Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 316

PATTAYA GARY

Greetings Dana fans and all resident and tourist men in Thailand. This is an open letter to notify you of an up-and-coming event you may have an interest in. To wit:

My best friend in the whole world is Pattaya Gary. He used to be Phuket Gary but there was some kind of an issue with a beautiful Thai lady and her father so he quickly became Pattaya Gary. Timing is everything. Anyway, we are best buddies.
Pals. Friends. Blood brothers. Ok, so far it's kind of a one way thing. Pattaya Gary is my best buddy and pal and friend, and he hardly knows I'm alive. But that's not really the point. The point is that I wish I was Pattaya Gary.
If I could ask the God I don't believe in for anything I would say:

"Please, please God; make me like Pattaya Gary."

actually, it would probably go more like this:

"Please, please God; make me like Pattaya Gary. Holy suffering angels and Christ on a cracker make me just like Pattaya Gary. I'm begging you God. I'm on my knees big guy. I'm slobbering like a soi dog with rabies. Please
please make me Pattaya Gary and I will never ask you for anything else again. And the stuff I already asked you for in the past? You can just cancel that stuff. Just make me into Pattaya Gary. Now I am not without powers of thought God and I realize
it may be inconvenient to have two Pattaya Garys. Ok, you figure it out and I'll just go with whatever the plan is. Just please please please please give me a chance of happiness on Earth. Please, please God; make me Pattaya Gary.

And God, if we could have a candid human-to-God moment? No cruisin' big fella. No second rate work on this. You know all that sand you made? Sand all over the world? Every particle of sand is not perfect and you are God. Get me? You
were just phoning it in on some of that sand. Same with the beetles. Tip over a leaf and there is a beetle. Billions of beetles. But are all of the different beetles work you can be proud of? Come on sport, it's the Danameister speaking.
You can't fool me. You've got some second rate beetles out there. And flightless birds? The ostrich? Come on God–whose going to stamp In God We Trust on that mistake? So find the original blueprints on Pattaya Gary and make me into
an exact copy. No cruisin' on this. If Gary has 2,714 pubic hairs that is how many I want. Don't make me count. Anyway, God; please make me into Pattaya Gary."

Why? Because he is the most man who has ever lived, that's why. He is every unreasonable fourteen year old girl's dream and he is every unreasonable fourteen year old boy's dream. Six foot four inches tall in his bare feet,
jet black hair combed straight back, emerald green eyes, high cheek bones, mahogany face, full lips with a hint of black in the coloring, ropey veins, ass cheeks that can crush beer cans, a dick that can sweep the bottles and glasses and drinks
right off the bar, a thirty inch waist with a fifty-four inch chest, abdominal muscles you can strike a match on, and pectoral muscles you can beat on with a ballpean hammer. When he is standing in a bathing suit his thigh muscles look like sacks
of snakes, and his foreskin has a tattoo that says:

"Real men don't lift weights–real men are born this way."

I have never, never, never, not even one time seen him without a woman. They are magnetically attracted to him. I have to pay women to get them to smile at me, Gary has to pay them to go away. Watch him walk into the Marine Bar in Pattaya
any night and you will witness Darwin's ultimate example of evolution. Every woman will leave every man she is with and go to Gary. He smiles his easy panther smile of perfect white teeth, wraps his long arms and big hands around them, and
everyone is happy. Even the men now without their wives and their girlfriends are happy. Gary is the love machine. Everybody loves Gary.

To watch him walking down Waking Street at night is to see an animal without insecurity or agenda. Green eyes, panther gait, high cheekbones, gaunt cheeks, full lips, big hands and feet, flat stomach and never has a female companion admonished
him by saying:

"You think too mutt."

Gary can think but it is usually not necessary. Because of his physical gifts it has not been necessary for my pal Gary to develop his brain. Oh, he's smart all right but he does not really need to be. Let's put it this way. When
he was growing up in the state of Texas in the United States at the age of fourteen women in the community would be driving by his house asking if he needed a ride. To anywhere. Maybe to their house. So Gary is not a slave to structured, scientific
method, Roman numeral outline thinking. But when he does get an idea it's a doozy. A corker. A brain freeze. A conversation stopper.

Last week he was on the boardwalk in Pattaya across from the Royal Cruise Hotel juggling (three Thai ladies at once) when like an errant asteroid an idea crashed into his head. I was there. I witnessed it. I was the first person he told the
idea to. And what was Gary's idea? You better sit down Dana fans: this will make your dick go limp as you struggle with and retool all that you know about the Kingdom and farang-Thai relationships. As I lay out the details of his idea I believe
you will agree with me that his idea is in the What the Fxxx category.

His idea was to hold annual reunions of all of his ex-girlfriends. It would be a once a year party at which people could review the past, behave in a thoughtful adult way, forget regrets and jealousies and recriminations and broken promises,
celebrate someone else's happiness, put a PAID IN FULL next to real or imagined debts, and have their pictures taken with Gary. All the Hi-So Thai magazines would be there with reporters and photographers, the Pattayamail newspaper would
send a reporter and a photographer; and of course, Stickman would send in a stringer. People would mix and mingle, review past hopes and dreams and love affairs, engage in philosophical repartee, and trade phone numbers.

