The Ultimate High

Two week ago I witnessed the brutal and senseless murder of my friends; Mr Kim the gentle Korean, Mr Patel the impeccably behaved Indian and Mr Yamota the generously endowed Japanese sex tourist. All three were beaten to death in a boxing ring located on the ground floor of the Nana Plaza at the behest of His Honour Judge Korski (aka Judge Roy Bean).

Currently researching the feasibility of a rather unusual new business opportunity, I have travelled south to Pattaya with the objective of finding the legendary Dana. Although never having met the gentleman, I am confident in finding him based on his distinctive appearance as graphically chronicled by a number of Stickman readers. Keeping my ear to the ground, I have heard that His Honour Judge Korski may also be visiting Sin City. Allowing for the possibility that our paths might cross once more, I have taken the precaution of bring along my two new best friends – Messrs Smith and Wesson.

Strolling along Beach Road, I notice a small group of Japanese tourists accompanied by their bargirl girlfriends. They are playing with what appears to be some very small novelty balloons. One of the girls has stretched a balloon over her tiny Issarn nose. The Japanese men are taking turns to pose with her for a photo opportunity. There is much laughter and merriment. As I draw level with the group, I see the girl is holding up a box to the camera. Then the penny drops! What I initially assumed to novelty balloons are in fact miniature condoms. On the box is written, “Korski’s Condoms’ – small in size, big on quality”. I ask one of the bargirls where I can find Korski. “Yes, I know Korski, all the girls do“, she responds smiling. The bargirl then hands me one of the tiny condoms. “All you have to do is find the man who fits this – just like Cinderella and the glass slipper!”

A hundred metres or so further down Beach Road, near Mike Shopping Mall, I encounter the man himself. Korski is pushing a little red wagon and is in conversation with a tall man wearing a rugby shirt. The tall man speaks with a Kiwi accent and has a large professional looking camera slung over his shoulder. There are two signs roughly taped to the side of the little red wagon (LRW). The first sign reads, “Working girl surveys – free gifts on completion”. There is something written below in Thai, which I take to be the translation. On the second sign, printed in italics is “Korski’s Condoms’ – buy me and stop one”. I recognise this as a plagiarism of the historical handle used by bicycle ice cream vendors, “Stop me and buy one”!

I draw “Messrs Smith and Wesson” moments before Korski turns round and recognises me. “Soi Dog”, he exclaims! “Korski”, I respond menacingly, levelling Messrs Smith and Wesson at his unprotected groin. Stickman raises his Canon camera expectantly, not wishing to miss a scoop for next week’s column. All of a sudden I am struck by the ridiculous notion that it’s not telescopic sights I need, but rather microscopic sights. I stifle a laugh and holster the firearm. The moment has passed! Stickman lowers his Canon disappointed. Korski smiles lamely and offers me one of his free gifts. I accept it with good grace and walk on by.

Later, I track down the legend that is Dana. He is sitting in an open air bar beer on Soi 6, watching the world go by. I introduce myself and offer to buy him a beer, which he accepts. Dana knows who I am, having heard about my recent run in with Korski. He laughs! I talk to him about the recent blood bath in the boxing ring on the ground floor of the Nana Plaza. I also mention my visit to the Coffee Shop at the Grace Hotel, a place he knows well. I tell him that whilst at the Coffee Shop, I met a Turkish Alchemist with the unlikely name of “Ali Bongo” and it was as a result of this meeting that I have come to Pattaya to seek an audience with the great Dana. I further explain that Ali Bongo owns a cafe near to the Grace Hotel renowned for the excellent hashish, tobacco and herbs he blends for consumption by his customers through the hubble-bubble. He has recently perfected a technique for extracting the essence of Viagra, which when added to the brew provides for an altogether more sensual experience. I can verify this, having been invited back to his cafe where I was introduced to the hookah pipe whilst simultaneously being massaged by a couple of erotic belly dancers. I then share some further intimate details, securing Dana’s undivided attention and interest.

