search of a better life, where whoremongers the world over try hard to swallow enough beer to wash away a Western bred guild complex...but who am I to judge those that corrupt local women, those that exploit the innocent...or maybe better, I should see the other side, a tidal wave of female sex ripping over Western males that are so emotionally unbalanced they need that constant stream of Chang, Leo or Tiger beer...
Outside the sound waves of heavy traffic is like a horizon of eerie, unintelligible wave frequencies boucing off the windows of this Bar Beer place...sound waves that remind me of support beams attached to old Amsterdam houses tilting over...
Inside the sisterhood of Isan women next table try hard to gain my undivided attention, they want serious emotional attachment in exchanged for some purples, no doubt...girls that have grown up on a diet of sticky rice, Somtam and fried grasshoppers... a plastic bag of barbequed insects proving my point...one of the ladies arching her back to make sure her well curved breasts stand out like those of Miss Silicone Tits back in Pattaya, muncing away on fried grasshoppers, a skinny hopper's leg sticking out of her mouth, wringling, almost like kicking its leg while the lady keeps rotating her jaws, a well polished fingernail with glossy nail coloring delicately pushing the insect's protesting leg inside her mouth cavity, swallowing it with a loopy smile...
Shit, I need to get out of here !!!
Then usual Bangkok air pollution is playing havoc on my lungs, a ice-cold beer would come in handy, still plenty of time before my scheduled appointment with the Enfant Terrible of the Dutch artworld Peter Klashorst, escape this pack of marlboro smoked air which is gray with dust, infiltrating heat waves that jam my lungs and nostrils producing brown saliva down my Farang throat...
This is Nana Plaza, this is Soi Cowboy, off Sukhumvit Road where small bars are plentifull and the girls everywhere, in search of a better life, where whoremongers the world over try hard to swallow enough beer to wash away a Western bred guild complex...but who am I to judge those that corrupt local women, those that exploit the innocent...or maybe better, I should see the other side, a tidal wave of female sex ripping over Western males that are so emotionally unbalanced they need that constant stream of Chang, Leo or Tiger beer...
Outside the sound waves of heavy traffic is like a horizon of eerie, unintelligible wave frequencies boucing off the windows of this Bar Beer place...sound waves that remind me of support beams attached to old Amsterdam houses tilting over...
Inside the sisterhood of Isan women next table try hard to gain my undivided attention, they want serious emotional attachment in exchanged for some purples, no doubt...girls that have grown up on a diet of sticky rice, Somtam and fried grasshoppers... a plastic bag of barbequed insects proving my point...one of the ladies arching her back to make sure her well curved breasts stand out like those of Miss Silicone Tits back in Pattaya, muncing away on fried grasshoppers, a skinny hopper's leg sticking out of her mouth, wringling, almost like kicking its leg while the lady keeps rotating her jaws, a well polished fingernail with glossy nail coloring delicately pushing the insect's protesting leg inside her mouth cavity, swallowing it with a loopy smile...
Shit, I need to get out of here !!!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A silent rage
Bangkok, 09 Febr. 2012.
A bunch of old fat bellied Tommies in the middle of a Lagerloud conversation about the good old time, the days when a girl would stay all night for a mere 500 Baht, clean your room in the morning, go out shortly to fetch you a cup of Java and Wai you politely before leaving...finding her on the toilet's seat squating the old fashioned way when you wake up - no European toilet bowl back in the dusty Isan village she originates from...
Their huge hairy paws slashing the air whenever they try to make a point, reminding me a bit of a boxer's fists looking for a jaw or a belly landing zone...
In the middle of this Tommy sex tourist conversation at the next table, Joy is gleefully making her point, extracting three one hundert baht notes from her lady's wallet, pink colored by the way, and deftly spreading them out on the table which is filled with the left-overs of our dinner, five empty but still condensed bottles of Kloster beer,...
