Misfits And Losers, My Ass
To put this story in context, first let me give you the chorus from that traditional Irish classic, “The Irish Rover” :
“We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of stones
We had three million sides of old blind horses hides,
We had four million barrels of bones.
We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter.
We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.”
Bob’s heard it all before but he’s not your typical sexpat. Not by a long chalk.
The latest thing to yank his chain was some article he read on the internet. “Obviously written by some know nothing, lily livered faggot. Forchrisakes, these people” he would rant, “Couldn’t have been an American. The clown couldn’t spell to save his ass. Needle-dicked, chinless wonder! Not all expats living in Thailand are alcoholics, misfits and losers. Look at me frinstance. Fricking armchair anthropologist if you ask me. The dipshit”.
Bob was referring to an article he had read on the internet recently proclaiming all foreigners living in Thailand to be worthless, drunken whoremongers who could not hold down a job or a relationship in the West so they had come to Thailand where they were collectively making he place look untidy.
See, Bob’s different. Thailand is his home sure enough but he came to live in Thailand when he was young and handsome. Course, he’s still handsome but he’s not exactly a young buck anymore. He had it figured out early in life. Worked hard, studied hard and bought his first Lamborghini by the time he was twelve. Then he joined the navy and served his country in Vietnam, Kosovo, Iraq and Afghanistan. In his spare time he qualified as a neurosurgeon by doing a correspondence course from Hackensaw Technical College in Backwater, Illinois, learned to speak fluent Japanese, Korean and Sioux and after that he joined the CIA. But he can’t talk about that.
He’s got black belts in taekwondo, jujitsu and origami and was the Pacific Fleet middleweight Muay Thai boxing champion when he was a Navy Seal. Suffice to say, Bob knows a thing or two about looking after himself.
Having made his fortune, he retired at the age of thirty and now lives in a Penthouse suite on the top floor of a condo in Silom. God knows, he could have bought the entire building. After all, he could afford it. But hey, who needs the hassle, right? I haven’t been there but he tells me it’s nice.
Drinking’s never been a problem for Bob. He can hold his liquor. Hell, after eighteen bottles of Singha and a bottle of Sang Som, you’d hardly know he’d had a drink at all.
Bob really likes the Thai girls. Not the hoes and bar girls but the respectable girls. He has a lot of girlfriends but he likes Joy best. She’s from Roi Et. She only came to Bangkok a couple of weeks ago. She works in a go-go bar on Soi Cowboy but she’s strictly service. She doesn’t go with customers. She’s a designer really and she had a good business in Udon Thani. Things got difficult when her husband was killed in a motor cycle accident earlier this year so Joy had to leave her daughter with her mother in Isaan and come to the city to work. Bob helps her out with money from time to time but that’s only a loan until she gets back on her feet.
Bangkok is Bob’s home now and he wouldn’t go back to the USA if you paid him. He’s been here eighteen years altogether and his Thai language skills are really coming on now especially since he met Joy. See, Joy doesn’t speak English. I noticed Bob can order two beers without ice in Thai now, without hardly making a single mistake. It really is very impressive.
I bet you know Bob. If you don’t, you must have seen him around. He’s always hanging around Soi 4 or The Biergarden during the day and Cowboy and Washington Square at night. He’s got a grey beard and tattoos on his forearms. He’s always wearing that Chiang Beer muscle tee-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. Next time you see him, say howdy. He’s always got a good story.
“We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out
And the ship lost it's way in a fog.
And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two,
Just meself and the captain's old dog.
Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around, and the poor dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover”
There are a few Bobs about!