The beautiful Thai lady would come up from Phuket, the Soi 16 star dancer with the killer body and the squash nose would be there, nameless boardwalk cruisers would knock on the door, the Liar would show (at least she would say that she would
show), every female from the Marine Bar would troop over, the Thief would show with her mother and they would both be carrying huge empty purses, the two women who insisted that their babies were Gary's babies would get past front door and
balcony door security, and the Hi-So wonder from the Q-Bar with the highranking policeman father would bribe her way in. The 'good girl' who played Gary like a violin and tried to get him to buy her land would be at the party and of
course the Numbers would be there. Numbers? Yes, you know; Number 17 and Number 9, and Number 83, and Number 15 from the Superbabies Bar in Pattaya, Numbers 32, 14, 21, 27, 46, and 11 from the Rainbow Bar in Bangkok, Number 49 from the Kiss Me
Kwik Bar on Second Road, and Numbers 28, 3, 42, 119, 54, 12, and 116 from the Buffalo Bar on Third Road. All of the last numbers by-the-way were wait staff who do not go with customers. No woman can say no to Gary. Then there were the other kind
of 'numbers' that he had me call. Phone numbers in his rolodex with number notations next to each name. Ex: Min was a 6, Toon was an 8, Foomy was a 7.5, Nan was a 10, etc. On a scale of 1-10 one of the ladies named Benz was an 11. Gary
said he would make that call himself. I didn't argue. Anyway, it took me all afternoon on his penthouse landscaped balcony to make the calls. There were two naked women in his pool. Just sayin' is all. Anyway, all the ladies I was able
to contact said that they would come. Some screamed at me. Some of them cried. With Gary it's all about the love. One of the ladies I contacted by phone was the mamasan at the Tweety Bird Underpants Bar on South Street. She and Gary had never
done boom-boom, or yum-yum, or ow-ow; but she had helped him with certain cartoon character underpant issues for special girlfriends so Gary wanted her to come too. That's the kind of guy he is.

Then he delegated the Soi 6 invites to Chiang Mai Kelly. It was his job to rent an open backed truck, go bar to bar, and just bring everyone on the theory that Gary had probably porked them and he did not want to leave anyone out. That's
my Gary, the man I wish I was. In Bangkok, the Mothership lounge lizard known as 500 Baht Walt was instructed to charter a bus and bring all the hallway, lobby, and parking lot girls. When word got out 500 Baht Walt had to get Union Hill and Turk's
Fist to get two more buses because all the girls at the N.E.P. across the street wanted to come. Another job of mine was to get in touch with Gary's special list of tranny trash. I think we can all agree that it's not a party until giant
wing wangs start waving around. Just sayin'. I know what some of you are thinkin'. You are thinking how is there going to be enough room for all those people at Gary's place? Gary's apartment is a three floor penthouse unit
of 30,000 square feet plus roof deck and balcony pool. There'll be enough room. Come on . . . it's Pattaya Gary man.

A note of warning: if you are an expat or a new tourist just off the plane and you manage to get an invitation to this annual reunion of Pattaya Gary's ex-girlfriends do not, whatever you do, make eye contact with Oy. Oy was originally
from Phuket and followed Gary to Pattaya. She did not follow my friend Gary to Pattaya out of commitment or love or need. She followed him to Pattaya because she likes to beat three-legged dogs with sticks, back over roadkill, and take husbands
from wives. She's a half-Japanese half-Thai sex bombshell who has never heard the word No from a man in her life. A killer. A destroyer. A black hole of sexuality that sucks in men like cosmic dust. Gary is frightened of her. You should be
terrified. If you make the mistake of making eye contact with her you will become a human fruit stand and she will become a tank tread monster shooting German 88 shells at you. You have been warned. Anyway, I think this annual reunion party of
Pattaya Gary's ex-girlfriends is a great idea. It represents hope triumphing over experience, a belief in the basic goodness of womankind, and a commitment to inclusion–everyone can come together under the Gary tent and smile and be happy.

No, wait a minute; reality check: what am I saying? Look, don't get me wrong; I love Gary more than the smile on my daughter's face (if I had a daughter) but this reunion idea is whacked. Stupid. Retarded. Loony. Crazy. All these
women in one room plus Gary and myself and Chiang Mai Kelly and 500 Baht Walt and Union Hill and Turk's Fist and some expats who have come by to see the trainwreck? Philosophic thoughts, adult behavior, forgotten regrets and recriminations,
no jealous behavior? PAID IN FULL put to real or imagined debts? Who is kidding who? Or whom? Anyway, who has been sucking up white lines off of a glass topped coffee table? This is a social bomb and it is going to go off. Fun though. If you get
an invitation come with a video camera and remember, do not make eye contact with Oy.

True Fact: I once saw Oy lean over to the wife of a tourist couple lifting a fork full of fish to her mouth in the German Hopf Brew restaurant on Beach Road in Pattaya and say:

"I could take your husband away from you right now."

At the time a Filipina cover band was playing Beatles songs. Oy started dancing in front of the husband. Gary picked her up and carried her out.

Another time she and I were waiting for the Skytrain at the Nana station on a blistering hot, center of the sun hot, magnifying glass on the back of your neck hot day when she turned to me and said:

"Do you want to have sex with me? I'll give you a freebie."

I didn't say anything. I didn't say Yes and I didn't say No. I didn't even turn my head. Too frightened. It pays to know your limits and walking into that wall of flame was not going to be good for me. Like I said, it
pays to know your limits; and it will pay you to keep an eye on this website where the month and the day and the time and the location of Pattaya Gary's annual ex-girlfriend reunion party will be published. See you there.

Sincerely yours,
Dana

Stickman's thoughts:

Very nice words about a very nice man.