"Nong, Song, Sam Baht" She tells me, "it really is quite simple and I don't understand your friends find it so difficult to grasp the concept, three Thai banknotes of one hundert Baht...and this is called a purple", she adds taking yet another neat looking Thai baht note out of a well stocked wallet..."five hundert Baht, the color purple"...the connection her 300 Baht/ 500 Baht notes have got with next table's main topic of conversation is obviously beyond her
She is blissfully unaware of the tommy Lagerlouds at the next table whose attention has shifted to her well shaped legs dressed in red nylon stockings, a scarlet seam running down the back and disappaering into a pair of Gucci pattented high heeled platform shoes...my rage is silent within myself but growing...making me wonder, does it need to be your own flesh and blood before one realises the impact this crazy Thai export trade can have on the local's point of view concerning us the single male Farang???
A bunch of old fat bellied Tommies in the middle of a Lagerloud conversation about the good old time, the days when a girl would stay all night for a mere 500 Baht, clean your room in the morning, go out shortly to fetch you a cup of Java and Wai you politely before leaving...finding her on the toilet's seat squating the old fashioned way when you wake up - no European toilet bowl back in the dusty Isan village she originates from...
Their huge hairy paws slashing the air whenever they try to make a point, reminding me a bit of a boxer's fists looking for a jaw or a belly landing zone...
In the middle of this Tommy sex tourist conversation at the next table, Joy is gleefully making her point, extracting three one hundert baht notes from her lady's wallet, pink colored by the way, and deftly spreading them out on the table which is filled with the left-overs of our dinner, five empty but still condensed bottles of Kloster beer,...
"Nong, Song, Sam Baht" She tells me, "it really is quite simple and I don't understand your friends find it so difficult to grasp the concept, three Thai banknotes of one hundert Baht...and this is called a purple", she adds taking yet another neat looking Thai baht note out of a well stocked wallet..."five hundert Baht, the color purple"...the connection her 300 Baht/ 500 Baht notes have got with next table's main topic of conversation is obviously beyond her
She is blissfully unaware of the tommy Lagerlouds at the next table whose attention has shifted to her well shaped legs dressed in red nylon stockings, a scarlet seam running down the back and disappaering into a pair of Gucci pattented high heeled platform shoes...my rage is silent within myself but growing...making me wonder, does it need to be your own flesh and blood before one realises the impact this crazy Thai export trade can have on the local's point of view concerning us the single male Farang???
Monday, February 6, 2012
Duang Dow Dee, my destiny is still good
Pattaya, 07 Febr. 2012.
I strech out lazily on the crumpled bed watching Paddie putting on her black lace bra and Beige colored panties, her cel on the table and the TV turned on to the Thai love song channel...she is preparing herself for her early morning smoke and coffee in front of the New Star guesthouse watching the Soi come alive, her habit of starting a new day over she will return to the room, sex heavily on her mind, first the coffee and smoke then the adults-only game before breakie...
Tomorrow I will be off to bangkok, Adios to Paddie and our great time together, maybe also goodbey and Adieu to that endless narrative inside my Farang skull, no more daily uploads on the Sacred Internet, personal observations that need a way out, write about it and feel free...
Did I ever offend someone out there with my words, well, they are still a drag after all!!!
Maybe the Holy Pope, Benedictus living there in the capital of Phedophylic heaven, Vatican City...don't worry mate, rumour has it your global organistaion took the innocence of countless youngers but then God will judge your actions, right???
Maybe the puritan population of the good old US of A, but don't worry guys, your administration has ruled the world long enough, endless wars and worldwide bloodshed but still not a shred of improvement to take care of it...let the Chinese take over and see it make a better job out of it!!!
Fat chance these johns and punters being on their never-ending carnal hunt out here in Pattaya will feel offended by my boring stories...too much Chang and Thai p*ssy to occupy teir waking moments...
Probably didn't offend the Hot Momma clan members...after all, they are way too busy making the dough the horizontal way, pay for the room and get decended along the way, a hard drinker's sagging body and face the way of concrete, gaining twenty/thirty pound during a Putaza carreer in sin city...personal misery extinguishes all other misery, the wreckage of their lives only observable to themselves...
Still, rumour has it Duang Dow Dee, my personal destiny is still good...my overdamaged Khara still fit for repair!!!
