Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 96
Sa Wa Dii Khrap Dana Watchers; or should I say: Dana and Noi Watchers–
The Noister and I are currently punching back into the atmosphere over Texas at 13,000 blistering miles-per-hour. I'm temporarily off autopilot. The evidence is that the computer can fly the plane better than I can but when the buffeting
and shaking and jumping starts I like to have the hands-on experience of flying the plane. Anyway, Noi and I are on our way to a remote government facility where the US astronauts' space suits and air flight suits are manufactured. In return
for some super secret favors from me that are so incredibly unbelievably super secret that I can not even think of going into them the United States government has agreed to make a flight suit and helmet and oxygen mask for Noi's teddy bear.
So Noi is happy and I am happy and the teddy bear will be happy. The United States may be a flawed nation with flawed citizens and a flawed record but any country that can make a flight suit and helmet and oxygen mask for a Bangkok whore's
teddy bear is a great nation that will probably rule for the next 1000 years. All Hail America. But that is not really what I want to talk about.
What I want to talk about is that our long range high speed plane does not have a name. Our inter-Thailand inter-local-Asia Harrier jump jet is of course named Cute Little Teddy Bear; but the humming pulsating glowing delta wing rocket we
are in now does not have a name. So we are asking our loyal Thai friends and farang friends to help us name the plane. If you have any ideas send them in. Just to help you with some name parameters: it should be short and pithy and reflect Thai
culture and reflect the fact that Noi and I are mated for life and hopefully say something about how hansum I am. Some names I think we can discount right from the start. Names like Noi's Toy and Cute Little Teddy Bear II and Dana's
Delight and Hansum Man and Roi Et Rocket (clever–almost a winner) are simply too obvious and pedestrian. So let's dig down deep and try a little harder. Keep in mind that this plane travels the world's skies without permission or paperwork.
It is the chariot of one who is on his way to becoming a secular godhead. The final name will be announced on this website. But that is not really what I want to talk about today.
What I really want to talk about today is that I am now negotiating through my holding company Dana Industries to take my most recent invention worldwide. The need for this invention was first illuminated in the tranny bars of Bangkok and
luckily had the bright light of my tranny hungry genius shown upon it. Word of mouth or I should say; word-of-farang and word-of-tranny has catapulted this originally Thai based invention from obscurity to morning Thai TV chat show centerpiece
in less time than it takes a Patpong hooker to lie to a German tourist. So it is now time to get Thai movers and shakers and money men involved in the pesky and wonderfully profitable problems of manufacturing and distribution and franchising
and stock exchange offerings and world wide sales efforts. Thai brokers asked me to include in the first public offering prospectus a historical document that would give the investor a flavor of how the whole katoey invention thing started. That
historical document follows and is entitled:
Katoey Dick Seeker
There are two ways to go through life. One is by bluffing and lying and the other way to go through life is by pretending that life is a prison exercise yard. The problem with the bluffing and lying route is that after a while it doesn't
work anymore. As you age you just can't pull it off. People just don't believe you–they start to pity you. The prison exercise yard way of going through life is just the opposite. No bluffing and lying. Nobody is going to believe
your tired ass little stories and silly macho body language so what is the point. Just tell the truth. It is easier. That is how I live my life. I pretend that I am in a prison exercise yard. I expect to be beaten up at any time and I tell people
of minority status and color that I do not approve of their lifestyles or music or women. After most of your bones have been broken and your internal organs have been damaged there isn't much more they can do to you. So finally you are free.
Free to express yourself. Free to be you.
"Hey spic licker–nice wool hat; I love the fact that you are wearing a wool hat even though it is 99 degrees in the shade. Where do I line up to get a brain like that?" Works for me.
So in the interests of truth telling and acting like real men let's just cut to the chase on something: there is not a man alive who does not hunger for a little katoey action sometime. Your mouth may be saying no at the yacht club cocktail
party in Edgartown on a hot August night as they auction off the used life preservers to benefit the local chapter of the Feminist Bitch Brigade–but a month later in Bangkok as you enter the Cascade Bar at the Nana Entertainment Plaza your pants
will look like you are about to do a demo at a tentpeg convention. The problem is in the shopping. Oh sure you can see the glitter and the moves and the stylings and the attitudes right up front in the tranny bars. The problem is that if you want
your cake to have a little more than just frosting and candles you can't see what you are going to get until you get back to the hotel room. And then, especially in Thailand, you are often very disappointed.
The reason you are often very disappointed in Thailand is because you either get a little three inch dark doggie dick that no one can do anything with or you get a great large heavy thing that you can't pull the foreskin back on. The
little doggie dicks are useless. Maybe it is just me but if you can't hold a soaking wet bath towel up with your erection and whistle at the same time you haven't got a ticket to ride. And the Thai foreskins . . . Believe me I have seen
my share of penises but Thailand is the only country where apparently from birth to death a Thai male never pulls his foreskin back once. Why this would be is simply beyond me. I am not that smart. I put this mystery in the same category as black
holes in space and why women can't parallel park. Like every other mystery that farangs come in contact with in Thailand I suppose it has something to do with Buddhism.
