Stickman Readers' Submissions March 8th, 2004

Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 36

Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes 36


He Clinic Bangkok

It is 3:30 in the afternoon and I am standing on Sukhumvit 4 in front of the Bus Stop restaurant. I am eating a brazier cooked chicken breast and talking to the innocent, angelic door girls to the restaurant that wear the long formal Thai skirts. I try to do this every afternoon I am in Bangkok. It takes me out of myself and makes me happy. This time, however, my afternoon reverie of chicken breasts and innocent girls is interrupted by a major pachyderm paroxysm. I need elephants and I need them now. I can feel the sexual tension and the beginning of the stabbing pains in my eyes. My balls are starting to tighten and rise. I run down to J.P. Travel. They are a little light in the 'smiling hello' department but they are efficient at ticketing. Forty-eight hours later I am an hour outside of Chiang Mai sitting next to a tributary of the Ping river watching an elephant show.

Sitting in the bleachers surrounded by camera people with accents watching the elephants dancing the hully-gully and blowing on harmonicas; I start to feel my elephant fever subside. It's going to be ok. Everything is under control. Then I spot her. One of the little 3 ton pachyderm sluts is looking right at me. Oh yeah, she wants me! Her eyes are drilling me with jungle lust and she's waving her ass at me like an Udon pole hugger from Walking Street. She wants what I could deliver. She wants the train to go into the tunnel. She wants the letter delivered to the mailbox. She wants the plane to fly into the hanger. She wants love pain where the sun don't shine. She wants Dana's man meat and she wants it now. What I want is a ladder. If it weren't for all these stupid camera people I'd drop a heart stopping load of Viagra, find a ladder, put her tail over my shoulder, grab her dusty flanks with my hands, and pump this big, grey bitch 'till her ears were flapping like a hummingbird's wings. And I'm not wearing a condom either. Nothing is going to come between us and our love. So go ahead; call the condom police. But there is no ladder!

So I duck down under the bleachers, strip naked; and then run out into the arena and throw myself into the dirt amidst the elephants. They surround me with their intelligent eyes and their huge feet and huge toenails. I can feel the soft earth under my shoulder blades and the warm link of a log pulling chain under one leg. I am adrift and happy. I can feel the ground vibrating under my hips and hear the low tones of their communicating with each other. En mass they reach down with their trunks and start noodling and exploring my body. Their trunk ends are hairy and wet and muscular and so so alive and exciting. They startle me with little hot blasts of trunk air and the spray of leaking fluids. I start to get an erection. Then there is the surprise of a bugle blast and jostling followed by my honey bunny with the jungle lust eyes pushing her way to the front. She looks at me eye to eye, then she looks at my erection; then she reaches down with her trunk and. . . .

CBD bangkok

Actually, what I wanted to talk about today was the Angel Witch bar. We'll call it–


Well, I'm back in Thailand and I'm back in Bangkok, and I'm back at the Nana Hotel opposite the Nana Entertainment Plaza; and this is going to be great. I come twice a year, I have some history with the place, my comfort level is high, and I know what I am doing. This is going to be great. This is going to be fun. At 8:30 I start my cruising of the NEP. It isn't great! What happened? The bars are boring and the girls are boring. The music is no longer the signature music of Thai bars and the girls can't dance to it. And the girls are wearing two piece outfits that are not sexy. In fact they are the opposite of sexy. They look as if they are in Elvis Presley movies from the 60's. They actually look a lot sexier after work when they make the smoking hot walk over to the Nana Disco in the hotel. Another off-putting thing about the girls in bikinis was that without the mind distracting display of naked sexuality, you could sometimes get the disquieting thought that you could see into their futures. Once the first baby arrived, those tight flat stomachs would blow out and your sex bomb wife would start to resemble the corner noodle-stand lady. Chilling. Having to respond to your wife based upon her needs and wants, her desires and ideas, her humaness and individuality rather than her body; is a jump off the train idea. The kind of idea so counter intuitive that you are not even going to wait for the train to slow at the crossing; you just pick up your stuff, hurtle towards the door, and jump. I go from bar to bar. I buy my cover charge coke, look around and leave. The Rainbow bars are doing some good business and the Hollywood bar way up on the third floor is fun; but most of the bars are almost empty, or mostly empty, or completely empty. Some of the Thai managed bars on the second floor are such discouraging places they should have their licenses revoked. And where have the erotic, smoking hot, sexually incendiary Thai women gone? I don't mean that as a lament. I mean someone who speaks Thai should actually do the leg work and try and find out where these girls went to. Are they now in Singapore or Hong Kong or Macau or Japan or private Japanese men's clubs or hi-line discos? Where did they go? 'Cause they sure aren't in these bars. This place is supposed to be about fun and about sex. It is supposed to be a repository of hope and a place of male fantasy. God, this is awful. Then I go into the Angel Witch bar. WHAT A DIFFERENCE.