I strech out lazily on the crumpled bed watching Paddie putting on her black lace bra and Beige colored panties, her cel on the table and the TV turned on to the Thai love song channel...she is preparing herself for her early morning smoke and coffee in front of the New Star guesthouse watching the Soi come alive, her habit of starting a new day over she will return to the room, sex heavily on her mind, first the coffee and smoke then the adults-only game before breakie...
Tomorrow I will be off to bangkok, Adios to Paddie and our great time together, maybe also goodbey and Adieu to that endless narrative inside my Farang skull, no more daily uploads on the Sacred Internet, personal observations that need a way out, write about it and feel free...
Did I ever offend someone out there with my words, well, they are still a drag after all!!!
Maybe the Holy Pope, Benedictus living there in the capital of Phedophylic heaven, Vatican City...don't worry mate, rumour has it your global organistaion took the innocence of countless youngers but then God will judge your actions, right???
Maybe the puritan population of the good old US of A, but don't worry guys, your administration has ruled the world long enough, endless wars and worldwide bloodshed but still not a shred of improvement to take care of it...let the Chinese take over and see it make a better job out of it!!!
Fat chance these johns and punters being on their never-ending carnal hunt out here in Pattaya will feel offended by my boring stories...too much Chang and Thai p*ssy to occupy teir waking moments...
Probably didn't offend the Hot Momma clan members...after all, they are way too busy making the dough the horizontal way, pay for the room and get decended along the way, a hard drinker's sagging body and face the way of concrete, gaining twenty/thirty pound during a Putaza carreer in sin city...personal misery extinguishes all other misery, the wreckage of their lives only observable to themselves...
Still, rumour has it Duang Dow Dee, my personal destiny is still good...my overdamaged Khara still fit for repair!!!
The idea of comfort and wh*res
Pattaya, 06 febr. 2012.
They say sex is comfort, it gives courage and confidence,it inspires one's feeling of being part of that fast crazy mess of the human species, a sort of human ritual that has its own independent morality...
For Pattaya's regular hardcore population of johns and punters, comfort is hardly part of the equation though...they consider the beach clan of females as thrown-away women, worthless beings whose only fuction in their Farang life is the sexual service rendered in exchange for a couple of reds, the normal feeling of respect for your fellow human being, the sence of moral pretty much absent by being away from home, friends and family, the idea of cheap sex with strangers from a far away land, be it ever so mysterious as King Bhumipol's Asian realm, a welcome diversion to the comfort of a regular life back home, slaving away for a boss maybe in a sweltering office, the office dick being King Prick here in sin city Pattaya...
Religion offers the comfort of a God, eternal life in the here-after and salvation of your inmortal soul...cheap sex in the arms of a Pattaya's hookers offers a moment's respite of physical tension, but also the male Macho sensation of the aforementioned King Prick, boast about it at Moos after the three red shorttime is over...
Still. despite the generalisations from the folks back home, you being a sex tourist, exploiting a trade that goes back centuries before the colonial tourist conquest of South-East Asia, no shadow of a doubt by your mates and the farang ladies back home that your physical comfort can be transformed into another person's pain...
Still, there is uniformity in the matters of this sex trade, a farmer's girl can choose to work the chicken farms and has her lungs clogged up within ten years, rendered useless early in her Asian life, but still has a choice...after all, considering local salaries these girls are exceptionally well paid for their services rendered, can leave anytime they want, quit the Go-Go club and decide to work in a factory for a meagre three ot four reds a day, twelve hours out of the twenty-four, return to the rice fields or become a Mhe Baan instead...
As for comfort...it is just an illusion inside the heads of life in farang Land, a strange concept living like a virus inside the gray brain cells of those never having been to the Land Of Smiles!!!
They say sex is comfort, it gives courage and confidence,it inspires one's feeling of being part of that fast crazy mess of the human species, a sort of human ritual that has its own independent morality...
