Readers' Submissions

Jayson And Green Stars And Men And Women

  • Written by Anonymous
  • May 10th, 2010
  • 13 min read



Chapter One: The Child Seemed Such a Good Idea

You are standing in the operating theater and a miracle is about to happen. Soon your wife will give birth to your (meaning the two of you) baby! The child will be the living embodiment of your social contract of equalness. The final point in the triangle of love and commitment and selfless instinctive mating. You will never feel more love than you feel now, and you will never be more in love with your wife than you are now, and you will never be filled with more joy and wonder than now, and you will never be more of a man than you are now.

They say that love is not looking into each other's eyes, it is looking in the same direction. And that is why you got married. You found a woman who shares your dreams. You are going to pull in the traces together hip to hip and heart to heart like two strong happy hopeful Yukon husky dogs. Woof. That is why you know that this child is such a good idea.

When the child is born, do yourself a very private favor. Note the time and the day and the month. When you get home write it down on a little piece of paper and put the card someplace where your wife will not find it. That's right. I am asking you to hide something from your wife. You are a big boy. You can do it. Welcome to life.

Now; listen to your wife. And the first time she refers to the baby as HER baby write the day and the month down on the card. How long did it take for her to refer to your (meaning hers and yours) baby as HER baby? How long did it take? Days? Weeks? Months? HOURS? It doesn't matter. The point is that the first time that she refers to the child as HER child–that is the crack in the dam. And you better pay attention because you are standing at the base of the dam. Now note the next time that you hear her refer to the child as HER child. Write the day and the time down on the piece of paper. I guarantee the time interval will be less! After a while you will see a pattern. Emboldened by an indifferent society and an ignorant husband she is now referring to the child as HER baby all the time. Usually, after a little or a lot of this nonsense a husband will tentatively say something like: "You know honey, it is actually OUR baby. I am the father. Biologically, one half of the child is me!" That is when the wife will smile and make eye contact and pat him on the hand and say: "Oh I know honey–it is just my way of speaking."

That's when you will want to say: "There there dear, I know it is your way of talking; but the way we talk is the way we think. Your way of talking doesn't include me. And you have taken my child from me with your way of talking!"

Then she will do it again and again and again and again and again! The preamble was the courtship. You have just lived the story. The denouement is coming up. Make sure that you take lots of pictures of the child, it is all the courts are going to leave you. And you are about to learn what everyone around you knew all along. All women knew and even some of the silent men in your life knew: it was never an equal contract. In fact, from the woman's point of view; there was never a contract in the first place. It is the poor and the weak and the disenfranchised that insist on contracts. It is their only protection from the predators and the strong. The strong never want contracts. That is why women so often use the word silly or cute when referring to men. Silly or cute as in trivial or inconsequential. The same way the cat thinks of the mouse. No cat has ever spent time thinking of or living by contracts. That's a mouse thing. Do the cat and the mouse ever compromise or negotiate?

The women are the cats. The men are the mice. All women know this. Few men know this. So the notion that the two of you were ever looking in the same life direction is absurd. She wanted a baby. She needed a man's sperm. Men are interchangeable to women. Any man would have done. You stepped up to the plate. You showed up at the church. Now she has got her mother and her sisters and her friends and her cell phone and she has got HER baby: what does she need you for? Well, there is one itsy bitsy teeny weeny little thing–MONEY. She needs your money. Now starts the denouement as you stand in the courts and find that there are now suddenly multiple ideas of the social contract; yours, your wife's, and the courts. Only these three divergent views are not three points of a triangle but three disparate starships hurtling away from one another! The child has no say. Good luck.

Chapter Two: Same Monster's Ball

So women are self-centered, irresponsible creatures with no notion of social reciprocity. The term is sociopath. So where am I going with this? Well, I am simply trying to point out that if you get upset by some bargirl or her actions you are wasting your time and your energy. It could never have happened any other way. In business, if a product is advertised at a certain price and sold at that price–then a delivery has to be made. The rational modern man expects the bargirl to provide the services that were promised and that he purchased. He is offended at her lack of social contract character. But to her way of thinking there was never a contract. The only thing of interest to her is what has her name on it–the money. This is not a problem with a solution; because one half of the participants do not recognize social rules. So what can you do? Well, after a couple of beers it might occur to you that you are simply in the wrong theater. Maybe you should go to Manila, or Singapore, or Hong Kong, or Vietnam, or Rio, or Cambodia, or Cuba, or the Dominican Republic. There you will find someone who will treat yourself and herself with respect. Only you won't. Same monster's ball–different costumes!

Chapter Three: You'll Be Back

So what are you reduced to? You are reduced to gathering as many female contact dust motes as you can and trying to capture them in your hand. One girl kisses you, another whispers in your ear, a third woman puts her ankles behind her head, a fourth can stand on her hands in the shower, someone insists on washing you in the bath, and another cries at the airport when you leave. Wan or Pea or Nid laughs happily when you start to circle the temple the wrong way, one girl lets you do this and another lets you do that, etc. It is never perfect with any of them. Almost 100% of the time there are disappointments. But if you add up all of the little experiences and kind of coalesce them; well, on the way home in the airplane you can tell yourself you had a pretty fine vacation and some fun and special sexual experiences with some wonderful women. Of course you had to do all of the work, and you had to sift a lot of sand, and you had to endure a lot of uncivilized behavior and abuse in this world of compromise and predation; but it's the results that count. You were able to put something together. You didn't fall in love and you were not really taken seriously by other human beings and there will be no marriage or life fulfilling mating; but you'll be back. This world of criminal opportunism, racism, ignorance, venality and greed was better than the place you came from. Jesus, what a world. It's tough to be a man.

