Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 244

Greetings Stickmanbangkokites and Dana Fans:

I guess after so many years of public writing on the Internet it is time to come clean. After my third arrest for smuggling durians in my pants, my second anger management class for totally losing it at the Chonburi automobile driver's license issuing authority, and my first 'shooting-from-a-tower' incident; I finally decided to—ok, that is not really what I want to talk about today. What I really want to talk about today is my Early-Days-in-the-Kingdom trekking guide career in a dialogue story titled:

MAKES ME SICK

Scene: A no-name crossroads village west of Bangkok and east of Burma. The kind of place you can never find on a map later and makes you wonder if you were hallucinating.

Principals: Nine members of a trekking tour–Horst, Brian, Julie, Samantha, Junabi, Einar, Maria, Zsa Zsa, and Carmen plus me.

Samantha: Girls, are you up for some gossip?

Girls: You know it. Is it about our trekking guide Dana I hope?

Samantha: Yup. Our guide Dana did not sleep alone last night.

Girls: Again?

Samanatha: Yup. Saw him and his little Thai strumpet roll in here about eleven last night. She was wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, a Teddy Bear backpack, and pushing a pink bicycle.

Girls: Sickening . . . Jesus, he's going through women like prunes go through an old lady. He just picks them up and puts them down. And he isn't going to marry any of them. Don't men know they are on Earth to marry us and pay for us? I'll bet he can't spell the word condom either. Pig. All men are pigs. Pig.

Samantha: Remember the woman at breakfast with him at Sanglaburi? Remember the incident with the two gigglers at the elephant training camp in the jungle? Remember him picking up the Malaysian dark femme fatale on the escalator at Big Mike's in Pattaya?

Maria: Yes, I remember the escalator lady in the department store. Arms like noodles, flat as a board, and one of the sexiest women I will ever see in my lifetime. Maybe it is something in the food, or the air, or the water in this country.

Carmen: Yup. She called him Pappa. I'd have laughed but somehow it didn't seem funny. It seemed natural. I can't quite tune in to this country.

Zsa Zsa: I thought I would hurl. In my own country all men are pigs and in this country same. All men are pigs. My name is Zsa Zsa and I am from Transylvania and I ain't touchin' it unless you can smash it on a lobster at dinner and crack open the shell. I once slammed a car door on my boyfriend's and there was no damage. My sister had a fit one night and slammed the window down on her boyfriend's dick. Broke the window. So don't show me no pictures or tell me big stories. All men are pigs and scum and I'm not sittin' up and takin' notice unless you can pound tent pegs with the thing. And forget about cutting it off and feeding it to the ducks like in this lameass country. In Transylvania we'd need a chain saw and that wakes the men wake up. Now I know why the Thais invented the telescope. It's the only way they can find the penises on these little brown skinned monkeys. In Transylvania Thai mens' greased bodies would be laid on the ground and used to launch ships. What else would they be good for? I wish I wasn't on this stupid tour. I wish I was at a mountain meadow nudist resort in the Carpathian mountains and the men had cowbells on their penises. They're still scum but at least you've got something to spit at.

Samantha: Remember the van driver in Phuket?

Girls: Yeah, her van was outside his bungalow that night. She had a rockin' body, and a tattoo of Tweety Bird on her upper thigh. So goddamned dumb she probably thought Tweety Bird was a western religious figure. Her breasts were so high they were hittin' her under the chin. The women in this country are freaks.

Samantha: Sickening. How old is Dana anyway? He's got the 'beat-it-with-sticks' body of a twenty-five year old, but that can't be right.

Maria: Yeah, sickening. This guy is totally gag me with a spoon. Besides the obvious night time activities, I wonder if they spend time looking in the mirror to see who has the tightest abs. Makes me want to puke.

Julie: Speaking of abs–ok, there is no segue here: am I the only one who noticed his huge log of man meat straining to be free that day we went swimming at the Surin Thon Dam?

Zsa Zsa: Yeah, I noticed. It looked like he was smuggling a big sausage from my country.

Samantha: Remember the fruit seller in Phetchabun? And that night her little fruit wagon was in the guest house parking lot?

Girls: You don't mean?

Samantha: Yup, I heard them going at it like wildebeests in heat. Sickening. I got so sick of hearing little Miss Fruit Seller gasping and giggling I almost stopped listening and writing it all down in my diary.

Julie: Disgusting–oops, there he is with Miss Pink Bicycle. Jesus, look at her. Is there any cellulite in this stupid ass country? Look up the word 'lickable' in the dictionary and there would be a picture of her. I wish I hadn't come here. I wish I had gone on a vacation at a spa in Poland instead.

Zsa Zsa: I hate this country and all the men are pigs. Look at him with those big hands and that tan. I wouldn't touch him. If I was back in Transylvania and he were dead and in my bed I wouldn't take any pictures of him or push that dick log around with a stick. My name is Zsa Zsa and I am from Transylvania. We have standards. Let me repeat for those present and for history: in my country if a woman wakes up with a dead man in her bed and that man has a bigus dickus el flagrante we don't have posed pictures taken of us with it a la Roosevelt on safari. Just don't. Not in our culture. We have dead-man-in-bed-big-dick standards. My name is Zsa Zsa and I am from Transylvania.

Samantha: Remember the trip we made to the Sirin Thon Dam near Laos?

Girls: What of it?

Samantha: Remember the girl weaving straw animals with her father?

Maria: Oh, say it isn't so . . . . she may have been a father's daughter but she was on the wrong side of forty. Her breasts looked like divining rods and you would need spackle for the lines in her face. Not that I'm being unkind; I'm just sayin' is all.

Samantha: Yup, saw her climbing out the back window of our guesthouse at 6:00 a.m. the next morning.

Julie: Samantha, how did you see her that early? What were you doing up?

Samantha: I was getting butt pumped by an Australian expat.

Maria: Oh, no problem, at least he is white. Aussies are white aren't they? Anyway, this guide Dana is bringing us all down. I mean the guy is going to make me hurl. Gag me with a spoon. Groddy to the max.

Samantha: Horst, what are you smiling at?

Horst: Oh, come on girls–lighten up. He's ok, and admit you admire him for living life to the fullest. And I and Junabi, and Einar, and Brian have all caught you gazing at that banana in his pants.

Samantha: Sickening, disgusting, makes me want to puke. Men are pigs. They only want one thing and it ain't gettin' married.

Horst and Brian: Oh, come on. If the men of the world knew about Dana's lifestyle they would lift their eyes to heaven and say:

"Please God–please, I'm begging you–please make me a trekking guide in Thailand. I'll Never Ask For Anything Again."

Junabi: Horst and Brian speak the truth. In my country we would steal candlesticks from the temple to get enough money to get a job like Dana Guide.

All Girls: You are sickening. Men suck. Shake out your dicks so we can spit on them.

Zsa Zsa: Oops, I see Dana coming for our morning meeting. Who's he with?

Samantha: ANOTHER ONE? What happened to Miss Pink Bicycle?

Horst and Einar: I love this guy.

Girls: Hi Dana. Gee, you look really handsome this morning. Your pecs are tight, your stomach is flat, and your thighs are ripped.

Zsa Zsa: Dana, do you like my scoop neck tight peasant blouse?

Dana: You look nice Zsa Zsa.