My Night With The Stones, The Infidel and The Boys in Brown
Absolutely not, I'm sure, I don't always talk this much but I'm pretty fucking rattled, shook up, you know, upset tonight. Hey, a lot of people yak, yak, they chatter too much when they're gotten upset over something. Besides, a large part of my job is to talk at length to large groups of people. And make no mistake, I appreciate your coming down to your office tonight. And I'm sorry you were already asleep when your guys called you, but they were pretty unsuccessful at understanding what I was talking about and even over here, they'd never seen a case like this before. Sort of like something out of "The Godfather" only with Asian sexual overtones. You don't have to be a shrink, like my ex-wife, to see the sexual nuances of this case. Yes, my dog is OK, thanks for asking. His life won't be the same after tonight, but they seem to have used sterile instruments and he doesn't seem traumatized by what happened. But most likely, his mongreling days are over. (That's a pun you dumb mongers, too hung over to comprehend it though.) I sure appreciate your colleagues filling you in on most of the details about tonight. That's probably why I'm talking so much. You know, trying to distract myself from thinking about it again. . .
Did your colleagues tell you what I'm doing over here? I'm a guest lecturer at the Veterinary Medical school at Chulalongkorn University. No, I'm not really an academic type, thank God, oops, I mean thank Buddha. Most of those academic types annoy me to no end. Studying too much of this, too little of that. So fucking full of themselves and their esoteric minute discoveries. The technical guys, the engineers, they're bad enough. Specializing in one area, learning more and more about less and less and pretty soon they know everything about nothing. But those damn liberal-arts pricks in their cluttered little academic offices so eager and knowledgeable about how to save the world. Without any experience out in the real world, they think they're capable of fixing anything. Yes, they're the so-called big picture guys. They learn less and less about more and more and eventually know nothing about everything. Hopefully the whole bunch of them will disappear up their own assholes from sucking themselves off so much.
But I work out in the real world where money talks and bullshit walks. And if you don't turn a profit, you either end up living in a refrigerator box under the freeway or having the government bail you out. At least living in the box, you don't have to deal with the political suits and their pompous righteousness when you get called before some damn committee to testify about who fucked who and how much. But the company I work for makes damn good money. They don't live in some pie-in-the-sky scenario of how to fix the world or determining what's best for people. We make products and services that people actually want and if they don't want them, we convince them to want them. It's just a job, sure, but at least I can let my imagination run a bit wild and the suits even like it when I do that. The name of my company? Well, we incorporated a new business entity for me to operate in Thailand. It's called SABAI Services. Just another silly acronym from the office guys with too much time on their hands. Speciality and Basic Animal Integrated Services. Kaw fucking Jai Mai? Mai Saamkahn, just another petty detail and there are already enough details from earlier tonight. If you can help me stay focused you might get back to sleep before sunrise. But actually, the SABAI name came from some corporate department that studies arcane bullshit like this and the company pays these guys good money and takes it all seriously. I know, unbe-fucking-lievable, but jing fucking jing. The parent company is damn big and they eat that kind of shit up that these pinheads produce.
But being from California, my company is working on some pretty advanced developments in the veterinary sciences. The project I'm working on at the moment, and why I'm guest lecturing at the university, is to provide training and understanding of dog sex change operations. Hey, this is Thailand and you guys know more about this kind of thing than pretty much anywhere. Sure, sure, males dogs who want to be bitches and vice versa. Even we haven't completely sussed it out yet, but there seems to be a corollary between dogs and humans in that it seems to be the males who have the desire to go over to the other side. You ask about the cats? Well, we worked on that but the fucking felines seem content to sleep most of the time without regard to the sexual specificity of their dreams. Didn't seem a very promising path to pursue. You can modify peoples thoughts with advertising and educating them appropriately at an early age, but cats, not a whole lot you can do with them. Don't fight a losing cause.
