Stickman's guide to Bangkok
Hot Thai Midget Chicks Wanted For After Work Fun!
I suppose that got your attention, huh? You pervs!
The night market bazaar, or as I call it, The Night's Bizarre Market, can be a fun night out on occasion here in Surin. Seems there is just about any goddamned thing for sale here. Not that I ever buy much as the wife and I stroll along the blocked off to traffic soi where they hold this every evening. I go mostly for the great foods on sale there. I love the stall that sells the pork satay sticks with peanut sauce and sweet cucumber and onion relish/salad. At two baht a stick a hundred baht gets you quite a feast, and these things are very tasty! Moo sahtick as the wife calls these delicacies. Plus just before where the street is closed off is the best damned bakery in the city, where I can pick up two loaves of delicious French bread for a pittance, if the other fat-assed farangs living up here haven't bought the place empty that is. It's hit or miss there, and sometimes I go away empty-handed, and pissed off if the shelves are bare of this manna from the gods. A farang needs his bread after a week or two of rice and noodles as his daily fare and carbohydrate intake. Seriously. You begin to feel weak and disoriented without some good bread once in a while! Just imagine eating nothing but take out Chinese every meal, every day, for two weeks, and they never give you those little tasty rolls they usually put in the bag with your takeout, that'll give you an idea of how much you'd miss the bread after a while. We farang are raised on bread as our staple, just as Thais are raised on their rice. My wife says if she doesn't get her daily fix of Surin rice she's likely to take ill, and she's as serious as a heart attack when she says this.
This bizarre bazaar and marketplace has the usual Isaan street vendor fare you see outside Nanaplaza of a night's carousing, sans the hamburger stand, sadly enough. Haven't found hamburgers yet for sale in Surin, more's the pity. Sorry, but after a few weeks of only pork, chicken and seafoods and greens a burger sure would be nice once a month to break the monotony, or a fucking nice thick juicy beef steak!
Everything I've seen for sale that is labeled beef in the Makro Superstore meat market sure as hell doesn't look like beef to this red blooded, beef eating, coronary be damned, Yankee wayfarer! Looks like water buffalo meat to me, or liver actually, or that brahma bull beef. I might break down and buy some this week though and grill it over a charcoal fire, and see how it compares. Why the hell not?
Strange and exotic aromas fill the night air, and tantilize your nose with their enticing, or slightly repugnant and decidedly odd, odoriferous offerings. Durian scent fills the balmy breezes with it's, not-to-be-brought-into-a-hotel-under-penalty-of-death-by-management, ripe scent, and frying oils sizzle and perfume the area surrounding you. A sudden flash of steam rising from the sidewalk cooking woks nearby descends upon you in a cloud, setting your stomach to grumbling in hunger, even though you just ate some rice and stuff just an hour ago. Chinese food syndrome it is, and it applies to Thai food as well it seems. You are hungry again, barely an hour after eating a shitload of rice, and start eyeing the wares and victuals that abound in the stalls and carts lining the street on all sides. One guy sounds like he's yelling in advertisement of his goodies, "Get chyer bugs here! Nice hot fried bugs! 20 baht a kilo! Get chyer bugs here!" like the hotdog vendors in Fenway Park during a Red Sox world series game, that will sadly, once again, not come to pass. Fuck Babe Ruth and the Yankees I say! Curse the freakin' curse! "Hey pal, ya want mustard with them grasshoppers?" Sigh. No, but I'll take a chili dog if you have one, friend. Hot dogs they have here, but if you wonder what the hell are in your dogs in the states, imagine the thoughts of what is in the ones here in Thailand that'll pass through your mind, as they pass through your gastrointestinal tract late at night!
The wife wanders off to some stall, looking at some crap you'd find in a five and dime store fifty years ago. Woolworth's Five and Dime, in an Isaan bizarre bazaar, the wares looking extremely dusty, and at least fifty years old. Where do they get this shit to sell anyways? A whole stall nearby is dedicated to camouflage clothing. I stop and look at the gear for my son who plays paintball war games. Cheap enough really. Now if I can just find his size, as he lifts weights for hours a day like a pro wrestler, and has the shoulders, arms and chest that go with doing this. Most sizes here are in the smaller end. "Hey friend, you have anything in L or XL?" I ask the guy through my wife's interpreting skills. "He say only have S and M." the wife informs me. "Well, I'd prefer some B and D!" I joke with the wife, "I'm not into S and M really." The joke goes over her head. Probably for the better I think.