It is like stepping into a different world. The place is jammed, choked, stuffed with happy customers. Forget fire laws. When I walk in it is standing room only. I find a small place to wedge myself in at the end of the bar. I have never seen a bar so jammed. If there were hooks on the walls there would be guys hanging on the hooks. If you bolted chairs to the ceiling there would be guys volunteering to hang upside down. So what is the Angel Witch bar doing that none of the other bars are doing? Simple. They are providing product. To wit: the girls are putting on shows. Angel Witch has someone teaching the girls choreographed dance routines and stage presentations. And they are great. Fun. Entertaining. There about 10 different shows of wide diversity. The audience watches in respectful admiration. There is applause after each number. Compared to the dance routines and stage presentations that you see in the hi-line clubs of Montreal or Atlanta or Dallas; the routines are amateurish. But that is part of their charm. And everything is relative. Compared to the other sad sack bars with overweight heifers doing the Bangkok shuffle, these little shows are fun. And you can see that the girls are happy and having fun. They are being required to exceed themselves, to set standards, work together, reach goals. For some of these farmer's daughters I'll bet this is a big deal. You can see they are enjoying themselves. And girls in this bar are being barfined. And the bar is making a fortune. At my post at the end of the bar I counted eight employees taking in money. Money was rolling over the bar like a waterfall. Later, I had to use the men's room. The girls didn't have enough room for a dressing room so they had taken over the men's room. The next dance number was one where they were covered with soap bubbles. I walked into a room full of naked women covering themselves with soap bubbles. My night was saved.

wonderland clinic


Sometimes even an atheist like me has to wonder if there isn't a god. This always and exclusively happens when I receive a life gift of some kind that far exceeds my deserving of it. The dictum 'beware the gift giver' is fine advice for small things but when a humongous whopper of a gift falls in your lap you just have to look up and wonder. . .

Sometimes things just work out. It is God's way of reaching down with a helping and loving hand and compensating you for all the negative experiences that you have had. I meet a fancy pants freelancer at Gulliver's and start in on the language barrier baby talk. She responds in perfectly accented empire English that she was born and brought up and educated in Bangkok and that she is keenly aware of the social farang-Thai male/female issues. She is different, better, more civilized and superior. She is telling me this as a gift so that I will feel less social tension. Immediately I feel the stress wash out of my body. I ask her name and she says "Sopin"–but she has a nickname that will be easier for a farang to remember.

"Oh", I say, "what is your nickname?"

She responds that her nickname is Ba Na Da Wa Ma La Ra Pa An Lan Ran Bee.

Boy, was I lucky! I thought I was going to have to remember Sopin.

A little later I ask her how much for 'Yum-Yum'. She responds that she charges 400 baht but she knows and understands that farangs have a hard time with Thai currency so she will just take two 'purples' instead. Christ, did I get lucky. Thai money is so confusing.

Later, in the hotel room she informs me that she has decided not to follow through on anything that she promised at Gulliver's and that I have to give her a 5000 baht 'go-away' fee or she will call the Police and FUCK ME UP. I gladly pay the fee and thank my lucky stars that I didn't get mixed up with one of those ignorant, dangerous country girls.

Thank-you God. . .

Stickman says:

So, what effect did Thailand have on Dana this time? Is it the same old Dana, has he mellowed, or is he crazier than ever?

nana plaza