Nobody else will see this! They will imagine that you are returning from a male paradise where the women are full of character and full of fun. And you will not be able to talk them out of this idea. It's like the guy driving out of the lumberyard with some really nice choice boards on top of his car. You think, boy; that must be some great lumberyard stuffed with great boards. What you don't see is that for that guy to find eight good boards he had to sort through piles and piles and piles of inferior grade under spec over priced trashy lumber. And no one offered to help him. There in the rain on a Saturday he had to do all the work alone, and take all of the risks, and provide all of the money, and not forget the standards that he has set for himself. You wouldn't call him a lumber sex tourist; he is just someone who wants value for his money and his time and his dream.

Chapter Four: Stickman's Site

Currently, the Reader's Submissions section of Stickman's site is the world repository for information regarding Thai female and farang male relationships. It is an open forum and all of the evidence is in. The world of Jayson's and green stars tells us all we need to know. Cultural differences have been delineated and analyzed. However, I am not sure Thai female and farang male cultural differences are the main event. I think the main event is that we are talking about men and women. Men and women have little or nothing in common. Cultural differences and cultural challenges are just the icing on the gender difference cake.

As a matter of civility and courtesy and hope I wish all cross cultural couplings between men and women nothing but happiness and success. But I don't bet on it. The odds are too long. I buy lottery tickets where the odds are 40,000,000 to one. At least I have a chance. But if someone starts to talk to me about marriage to a Thai, I start to pull fuses and shut down circuit breakers in my brain. Bad odds! In fact, if someone starts to talk to me about a lifetime contract with a woman I start to pull fuses and shut down circuit breakers in my brain just on general principles. Bad odds. No need to pick on the Thais.

Chapter Five: Sperm and Money

The woman's chemistry set of life requires sperm and money. That's where you come in. Not your personality, or your hopes, or your dreams, or your needs, or your special features that make the special you. Just your sperm and your money. Lucky men go to the deathbed never learning this. The rest of us become philosophic or worldly or weary or all of the above. Nothing slows the step like disappointment.

Every woman is a contestant and a hobbyist. They are competing against their sisters and their friends and their mothers who have already had babies. They have to prove they are as much a woman as these other women by grunting out more beating hearts that the world does not need. Hence the "Honey, I'm pregnant!" statement that eventually erupts from all of their bargirl bodies. Your job–your very survival: depends on never being in front of a woman when she says those words.

Every woman is a hobbyist. And the hobby is babies. A hobby is a personal endeavor that makes no societal contribution but gives pleasure. There is nothing more selfish than making babies. After methane gas farting cattle; babies are the world's biggest pollutant. They suck up oxygen that others need and expel carbon dioxide which is a poison. If you get trapped in a small room full of babies it is a fight (flight) for life as you try to suck up enough oxygen out of the air to make it to the exit.

And babies demand and place loads on goods and services and caloric output and stress and money far beyond their value. They make no contribution. The day I see babies holding jackhammers or paint spray guns or shovels on the Phra Pinklao bridge I might change my mind. In the meantime, don't send a woman back for the ammo. Because if she sees another big hipped wonder at the ammo dump she will forget all about you dodging bullets at the front line. The two of them will stand around under starburst shells and mortars and talk about babies. Men are the brooch on the costume of a woman's life. Utilized and valued strictly on a need to need basis. A man's cell phone directory in Bangkok has a few numbers. A woman's cell phone directory has 30-60 numbers (I've seen 200). All women; don't look for your name. When she is talking to her friends; do you think your name comes up? You were part of the chemistry set that begat the child, but you are not part of the societal equation. Ever wonder why you see so many men in bars? They are not wanted at home.

Chapter Six: Sociopaths and Contracts

Everyone knows that women are sociopaths so they aren't held responsible for their actions. Once again they escape responsibility. By sheer volume their combined crimes great and small against humanity dwarf all other criminals of historical or trivial note. A convention of dedicated male serial killers couldn't even get a nod from women. Amateurs. Women take and take and take and take with professional and pathological indifference on a scale that dwarfs all other criminals and crimes of history. And because they have the great and powerful kryptonite pussy once again they escape responsibility. They walk among us but they are not of us. The story of Eve and the forbidden fruit and the snake of sin in Eden was not the main event but just the story to mask the real deal. Eve was an alien. The infestation had begun. Women don't really need men. The smart ones know it and have happy lives of socially irresponsible self-indulgence. The less cerebral women also know that they don't emotionally need men–only on a different level–instinctively. Once the baby is born the wife with money attached to her name will leave the husband. She doesn't need him anymore. The man was only needed to provide sperm in the woman's chemistry set of life.

Chapter Seven: Marriage–Choke Chain of Love and Commitment

The idea of a choke chain doesn't sound appealing? Then review what we have learned. Women are aliens who behave like sociopaths and use men to satisfy chemical and money and personal needs. You are disappointed in the behavior of your bargirl friend? Are you kidding? If they don't recognize and adhere to the most sacred contract, parenthood; what makes you think they are going to understand or live up to dinky little verbal contracts that you arrive at in bars? She didn't provide the promised services in the room? You see that as an outrage. She doesn't see it in any light: it doesn't exist because it does not have her name on it. You don't exist and you don't count. There is no social reciprocity with sociopaths. What you can not change you can at least understand. There are no other options. So get what you can and keep movin'.

Now have fun. Welcome to Thailand.

Thai Dating, Singles and Personals

Stickman's thoughts:

Brilliantly put together and wonderfully written.