Anyway. . . you can't pull the foreskin back. Put a pair of vice grips on the thing and pull and you get nothing. The foreskin has grown over the bulb and it ain't moving. Hook two curved shark fishing hooks into the foreskin on
either side; attach them to tiny block-and-tackles that you happen to have attached to the bed posts and pull on the ropes. Nothing. The foreskin ain't moving. And believe me if by some chance you do happen to get the katoey foreskin off
the bulb of this great leviathan penis you will regret it. The first thing to hit you from the penis of this hygienically challenged katoey is the smell. Thai roaches don't even put up a fight. They just flip over on their backs and hold
up little signs that say "Kill Me". The second thing that will assault your delicate cultured educated urbane senses is the sight. There growing under this foreskin for the last twenty years is a green garden petrie dish of bacteria
that looks like something you would use to clone two headed Martian microbes. No thanks. The sight is so repulsive that it actually wakes your sleeping reptilian cortex that instantly sends out a danger signal that tells you not to go near that
puppy. Or in my case because my reptilian cortex is a little more chatty–"Don't go near that penis unless you strap it down and hit it with a blowtorch first." But then I never have a blowtorch when I need one.
So I have come up with an invention that I think will go a long way towards eliminating this awkward social problem of not knowing what you are going to get when the meat wagon comes to town. You know those surveillance mirrors that they
use at border crossings to look under cars? Sure you do. It is a bendy little mirror attached to a long stick. You are coming back from Tijuana and the guard at the border gets down on his hands and his knees and he slides the mirror under your
‘88 Buick Electra to see if you are smuggling in teddy bears and black velvet pictures of Jesus and red felt sombreros (Mexican culture–what a fucking joke–10,000 years since they came over the Bering Sea land bridge and all
they have is big hats and the word gringo). Officially the pole mounted mirrors are called Vehicle Undercarriage Inspection Mirrors. They are round convex lightweight acrylic mirrors mounted on an infinitely adjustable swivel with a heavy rubber
rim to prevent damage. These pole mounted vehicle undercarriage surveillance mirrors come with or without wheels. Well, this bendy little mirror thing is like manna from heaven for katoey shoppers. The official vehicle undercarriage surveillance
mirrors come in two sizes: 12" Standard and 8" Mini. My invention will be a mirror that is only 3"–it will be called the Katoey. I am going to attach them to one foot bamboo (there is always time for marketing) handles instead
of poles. The mirror handles will have some inlayed elephants and shit and I will sell them as Katoey Dick Seekers. Sounds sort of manly and military (more marketing–I'm smart that way). Sometimes when I am walking down Sukumvit I
actually start to weave and get lightheaded when I consider my intelligence. Anyway, the Katoey Dick Seekers won't have the little wheels that the border crossing Vehicle Undercarriage Surveillance Mirrors have but I will keep the hard rubber
rims. You never know what you are going to bump into in a katoey's pants. Believe me I know. I once saw a katoey sneaking out of room 406 at the Nana Hotel. Well . . . one thing led to another; and I discovered a gold Rolex watch, laptop
computer, wallet, gold chain, two ATM cards, cell phone, Nikon D1X digital camera, antique brass Russian samnovar, and a Sony HVR-Z1E handheld camcorder in her pants. She said she had no idea how they got there. She was a big dick post-op. I guess
she had the room.
Anyway, this is how you use the Dana Industries Katoey Dick Seekers. You go into the katoey bar of your choice and after spotting a likely candidate you slide the mirror down her pants and have a look around. Believe me she
won't complain. If you are short like me she will most likely be nuzzling your neck and moaning in your ear while you are doing this so beware; concentration is everything. Of course what you are looking for are those two dreaded meat wagon
offerings; the doggie dick and the foreskin fright. And it barely needs notating that you are also on the lookout for the rare but dreaded post-op katoey. Jesus suffering Christ what a waste. Who in their right mind would want to take a perfectly
good katoey and turn her into a woman? If I wanted to waste time with that whole scene I would have just stayed in Boston and gone to my high school reunion. Fat white chicks with slobbering slits. No thank-you; I can dream a better dream than
that. But this post-op katoey fiasco does not happen very often (thank god). Usually what the Katoey Dick Seeker will spot is stupid little doggie dicks and big foreskin challenged dicks you wouldn't go near unless you were wearing a toxic
waste dump suit. These big meaty puppies would register on a salt water fishing tournament scale but what can you do with them? Beats me. That's why the KDS (Katoey Dick Seeker) is so important. You never know what you might find in a katoey's
pants. Sometimes you might even spot a little red felt sombrero hat or a little grossed out teddy bear or a black velvet painting of Jesus in a katoey's pants; but again, that is rare. Usually it is just going to be doggie dicks and foreskin
horrors in the mirror. Almost all of the time this is what you are going to find. So you just move on. You might have to go to five or six katoey bars and slide the Katoey Dick Seeker down the pants of 100 katoeys before you hit pay dirt. But
heh, that is one of the wonders and the joys of being a sensitive tourist and mixing with the locals.
So anyway, I am now gearing up to sell these Katoey Dick Seeker surveillance mirrors. Soon you'll see them next to the wooden motorcycles and the dungaree purses and the sunglasses on the steps in front of the Royal Garden Plaza on Beach
Road in South Pattaya. I'll get some early morning tranny cruisers to help me market the things (stick them in their pants for Japanese perverts). Keep your eye out for advertisements. And if you see me in a bar sliding the Katoey Dick Seeker
with the elephant inlaid bamboo handle in a katoeys pants don't bother saying hello. I'm busy. The Viagra hits in forty minutes and I gotta keep moving. See you around the exercise yard.
If you enjoy Dana's writing, do not be shy to let him know. And let him know that the work doesn't stop at 100!