Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 46
A lot of my loyal readers have emailed me and asked me where I get some of the ideas for my stories. It's really pretty simple. I am fourteen years old and live in the basement and I am surrounded by piles of my father's old World War II comic books with titles like:
I simply use mostly the same stories but change the character names to Thai names and change the WW II place names to Thai geography. For instance:
Sgt. Rock becomes Noi
G.I. Joe becomes Wan
General Mayhem becomes Porntip
Private Dick becomes Fon
Captain Courageous becomes Gai
For the Thai place names in my Thai themed writing I simply do like this:
Guadalcanal becomes Pattaya
Guam becomes Phuket
Berlin becomes Ayutthaya
Anzio becomes Udon
Tarawa becomes Chiang Mai
Iwo Jima becomes Bangkok
This is how it works. Here is a story from a comic book entitled: GLORIOUS BATTLES OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC.
'Guns and Blood' by Kill'em Kwik Kelley
Lt. Col. Kenjuro Hyaichi of Kuralei had not been fooled. An invasion force of 30,000 men was massing and an invasion was about to take place. They were not going to land on Red Beach or Green Beach, but rather the promontory between. Alcohol induced loose lips in Aussie land had given up the game. Soon the battle would be started. The Japanese operation was code named Fosters. Kenjuro's nemesis, Fleet Captain Kelley, had presaged his arrival off the island with other full moon landings in other parts of the Pacific. Tonight was a full moon. The time was now! Kenjuro had pulled in favors and reinforcements from all over the island and massed them on the promontory. His men were ready. Ready to fight. Ready to say "Banzai".
Meantime; offshore Fleet Captain Kelley had been busy. Sgt. Rock, GI Joe, General Mayhem, Private Dick, and Captain Courageous had been briefed. They and their peers and recruits and officers represented the best men that Democracy had to offer.
Fleet Captain Kelley– "Remember men: Every Jap you kill is a down payment on your ticket home to protect your mothers and your sisters. And don't forget: Love is a four letter word–So is Kill. Guns and Blood gentlemen. God Speed and Good Luck."
At 8:30 the purple tropic clouds parted and the full moon lit up the night sky. Fleet Captain Kelley stood up on the bridge coaming, fired a red parachute flare, and the invasion was on. –Finis–
<I then take this exciting World War II comic book epic and rewrite it for the Stickmanbangkok.com site. The new story is. . .>
'Semen and Love' by Dana
Head Mamasan Na had not been fooled. An invasion force was massing and an invasion was about to take place. Her opposite in this night time theatre of love was First Farang Dana who had spent the last two days amassing 30,000 farangs in the Hotel Nana parking lot. Na had pulled in favors and conscripts and enthusiasts and experienced mamasans from all over Thailand. Noi and her girls had come down from Chiang Rai–used to mostly Thai customers they were looking for a big score. The only equation they remembered from school was ‘Farangs=Money'! Twenty-four hours from now there would be new clothes for baby and for momma. Mamasan Wan had come up with her girls from Hat Yai. A couple of days without turbans and dotheads and curry breath would be a real pleasure. In a culture of scams and spice they had never heard a good thing about farangs and were spoiling for sexual battle. The mamasans and their girls from Pattaya and Patpong and Cowboy and Ko Samui and Phuket and the Japanese bathhouses didn't need to be coached–just held back until the assault started. Mamasans Fon and Gai and their 400 girls had come in from Chiang Mai and Udon. Country girls excitedly talking on their new cell phones. Gifts from mamasans for making the long bus trip. Gathered in the open courtyard of the Nana Plaza they could see the invasion force of farangs just across the soi. Everyone knew that First Farang Dana was waiting for the full moon.
Mamasan Na had not been fooled. The Nana parking lot farangs weren't heading for Cowboy or for Patpong, but Nana Plaza. Loose alcohol Aussie lips at the airport had given up the game. Na was going to name her next child Oz. Soon the battle would begin. The girls were ready. Ready to love. Ready to say "Barfine?". 30,000 farangs against 5000 bargirls. Even odds!
Mamasan Na– "Remember girls: Every farang is a deposit on your trip back home to be with your mothers and your sisters. The farangs will be carrying two bulges in their pants. One will be their wallet, the other will be. . . Powder your pussies girls. And remember: 'Farang' is a six letter word, and so is 'Moneey'! We won't get a second chance like tonight. It's them or us. It's not Guns and Blood; it's Semen and Love. Same thing! Chok de mak mak.
At 8:30 the purple tropic clouds parted and the full moon lit up the Bangkok sky. First Farang Dana was hoisted up onto the shoulders of a tranny, fired a red parachute flare, and the invasion was on!
When I turn 16 mommy says I can leave the basement and go to the library where I will be able to plagerize from grownup books. She also says she will then take me to Bangkok where I will be able to feed a banana to an elephant; but first I have to stop lying to the doctors.
Oops, I hear the basement door opening–Mommy is coming. See ya later.
I LEARNED SOMETHING
In almost every hotel bar in Thailand there are at least two or three or sometimes four women that every guy finds unappealing and irrelevant and irritating. These are the ubiquitous post menopausal over-the-hill and overweight middle-aged or older women that are using the bar as a place to troll for fools. Surely some farang will pick them up and pay for their dubious charms if they just hang out for twelve hours nursing one drink. These poor dears are ignored and made fun of and ignored some more. But it doesn't stop them. Seven days a week, week after week, month after month, and year after year finds them ensconced in a big chair or sitting on a couch trying to look alert and sexy. If you are foolish enough to make eye contact for more than a nanosecond or god forbid smile back at one of these delusional females you will soon feel their inept hands massaging your neck or flopping around on your back. If you are one of those people others call a ‘nice guy' you will probably stupidly say something friendly in response to their attentions. Now you've done it. She now believes the last nine empty hours are going to pay off as the two of you go up to your room. Of course she is wrong. Not in a million, billion, trillion, gazillion, quadrillion, septillion years are you hard up enough, or drunk enough, or just plain stupid enough to engage the services of one of these over-age lard buckets. You're too smart, and too saavy, and too much a man for this nonsense and this pitiful trash. You'd rather gouge your eyes out with a wooden spoon than have one of your buddies see you escorting one of these losers into an elevator. You wouldn't touch one of these buffoons with a ten foot dick. Even the thought gives you the willies. Then there is me! One night I was feeling pretty damn good and frisky and open minded about human relations. I was also feeling the effects of pharmaceutical support and had what Eastern European sex scientists call ‘Happy Pants'! I said , "Yes"! Her name was. . . . actually, I have no idea what her name was. And once we got into my room I told her not to take off all of her clothes (I didn't want to go blind). So what happened. . . ? She was nice. She was fun. I had a good time. I learned something. But don't worry. I never told any other men. I'm too much a man for that.
Did the doctor change your medication this week?