After I had sampled the product, Ali Bongo explains that he is looking to ramp up the hookah experience to a whole new level, but in order to do so will require one further secret ingredient. When he tells me what he is seeking, at first thought I had misheard him, and then that he is having some fun at the expense of a particularly gullible and naive foreigner. Patiently disarming my cynicism, Ali states that although potent and effective (a claim I cannot dispute) his brew is in essence “gender neutral”, and thus requires a balanced infusion of “Yin and Yang” in order to realise its full potential. He tells me that historically the most unusual and unpromising raw ingredients have been found to deliver beneficial outcomes. For example; Menotropin (source Wikipedia) is an active substance for the treatment of fertility disturbances. It is extracted from the urine of menopausal women and contains the two gonadotropin hormones LH and FSH. On the basis of promising preliminary test results, Ali is confident that he can develop an effective Yin and Yang component for his product, but in order to do so he needs to obtain significant quantities of sweat from post menopausal but highly sexually active women. Once obtained, this excretion may then be reduced down to its essence in much the same way as a cook may prepare a tasty sauce. Dana understands immediately why I had come to see him. Given the illicit nature of the project, coupled with the difficulties of securing significant numbers of suitable donors’, there is surely nobody better qualified than he (in terms of contacts and ingenuity), to deliver on what Ali requires!

Once Dana appreciates the potential of what was on offer, it requires very little persuasion on my part before he becomes fully committed to the project. Before heading back to my hotel, I agree to meet him on the beach at 1pm the following day. Dana assures me that this will allow him more than sufficient time to make the necessary arrangements.

On my arrival for our rendezvous, I can see that Dana has been as good as his word. A two hundred metre stretch of the beach has been marked out in lanes, with bunting hanging from the trees opposite. A small crowd is gathered to witness the festivities. A large banner has been erected announcing “Pattaya’s 1st senior bargirl games”. Around the banner stands a motley collection of 20 to 25 of the skankiest women I have ever had the misfortune to encounter – all of whom Dana assures me are close friends that he can personally vouch for. Most are wearing high heel shoes and in consequence are already sinking into the sand, smoking and cursing profusely. All have war-paint (make-up) scraped on with a trowel in a vain attempt to disguise the ravishments that time and lifestyle had taken on their looks. Without exception, they are all dressed in standard bargirl apparel. Dana has provided a large bag of swabs to harvest the spoils of their exertions. He assures me this is a task that he personally will attend to. This comes as somewhat of a relief!

Without standing on ceremony Dana and I line the girls up as best as we can, which is a bit like herding cats, and I fire Messrs Smith and Wesson to start the first race. Chaos ensues! Most of the girls in high-heels fall over immediately. Three of them became entangled in a heap and start fighting, taking off their high-heeled shoes to hit each other over the head. Others slope off into the shade under the trees and begin propositioning the spectators. Two of the girls persuade some Indian Mongers’ to share their bottle of whisky with them. Another girl is sitting cross-legged under a tree reading her comic book, ignoring everyone around her. Very soon the boys in tight brown shirts arrive to find out what is going on and hopefully issue some on the spot-fines. Dana and I quickly disappear into a nearby bar to avoid being taxed and to re-appraise our strategy.

Once things eventually quieten down on the beach, we put Plan B into effect. This proves to be much more successful! Five girls are rounded up from the beach area and taken to a sauna, spa and gymnasium complex, where Dana knows the owner. Each girl, protesting loudly, is wrapped in cling-film, with rubber tubes inserted around each ankle. Once trussed up, all five girls are locked into individual sauna devices, their heads poking out the top – still protesting. The machines are then set to maximum heat, with the rubber tubes attached to the girl’s ankles taped into plastic bottles to harvest the copious perspiration that will surely eschew. After two hours all the bottles are full so we finally released the semi-conscious girls!

Dana and I mail the plastic sweat bottles to Ali Bongo in Bangkok later that evening. The following week I call Ali to find out whether the secret ingredient has been a success. “Mixed results”, he confides. “Initially, I had very positive feedback from the trial group and was looking to commence full scale production.” “Unfortunately, that won’t now be happening as half my volunteers were arrested in Sukhumvit last night accused of pick-pocketing the tourists.” “The only explanation I can offer is perhaps one or more of your donors were ladyboys?”

“Let me discuss that with my business partner”, I reply testily!