For Pattaya's regular hardcore population of johns and punters, comfort is hardly part of the equation though...they consider the beach clan of females as thrown-away women, worthless beings whose only fuction in their Farang life is the sexual service rendered in exchange for a couple of reds, the normal feeling of respect for your fellow human being, the sence of moral pretty much absent by being away from home, friends and family, the idea of cheap sex with strangers from a far away land, be it ever so mysterious as King Bhumipol's Asian realm, a welcome diversion to the comfort of a regular life back home, slaving away for a boss maybe in a sweltering office, the office dick being King Prick here in sin city Pattaya...
Religion offers the comfort of a God, eternal life in the here-after and salvation of your inmortal soul...cheap sex in the arms of a Pattaya's hookers offers a moment's respite of physical tension, but also the male Macho sensation of the aforementioned King Prick, boast about it at Moos after the three red shorttime is over...
Still. despite the generalisations from the folks back home, you being a sex tourist, exploiting a trade that goes back centuries before the colonial tourist conquest of South-East Asia, no shadow of a doubt by your mates and the farang ladies back home that your physical comfort can be transformed into another person's pain...
Still, there is uniformity in the matters of this sex trade, a farmer's girl can choose to work the chicken farms and has her lungs clogged up within ten years, rendered useless early in her Asian life, but still has a choice...after all, considering local salaries these girls are exceptionally well paid for their services rendered, can leave anytime they want, quit the Go-Go club and decide to work in a factory for a meagre three ot four reds a day, twelve hours out of the twenty-four, return to the rice fields or become a Mhe Baan instead...
As for comfort...it is just an illusion inside the heads of life in farang Land, a strange concept living like a virus inside the gray brain cells of those never having been to the Land Of Smiles!!!
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Why does a dog lick its balls?
Pattaya, 04 Febr. 2012.
Good old Paddie is insatiable and keeps me awake for hours demanding hot and steamy sex, three years of abstinence has to be taken care of by crazy old me...I really have to flee for Bangkok soon I guess!!!
Still, here in sin city Pattaya I still find myself in the midst of mass carnal carnage where the regulars, the hardcore Farang team will often be on the Songtheam early morning to check out the new arrivals on the overnight bus from Kon Kean, keeping one's personally acquiered newbie intelligence to oneself, check the girls out, ride them in the bareback way before going public, boasting about your latest conquests at Moos, in front of the Seven/11 the way only we males from Farang Land can...
Today is sunday so the hunting for ringers, as the regular crwod uses to call these Isan Ladies, should be excellent, a bit like a soldier's mentality almost, introduce them to the genito-urinary hall of Farang fame...
New girls to the scene that are so undereducated they believe AIDS is a germ and can therefore be taken care of with half a bottle of tooth cleansing Listerine, the stuff you gargle with you know, a vaginal Douce and the germ goes the way of no return...isn't that a locical part after all...third world knowledge by the Hot momma clan of females.
No matter how many new names you have on your personal list of Thai prostitutes, your destiny remains in Pattaya, return each and every year, work your Farang ass off back home and continue your Kharma reducing work...
We are after all more animal-like as we would prefer to admit...a bit like why does a dog lick its balls? Just because it can, plain and simple...
still, I wonder how these highly sought after new arrivals feel, coming off the bus and facing that legion of fat bellied, semi-drunk elderly Farang hardcore males, about to zoom in for the kill, the way only a shark can spotting whittish human meat studiply taking a swim in its territory...do they see a bunch of Phra Phum devils sent from Lord Buddha's hell, stumpling back into the bus, gasping for air, feeling like a life time trauma, a punishment from a bad earlier reincarnation is about to visit them in the here and now, divine punishment coming from uncivilized Farang Land...
They have years of trying to understand the minds and its mental workings of horny Farang males, ahead of them...maybe better to keep in mind the age old question...why does a dog lik its balls?
Good old Paddie is insatiable and keeps me awake for hours demanding hot and steamy sex, three years of abstinence has to be taken care of by crazy old me...I really have to flee for Bangkok soon I guess!!!
Still, here in sin city Pattaya I still find myself in the midst of mass carnal carnage where the regulars, the hardcore Farang team will often be on the Songtheam early morning to check out the new arrivals on the overnight bus from Kon Kean, keeping one's personally acquiered newbie intelligence to oneself, check the girls out, ride them in the bareback way before going public, boasting about your latest conquests at Moos, in front of the Seven/11 the way only we males from Farang Land can...
