Stickman Readers' Submissions May 26th, 2012

Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 329

Good News: fans and Dana fans.

mens clinic bangkok

Today three gifts in one. First a short Introduction that details my recent experience in a creative writing class at Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok, then a generic sidebar on editors, and finally the main event titled Seduction and
Production that talks about a personal experience with an editor. So it all comes together. Give me enough yarn and I will knit a sock. It just may look a little crazy right up until the end. Anyway, enjoy. And as always, stop thinking about Fa.
There, you are doing it now. You are thinking about her. Imagining her doing make-up under the palm tree. Imagining her moonwalking in front of you as you sit on a concrete bench near Soi 13/0. I told you not to think about her and you are thinking
about her right now. Scum.


Anyway, I'm taking a course in creative writing at Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok and the assignment is to find and quote and submit something that is:

1. short
2. fun
3. whimisical
4. original
5. creative

I turn in:

"I wake up in the morning,
There's frogs inside my socks;
Your moma she's hiding
Inside the ice box." — Bob Dylan (On The Road Again)

I receive a grade of F. Comments from the creative writing professor are:

wonderland clinic

1. Narrative does not make sense.
2. No sympathetic main character.
3. No plot that can be resolved.
4. No cultural framework.
5. Too short.
6. Quoted person, Bob Dylan, not a published writer.

I guess opinions can differ. Professor Saggybutt Fishpastebreath tells me to schedule an office appointment with him for counseling. He will pose questions to me and record my responses. He will then use my responses to give me the help in
creative writing that I need. He reminds me that he was very successful in Thai advertising and took the West's campaign for the Pope on a Rope shower accessory and reworked it for the Singapore market as Dope on a Fope. T-shirt sales with
this 'branding' printed on them became very popular. I am looking forward to this personal attention in my Chulalongkorn creative writing class. Last year when Da tried to cut off my penis I got some painkillers that were half morphine
and half cocaine. I will swallow a few of these before I go to the Professor's office.

But that is not really what I want to talk about today. What I want to talk about today is:


An international group of linguistic Shakespearian scholars at Dana Central has determined that Shakespeare did not say:

"The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers." — King Henry VI

What Willy the Shake really said was:

'The first thing we do, let's kill all the editors.'

Kind of reminds me of Milton's last words:

"Kill the devil's scourge–
Point a gun,
And do now purge.

Praise our Lord and make them run.
Kill the editors,
Each and every one."

And who can forget the dying words of Wordworth's son–Freeform Wordsworth?

"I've dropped some acid.
It's not daffodils I see,
But the heads of editors.

Let's fire up the lawnmover,
And cut them down.
I've got to pee."

And finally, who can forget crazy legs Ezra Obscure Reference Pound on the subject of editors . . .

"Black bough axes on a troubled sea–
Crucible's Ulysses yawning at the dawn . . .
Kill the editors–
Make them gone."

Now you all know what you have to do. Go forth and multiply with extreme editor prejudice. And let not thought stall your step. Never forget the words of that fabulous fun guy Hermann Goering:

"Shoot first and inquire afterwards, and if you make mistakes, I will protect you."

and of course germane to this subject the heart fluttering inspirational words of Joseph Stalin who said:

"A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic."

My name is Dana. I will protect you. Kill the editors.

But that is not what I want to talk about today. What I want to talk about today is life changing without being epiphanic, a new experience but not a bragging experience: to wit–


I was recently solicited for story submissions by a Thai woman who is the editor of a new book on Thailand that is coming out. The book is part of a country series. Vietnam is already on the bookshelves and the plan is to do a lot of countries.
I always say no to this stuff. My contempt for all human beings is exceeded only by my contempt for editor human beings. And the notion of crawling on my stomach for a female editor can barely be processed by my big brain. This time, however,
I sent in five stories. Don't ask me why. She accepted three stories. Thought they were fantastic. Then it started. Changes. Rewrites. Different points-of-view to consider. Additional detail needed. Etc. And . . . more etc. All forms of torture
for the writer. Ok, I am actually doing this. Why? Well, three reasons:

1. I imagine this Thai editor lady is about 26-30 years old. Wide almond eyes, high cheekbones, pouty lips, black hair to the backs of her 6" stiletto heels, tiny waist, flat stomach, and breasts so high they are hitting her under the
chin. She's got a throaty raspy voice from too many cigarettes and too many whiskeys and you've got to tie her legs down when you make love. She is a kicker. Kicks like a mule. Some women are screamers, some women are scratchers, some
women cry; this editor is a kicker. Ever seen a naked kicker? Sweet Jesus on a cracker.

2. I imagine she likes to dance in high end Bangkok clubs wearing black open toe stiletto heels with those black straps that wrap around the calf. Those black straps wrapped around the calf give me stabbing pains in the tops of my eyes. And
I know what she will never tell anyone. On her days off she likes to drive down to the Malaysian border and tease the towelheads.

3. She ends her emails to me with:

"I totally love this."


"Thanks Dana. I really appreciate this."


"Love this."

Hey, it's almost like we're dating. I'm so easily seduced it is embarrassing. I don't qualify to be a parent because I have no backbone. Can't set any standards for discipline or focus. I'd rewrite a tattoo for
this woman and I have not even met her. I'm pathetic. Without form. Gutless, barely a man. Normally, I would rather cut off my writer testicles with a rusty hacksaw blade, place them on a table, and smash them with a hammer then submit to
editing; let alone a female editing Beezlebub from the Prince of Darkness publishing company: however, I am doing it. Don't ask me why. I am so far down the well of mystery of my life I just give up. No fxxxing idea what I am doing anymore.
Who knows–maybe the next time I try to jerk off I'll have forgotten how. Everything now is just a mystery. I am doing rewrites to make an editor (a female editor) happy. Put it there. That's right. Right there. Right there on my temple.
Put the gun there and shoot me. No wait, hold it–I've got to work some more on these rewrites.

Gosh, I hope she likes them.


* Some readers have asked why I have not commented on some of Dana's recent submissions. Dana's writing is so unique and original I often don't know what to say and am not sure I can add anything with comments. Further, and most importantly, Dana is quite comfortable when I don't comment.

nana plaza