Tattoos for dogs and cats is also assigned to me for the Thailand pilot project. As soon as we finish work on keeping hair from regrowing at the tattoo site, it's ready for rollout. Hey, you think what I'm telling you is funny? This is serious stuff, officer. But if you've got a sense of humor, I've got some veterinary jokes for you. Do you know why dogs lick their balls? Because they CAN. Do you know why dogs lick their own asses? Because they know that in a couple of minutes they'll be licking your face. Maybe those don't translate so good from English to Thai? I know you're tired and I'm trying to maintain a bit of levity. It's been a tough night for me too. My ex-wife didn't think my jokes were funny either. One of the jokes pushed her over the edge so that there was no saving our marriage. No, not one of these jokes I just told you.
But being the sex change surgical center for the planet, it might be helpful to know what happens to all that detached male anatomy in terms of this case. Is it just dumped into some dumpster out back of the hospital or sent to a sausage plant or sold to the Chinese what with their tastes in weird animal parts? You know, they've got this penchant for bear bile or rhino horns or tiger penis soup. Hey, this isn't idle speculation. I'm not accustomed to rolling over in bed and finding a detached penis sliming up my bed. Hell, with a population the size of China and too much money, if you're not already selling ladyboy cocks to China, I'll recommend that in my next report back to the corporate office. They can put a sort of recycling, green-good-for-the-planet spin on the thing without too much effort. Hey, you make a dollar where you can especially if someone else is already doing the cutting and another guy is the cuttee. Besides, we don't make anything anymore in America so if we can't use our imagination to sell our ideas over in Asia, we might have to start importing more refrigerator boxes. How about something like "Save a Tiger, Complete a Ladyboy". Would the ladyboy soup taste much different than the tiger soup?
Oh, so they told you that my playmate tonight was a katoey? Hey, when you do this kind of leading edge marketing in sexual paraphernalia and procedures, it's just part of the research. Tax deductible at that and most likely to put me years ahead of the competition. Sure, of course I sleep with real women as well. Just last week, one of my students from the university came over for some extra-curricular study. I think it's a good idea for students to participate in research projects. She asks me if I think she is a 'war'. Well, hell, we both enjoyed our time in bed a lot and it was damn well spirited, I tell you. And sure, it made me think and feel like it was WWIII. But what with her fucked-up pronunciation and her voice having the pitch of a teenage girl it took me awhile to figure out she was asking me if I thought she was a 'whore'. Well, I hadn't paid her anything yet so frankly I was unclear how to actually categorize her and having a pussy with sufficient suction that it could probably pop the top from a Coke bottle from a meter away, the distinction was immaterial to me. Hey, you have a good time in the sack, you know the proverbial rack, and I don't worry too much about the details like is this woman a little loopy, like not playing with a full deck upstairs. . . Oh yes, officer, 'rack' can also refer to the women's breasts as well as the bed. Sure, it can be confusing, but that's language for you and a weird fucking language at that, fucking English. This 'war' research assistant sent me a text message telling me that she 'fell good' and I call her up thinking she has hurt herself. She meant to say that she 'feel good'. One morning I wake up late and she is lying there reading a book and I ask her if the alarm clock had gone off yet. She says to me, 'you mean did the alarm clock go on?' And she's right, how can an alarm clock go off and then we turn it off. Makes no sense sometimes fucking English.
For instance, why is a psychiatrist referred to as a 'shrink'? Talk about disappearing up your own asshole from studying one academic subject too much, and my ex-wife sure qualified.
My wife and I were both native English speakers, but fuck-me-sideways, we couldn't communicate worth a shit to save our marriage or even to have a good romp-in-the-rack. No officer, not 'her' rack, 'the' rack. For the first few years, we got on great and fucked like newlyweds are supposed to and she loved it as much as I did. But then she got too many of those damn feminists into her practice as patients. Yes, my ex-wife was a doctor who became a psychiatrist who made a shitload of money from listening to those damn femi-nazis and from that point on, the state of our marriage slid straight downhill. To say nothing about the lack of housekeeping, the butch haircuts and of course, the end of our sex life together. But things tend to work themselves out in the end, with karma and all that crap, so she can spend the rest of her life rug-munching with those feminist bitches. And I got to come over here, where the population is growing like crazy because Asians understand about sex and . . .