Today is sunday so the hunting for ringers, as the regular crwod uses to call these Isan Ladies, should be excellent, a bit like a soldier's mentality almost, introduce them to the genito-urinary hall of Farang fame...
New girls to the scene that are so undereducated they believe AIDS is a germ and can therefore be taken care of with half a bottle of tooth cleansing Listerine, the stuff you gargle with you know, a vaginal Douce and the germ goes the way of no return...isn't that a locical part after all...third world knowledge by the Hot momma clan of females.
No matter how many new names you have on your personal list of Thai prostitutes, your destiny remains in Pattaya, return each and every year, work your Farang ass off back home and continue your Kharma reducing work...
We are after all more animal-like as we would prefer to admit...a bit like why does a dog lick its balls? Just because it can, plain and simple...
still, I wonder how these highly sought after new arrivals feel, coming off the bus and facing that legion of fat bellied, semi-drunk elderly Farang hardcore males, about to zoom in for the kill, the way only a shark can spotting whittish human meat studiply taking a swim in its territory...do they see a bunch of Phra Phum devils sent from Lord Buddha's hell, stumpling back into the bus, gasping for air, feeling like a life time trauma, a punishment from a bad earlier reincarnation is about to visit them in the here and now, divine punishment coming from uncivilized Farang Land...
They have years of trying to understand the minds and its mental workings of horny Farang males, ahead of them...maybe better to keep in mind the age old question...why does a dog lik its balls?
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Even Soi dogs can't be that depraved
Pattaya, 02 febr. 2012.
I seem to loose track of time and dimensions, my poor Phii going into overdrive, my already overstreched Kharma going haywire...
I sit around with the circle of regulars, the hardcore Pattaya visitors who have seen the scene played out hunderts of times, men who know the score, old johns who can no longer be deceived by love and sentiment, male Europeans cured of romance, who rattle of the sex menu in advance, three reds for a shorttime, maybe add another red for the absence of the dreaded rubber, Russian roulette no longer a testimony to their physical routine...maybe the 5 % discount and 7 % refund for tourists that are being advertised at Pattaya's Festival, the latest shopping mall adventure for foreign investors, though I find it hard to explain that back at Suvarnibhumi's airport immigration officials...shit, even Soi dogs can't be that depraved!!!
Maybe a drunk whore, slurring her words for two reds and a cheap bottle Lao Khao, a woman who has forgotten her whereabouts, where she has been and where she is going next...
Really, if the holy pope Benedictus in Rome's Vatican City did come to this Sodom and Gomorra hellhole, we would all be in serious danger of eternal hell, even though Mister Holiness Himself is rumoured to be at the head of the world's biggest child abuse organisation mankind has ever know...
I watch Paddie combing her hair, trying hard to forget the endless narrative churning itself through my gray brain cells, doing serious damage to my Phii and Kharma, neurons and chemical reactions causing havoc to my mental state of Farang health...she has come back to Pattaya, come back into my life, remembering hours of steaming and tenderly love making, something remembered from a thousand love affairs with crazy Farang like me but a Number One absence in her life these last three years before meeting me one week ago...
I seem to loose track of time and dimensions, my poor Phii going into overdrive, my already overstreched Kharma going haywire...
I sit around with the circle of regulars, the hardcore Pattaya visitors who have seen the scene played out hunderts of times, men who know the score, old johns who can no longer be deceived by love and sentiment, male Europeans cured of romance, who rattle of the sex menu in advance, three reds for a shorttime, maybe add another red for the absence of the dreaded rubber, Russian roulette no longer a testimony to their physical routine...maybe the 5 % discount and 7 % refund for tourists that are being advertised at Pattaya's Festival, the latest shopping mall adventure for foreign investors, though I find it hard to explain that back at Suvarnibhumi's airport immigration officials...shit, even Soi dogs can't be that depraved!!!
Maybe a drunk whore, slurring her words for two reds and a cheap bottle Lao Khao, a woman who has forgotten her whereabouts, where she has been and where she is going next...