"What you say darling?" she squints up to me in confusion. "Never mind. Just a stupid joke." I toss to her in resignation, as she wrinkles her petite snub Isaan nose and smiles blankly at me. "What joke mean?" she asks, curious. "Well, it's a bit too involved to explain here, dear, in public. Maybe I can explain later in our bedroom using visual aids, and the proper props, darling. You game?" A look of dawning comprehension crosses her brow, and she scowls charmingly up at me and says, "This joke about boom boom, huh?" The vendor watches us with an uncomprehending look on his puss. I look down at her and grin my most devilish grin, and wiggle my eyebrows at her, saying in a leering tone, "But of course! What other kind of jokes are there, tilac?" She goes off on a tirade, sweet voiced and lilting, in that sing song way they have, but a tirade all the same. "Why you always joke boom boom? Why you speak boom boom too mutt? Always think boom boom!" and on and on she goes, off to the races. The vendor seems to have understood at least one thing in English. Boom boom. I can see it in the ever widening grin on his face. Fucking eavesdropper he is. Hmmmmm, I think to myself. She wasn't so adverse to my boom boom talking last night while she was tearing my back to ribbons with her claws. I put these thoughts to voice, and, after she looks around herself to see if anyone heard me, and understood, a bit stunned, she grins a shy sexy Lao grin, and hits me, pretty hard actually for a small woman, calls me crazy, and stomps off wiggling her ass to see if there are any other ancient five and dime wares to be ogled over. I notice the vendor's eyes following her ass as she wiggles away, and say menacingly to him, "Hey! I'm standing right here, bub! Be a little more respectful will ya? Sheesh!!! Friggin' hornball." and sidle away down the soi after her, eyeing the puying (women) eye candy streaming past me since she, the wife that is, is in front of me, and I'm not likely to get caught out.
My lass stops at a food stall and waits for me. I shuffle up next to her and she looks at me and asks, "You hungry darling?" I notice she's stopped at a place that sells the fried chicken and spicy sauce that I like so much. I surmise she wasn't really mad at me, and respond favorably that I'd love some food. I glance at the lady working the stall behind the glass and chrome wheeled counter and notice she's quite the looker. Wow! Very pretty face here! My wife rattles off our order to this beauty queen of a woman and she moves away and starts gathering our impending feast.
I'm shocked! The lady, who I had thought was squatting on a stool behind the counter, had just turned and walked over to the place the chicken was sitting in the bin. What the hell! Is she walking on her knees fer chrissakes?!! The wife continued to look over the wares and give food orders to the lady. I lit a smoke, stepping away from my wife, out of consideration to a known non-smoker, and also to a spot where I could see behind the counter area. Jesus Christ! The woman's a fucking midget I notice. A gorgeous, totally in proportion, well her legs were a bit short actually, but nothing to moan about, midget, with a nice ass and decent tits, really decent tits if you want to know. I'd never seen a midget so well proportioned. Not that I do see that many midgets to compare in a scientific manner, but this was the shortest gorgeous woman I'd ever seen. She couldn't have been taller then my sternum if she stood in front of me, maybe, maybe, four feet tall she was.
Something stirred in my jeans and I was off into that never never land of sexual daydreams that Godzilla, my pet prick, is sometimes pulling me into. Imagine a bed full of lasses her size! What you could do with them! A big bottle of oil and a few of these naked well-formed midget beauties and it's off to the oiled midget wrassling contest!! Imagine the stories you could tell your perverted friends. I fucked five midget Miss Thailand's in an orgy of oil and tits and ass! My mind boggled! I ogled, and dreamed some more as I took another drag on my cigarette. A fucking pervert in his glory.
Eventually the lady finished our order and the wife paid. She came over by me and said, "What you thinking? What you look?" I started, a bit guiltily I might add, and, wiping the drool from my chin, said, "What? Nuthin' darling. Just thinking."
We started to walk away. The wife said, "You thinking something. I know." I grinned and queried her in an innocent voice, "Did you see how small that lady was? I've never seen a lady that small before. Do you think she's from some mountain tribe? Maybe Lisu or something?"
We continued our stroll through the bizarre Isaan bazaar. It took a while for my hard on to subside. Luckily my wife never noticed.
I'm a sick man I think. It's all so very bizarre!
The Central Scrutinizer
More magic from Cent.
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