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Flying In Surin – The Simple Life

  • Written by Cent
  • January 22nd, 2004
  • 8 min read



The days flow past in a lazy and tranquil repose. We wake early and share the chores. Although it has taken a while for her to get used to a man helping about, she now seems okay with a little help here and there. I hope I've not spoiled the wench. Water is heated for our "hot showers". The hot water machine is plugged in for our 3 in 1 instant Nescafe mugs of coffee. Sounds gross I know, but actually it's kinda tasty. Funny what you get used to after a while. Breakfast and lunch is prepared for look sow's (daughter's) day of schooling at Muangsurin School. The radio is turned low to a Surin radio station playing Isaan songs of love lost and unrequited, "look tuhng" music. Crickets still chirp merrily in the strengthening dawn light. It's early! I light the first cigarette of the day, and grab a seat at my daughter's desk. With a flashy red pen in hand I scribble my thoughts and deeds onto a lined pad of school paper I've swiped from my daughter's school supplies . She owes me one. Her and her friend Sara used my last pad to color on, the little brats! I pen my promised hour's verse every morning, as I had promised myself to do this time over. Except Sundays of course, my day of rest. (As if I need a day of rest here.) Although I'm not a religious man I agree that one day a week is needed to do absolutely nothing. I do nothing but read both the Bangkok Post and The Nation, and relax over eggs, coffee, marmalade and toast. It's my way of keeping the Lord's day a holy one. Being an agnostic I get to choose which holy edicts I wish to follow. I also choose not to murder or steal, at least for today. As I can only remember one other commandment, the one about not coveting thy neighbor's wife, which I don't, she's not that pretty, I figure I'm doing my holy best. And please, don't clue me in to the rest of the commandments. I prefer to remain ignorant. It's taken me a long time to forget what the certainly damned nuns and priests beat int o my pointy, evil, little head. Ignorance truly is bliss. I'd like to stay blissful, thank you.

The cool early morning November Surin air wafts in through the open glass slider doors, ruffling the oddly printed, god awful colored, window curtains my lovely lass chose for the blocking of sunlight and prying eyes. The smell of the orchids and other flowers and plants in the front yard carries in to my cigarette smoke damaged olfactory sensors. The neighborhood mongrel dogs growl, howl, bark, and snap at each other. Making a general nuisance of themselves as always. Once again I remember my late night desire to buy some rat poison and buffalo meat. Don't get me wrong. I love dogs. Have a retarded one myself, big ol' galoot he is too. Would this be considered murder? Or canineicide? These fucking mutts are a real nuisance, and the one half of most of Surin's noise pollution. The other half mainly consisting of faulty motocyke mufflers, and old Thai women who can't seem to communicate in less than a full fledged cackling yodel of voice. One problem with Thai's is no one e very seemed to teach them about responsible pet ownership. I may be a boob, but even I have the sense to keep my dog from sitting around under everyones windows at 3 a.m. howling his damn fool head off with all his buddies! Plus this one poor mutt next door has the worst case of mange I've ever seen. The muthafugga looks like some huge, pink, mutant, hairless, gerbil baby. I feel sorry for him, but he's so goddamned ugly I have to throw a rock at him to chase him away any time he comes within view. It's painful and disturbing to witness his plight. His owners should be horsewhipped. Poor bugger. Even the other dogs avoid him he's so fucking ugly.

After finishing my meager scribblings I take a seat out front on the tiled, roofed patio, and relax a while in the morning sunlight on the hand carved, wooden lounge chair I've come to truly love. 2,000 baht very well spent. Damned comfortable it is. I smoke my fourth cigarette of the day, and read the papers while taking full advantage of Old Sol's warming and vitamin enriched rays. Fuck the scientists and doctors and their warnings of skin cancer and premature wrinkles. It just feels too damned good not to do. Especially as I reflect on my not being able to do this in the Boston area in late November without freezing my nuts off. The soothing rays of the sun, and the soothing news I read from around the world, on pulp paper with cheap ink which always dirties my hands, news about my fellow man's love for his fellow man produces a reptile-like lethargy in my body and mind. I nod off for a bit and bask under sunny blue skies to the chirping and cawing of birds whose names I still don't know.

Waking a half hour later, probably from my own water buffalo-like snoring, I look about as I stretch like a lazy old fat cat, carefully, and with much grimacing while joints crack and moan at this outrageous form of exercise that never used to crack and moan just a few short years ago. Ah, the joys of aging!

I spy my lady bending over at some domestic chore through the open doorway, raising within me a desire to once again consumate my wedding vows. Mine went something like "I promise to love, honor, provide, and screw our brains out everday." Something like that anyway I believe it was. Damn, her tush drives me nuts, and wild with desire! I'm a horny old dog, thank God! Woof, woof.

I rise from my wooden throne of lassitude and lethargy and, sneaking quietly on bared feet, give the lass an early surprise Christmas goose, eliciting a squeal and a giggle, followed by a sniff kiss and a murmered "tahlueng darling" in my ear. Her eyes sparkle like polished obsidian in the morning sunlight. Her smile lights my heart, and rivals the now fully risen star we circle daily. As I grab her she puts her hands on my chest laughing, and tilts her head toward the kitchen. Damn! Sis is still here puttering about the kitchen. I release my lecherous hold on my beloved's waist and stride into the kitchen.

Sis is giggling, knowing what I'm about to say. "Hey Sis, don't you have a friend you need to visit for an hour or two about now?" I propose this gently, and with some tact I might add, yet with the insistence of the rightly horny bastard I can be when my mind is set on the release of the seed of future generations as goofy as myself. "What you do darling?" my lass inqires from the doorway, as if she didn't know. "I'm getting rid of the witness dear." I quip. "Huh?" she grunts back, confused at the unknown English word. "I'm gonna kill you, and I don't want anyone to see or hear me." I whisper in her ear. "Why you want to kill me, tilac?" she whispers, grinning back. The play must be acted through. It's well rehearsed. We all know our lines. "I don't want to kill you darling." I say back to her quietly, "But Godzilla wants to kill and eat you! He's hungry!" Hey, doesn't everyone have a pet name for their monster?

"Eeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!" she screams in mock horror, as she slips from my perverted grasp and runs fleeing into the hong nam, slamming the door on my hot pursuit. Through the door she tells me Godzilla is tahlueng mahk. I laugh as I hear her splashing water on herself in preparation for her forthcoming sacrificial devouring by the monster of my lust. "Godzilla ain't the only thing tahlueng about here my dear!" I think to myself with a chuckle and a leer.

Sis enters the living room and informs me with a knowing smirk that she is going to visit a friend and do some shopping for tonight's barbeque in the front yard. "Good!" I say guiding her to the door. She heads for her motocyke and informs me she'll be back in two hours time. "That should be sufficient." I inform her snidely, smiling. "Huh?" she says also, trying to figure out the big English word. "Okay." I say in explanation. She fires up the old Suzuki and putters off in a cloud of fumes.

An hour or so later Godzilla and I nod off after slaking our carnal thrist with some strenuous licking, sucking, and thrusting. The sacrificial virgin devoured thoroughly, and snoring lightly herself I might add if I wasn't such a gentleman.

I've got it made. Ah yes! The simple life. What better for a simpleton of simple needs such as myself?

Stickman says:

More nice stuff from Cent.