Really, if the holy pope Benedictus in Rome's Vatican City did come to this Sodom and Gomorra hellhole, we would all be in serious danger of eternal hell, even though Mister Holiness Himself is rumoured to be at the head of the world's biggest child abuse organisation mankind has ever know...
I watch Paddie combing her hair, trying hard to forget the endless narrative churning itself through my gray brain cells, doing serious damage to my Phii and Kharma, neurons and chemical reactions causing havoc to my mental state of Farang health...she has come back to Pattaya, come back into my life, remembering hours of steaming and tenderly love making, something remembered from a thousand love affairs with crazy Farang like me but a Number One absence in her life these last three years before meeting me one week ago...
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
International antropolgists with a h*rd-on obsession
Pattaya, 02 Febr. 2012.
People from all over the world come to Pattaya, mostly males though with a wed appetite for Thai p*ssy, and the Hot Momma tribe servicing them, scenting the smell of Thai Baht about to come loose and zooming in for the kill...
Ekderly fat bellied European men wanting to play Russian roulette with what they consider monkey-brained undereducated females, f*ck the dreaded rubber and get laid as often as possible in a, say, three weeks of absolute delight holiday...tell the folks back home you are on some kind of study project, maybe a university research or a hilltribe trek up north near Changmai, nothing so select as trying to understand your understanding of local primitive cultures...
The truth might be a bit different, though, running around in a pair of ragged shorts and a sweaty chang beer stained T-shirts, on a mad search for a continuation of prostitutional shorttime affairs, add to that list that started years back, pattaya and its clan of local p*ssies being quite addictive...
in between lays talk about different postions with your mates, do you enjoy taking a woman from behind or are you an Aficionado of the church's approved missionary style, the crazy pope in Vatican City would go bonkers on a reliciously funded visit to sin city Pattaya, hail be to the Christian god and destroy Sodom and Gomorra...
Another fatso walking home, holding hands with yet another petite member of the Hot Momma Sisterhood, a bony chest dripping with sweat beneath an unbuttoned shirt, another antropologist with a h*rd-on drive...maybe he too belongs to the cult of Doggy Fasion, wants to declare war on the Sisters Of Mercy back home in the good old US of f*cking puritan A...after all, the rear attack is our god given blessed right, our inheritance from our ape like ancestors...
The endless narrative inside my poor Farang skull is still not at an end, I guess, my stories maybe useless and boring but will most likely continue for some time...
People from all over the world come to Pattaya, mostly males though with a wed appetite for Thai p*ssy, and the Hot Momma tribe servicing them, scenting the smell of Thai Baht about to come loose and zooming in for the kill...
Ekderly fat bellied European men wanting to play Russian roulette with what they consider monkey-brained undereducated females, f*ck the dreaded rubber and get laid as often as possible in a, say, three weeks of absolute delight holiday...tell the folks back home you are on some kind of study project, maybe a university research or a hilltribe trek up north near Changmai, nothing so select as trying to understand your understanding of local primitive cultures...
The truth might be a bit different, though, running around in a pair of ragged shorts and a sweaty chang beer stained T-shirts, on a mad search for a continuation of prostitutional shorttime affairs, add to that list that started years back, pattaya and its clan of local p*ssies being quite addictive...
in between lays talk about different postions with your mates, do you enjoy taking a woman from behind or are you an Aficionado of the church's approved missionary style, the crazy pope in Vatican City would go bonkers on a reliciously funded visit to sin city Pattaya, hail be to the Christian god and destroy Sodom and Gomorra...
Another fatso walking home, holding hands with yet another petite member of the Hot Momma Sisterhood, a bony chest dripping with sweat beneath an unbuttoned shirt, another antropologist with a h*rd-on drive...maybe he too belongs to the cult of Doggy Fasion, wants to declare war on the Sisters Of Mercy back home in the good old US of f*cking puritan A...after all, the rear attack is our god given blessed right, our inheritance from our ape like ancestors...
The endless narrative inside my poor Farang skull is still not at an end, I guess, my stories maybe useless and boring but will most likely continue for some time...
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