So for fuck's sake, of course I had a lot of pent up energy when I got over here. Heck, I had no idea what was available and going on over here before I got here. I just came for work. Those suits back in California, they'd seen the writing on the wall. Sure they're assholes, like lawyers and bankers and other shits who wear ties and coats and act like they know so damn fucking much and take themselves oh so seriously. But even I gotta admit that they saw it coming and moved to profit from it. They're right this time, those suits. Even if California doesn't fall into the Pacific Ocean from a major earthquake, the economy will never be the same again. God damn government keeps spending and printing money it doesn't have and the Mexicans keep moving in and what the fuck do you think comes next? So those pricks in their silk ties and starched underwear sent me over to Asia, where the money is and the future is. To say nothing of a lot of weird sexual shit. Pretty good being a researcher over here.
Oh, yeah, so I was doing some ladyboy research tonight, had a good time and all and she'd gone off to the bathroom after we'd finished, to do whatever it is women do in there. And I was just starting to drift off to sleep, when I rolled over and found the intruder, damn interloper, an infidel penis.
And simultaneously she starts screaming about finding these stones in the toilet. And I'm not in the least concerned about that as I have a hobby of collecting gemstones and polishing them with abrasives. Got stones all over the place as you can see. But then there is the all-too-common confusion over language. "Toilet" can be the room or it can be the fixture you squat over to drain your lizard or cop a squat. Hell, you should understand that expression, you guys seem to prefer those squatter versions. C'mon, don't take offense because you heard that 'cop' and 'police' are same same. And the Europeans are just like you guys in that you call a spade a spade. Oh no, not those prissy fucking Americans, there is no confusing the toilet fixture and the room. They call the room, the 'bathroom' even if there isn't a shower or a bathtub in the goddamn room. Why can't they just call it like it really is, you know, shit or get off the pot. Man, the fucking Americans can make some good movies and music and modern military weaponry, but they sure are a bunch of uptight bastards with some real perverse sexual tastes. They take so many baths and showers, they must really think what they've been doing something awful dirty in their bedrooms.
Turns out what she's calling 'stones' are my dog's testicles and they are in the toilet itself, not the room. OK they're in the room but they are actually inside the toilet bowl. And she's yelling like somebody took a machete to her nuts and I'm still trying to figure out what's in bed with me and it was one fucking strange night. Even in Bangkok, David Carradine kept things pretty simple compared to this shit tonight. All that screaming could've been avoided if they'd just flushed the damn toilet.
You want to know if I have any idea who could've done this, this . . . Where exactly does this fit into the criminal code of Thailand? They didn't really break in and they didn't steal anything but even in Thailand, this doesn't seem like very normal behavior. My ex-wife is angry enough and has the medical knowledge to do this shit. Or it could be one of our competitors, you know, another company trying to sabotage my work here. Could be one of the professors at Chulalongkorn playing some Thai version of a practical joke. Some pretty twisted minds in that place. It is academia after all. I think it's still relevant and maybe important to figure out what happens to those detached ladyboy cocks after the big chop. Or it could be one of my research assistants trying to put a bit of a scare into me. Some jealous wench. Trying to scare me into monogamy.
And after all this, officer, oh sorry, detective, you want to hear that joke that set my ex-wife off at me. Sure it has some women in it and a little bit of a sexual aspect, but it's just a joke and those American women can't laugh at shit anymore. OK, I'll tell you the joke, probably a good way to wrap things up for now. You know, ending the night on a humorous note. Two women are seated in a veterinarian's office waiting room. One woman has a dog, one woman has a cat. The cat woman is a real yakker and she's going on about being tired of re-upholstering the furniture so many times, so she is having her cat declawed. Finally she asks the woman with the dog why she has come to the vet today. The woman with the dog explains that every time she works on the floor or bends over to get something, her dog starts humping her behind. The woman with the cat asks her if she is going to have the dog neutered. But the dog lady replies "No, I'm going to have him declawed too."
But before we go home, I forgot to tell you about what's next on my research agenda. It's amazing, not merely gender reassignment for pets, but cross species reassignment. You know, cats and puppies that grow up together and the dog wants to be a kitten. . . sort of skipping up a few spokes around the reincarnation wheel. Maybe call it "Karmic Kitties". Gets your pet to nirvana that much faster. After tonight I started thinking that maybe there is a market for reverse neuterings. No, no, in pets, not ladyboys. Hey, you're right, perhaps ladyboys as well.
You've been a busy boy…