Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes Part 331
Greetings Stickmanites and Dana fans:
Today the first in a new feature to precede the main submission events: stories and essays. A contest. Identify the title of the story or the essay the following quote comes from, notify us as soon as possible at Dana Central, and you will
win a prize. Only one prize will be awarded so email times will be important. What does that mean? That means that if you are about to consummate boom-boom with a lady from the FCUK ME bar and you suddenly think of the answer to the question,
you must roll out of bed immediately and hit the keyboard. It is all about competitiveness and high standards. If your lady friend is really unhappy with this then have her contact me and I will make her smile again.
All procedures, policies, paperwork, and prizes will go through Dana Enterprises. Do not contact Stickman. He's too busy making bank runs, doing deals. and entertaining powerful people. I'm the one who loves you. It's always
been me. No prizes awarded to members of the Dana Fan Club. They have an unfair advantage. And no, we have already received this question; you can not sleep with me to win the prize. Sweet Jesus On A Cracker. We will call this the Dana Quote Contest
(DQC). It will only run fifteen times. Fifteen opportunities for you to be somebody. And now the quote:
"Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
If that's not Isaan cooking I'll push a used condom down Beach Road with my nose."
Good luck and this one is easy. And now the main event titled:
LEST YOU BE JUDGED
It's hard not to be judgmental. We all do it. Sifting incoming data and making decisions about priority, or friend vs. foe, or pain vs. pleasure is part of what makes us successful as a species. But we sometimes forget that we are on
other peoples' radar screens as well and they are doing the same about us. Judging us, often without all of the information they need to make accurate judgements. We live in and trod the drama boards of a giant judging play in our lives and
we often forget that. The reminder can be shocking.
I'm cruising the boardwalk in Pattaya between Soi 10 and the Royal Garden Plaza looking for a player. Others on the net like to sound smart by saying that the boardwalk is full of skanks. Ok, tell me something I don't know. But
every now and then by sifting enough skank sand you find a skank diamond. A cheap diamond I might add. I don't pay barfines anymore, and I don't pay for short time rooms in bars. I also don't buy expensive gifts for the Mercedes,
and the Rolls Royce, and the Mosler, and the Lamborghini, and the Tesla, and the Ferrari, and the Bentley, and the Pagani, and the Spyker, and the Porsche, and the Ferrari, and the Saleen, and the Gumbert, and the Jaguar, and the Bugatti, and
the Koenigsegg, and the Hamann, and the Maserati, and the Lotus, and the Rossion looking women hanging out in the Q bar and other much much more expensive and exclusive places for the smart set. I know these specimens exist because I have witnessed
them, and I know the qualitative differences between these women and the women I pursue. But I'm not going to pay for them. My money is my money and I do not intend to be foolish with it. You would be amazed at the number of men in the Kingdom
who have not mastered this concept.
What I am looking for when on the love patrol is someone with dark skin and wide feet who just returned from a month and a half in the village. She is stone broke. Hopefully she is also someone of low self esteem with a purse full of ya ba.
That is the trifecta gentlemen. Broke, low self esteem, and cranked on drugs. Now we are in fxxx bunny land where you can feel the rising aorta from your heart clamping shut as you bonk your way to a second heart attack. It's the ride that
counts; not the body panels, or the glitter paint, or the digital anything. I'm not interested in the maintenance problems, or the expense, or the operational moods of a Thai female candy cane red Jaguar starfish. Give me the dark skin and
the wide feet of the village girl humper any day.
My second day in Pattaya I spot her. About four feet tall (we have a winner), not a bad face, and standard hair. She's not a glittering beauty but her mother probably loves her and if she would smile and laugh she could get attention
in any mall in America. She is Thai and she is female. A roll of fat around the middle from the intemperate eating habits of the stupid; but hell, that is what the light switch is for at room 612 in the AA Hotel on Soi 13. I am busy with other
lovers so a couple of days go by but I notice in that time that she appears to be slow, not retarded; but her book shelf is not going to have books on it with titles like:
Physics For The Layperson
The Zen Of Check Register Corrections
Roman Social Constructs: Republic vs. Empire
Japanese Haikus: Philosophy or Literature?
To the smarty-pants Internet commentators this is exactly the kind of woman of the boardwalk that would be beneath them, but I have discovered sometimes that the least likely candidate can sometimes reward with the humping and slurping of
a fuck bunny on ya ba. I'm a numbers guy. I'm also a fuck bunny guy. I am looking for fuck bunnies. I know that virtually 100% of all females believe that men were sent to Earth to serve their needs and to listen to their riveting stories
about sisters and about mothers, but that is not what I want. I'm also a salesman and all salesmen learn one inescapable fact if they stay in the sales business. Sales (life) is just numbers. Sifting through the No's to get to the Yes's.
Sifting through the starfish to get to the humpers and grunters and grinders and smilers. And the No's don't matter. Most salesmen are risk attracted rather than risk adverse. They will wade into a hail of bullets at the front line carrying
the newest ammo box. Maybe they can get a big order. Most successful salesmen have big egos and accomplishments to match. These are the winners. The winners who will have the word NEXT on their tombstone.
"You don't want to buy my pink ping pong balls? Ok, NEXT."
"You are being offered a price just above wholesale and you have to 'think about it'? Ok, NEXT."
"You are not sure I am young enough, or rich enough, or hip enough to fuck you? Ok, NEXT."
Around the morning of the fourth day I sit down next to her. I have a sack full of the standard breakfast treat giveaways. I offer her a carton of orange juice. No smile. She tears off the packaging and drops it on the ground. I offer her
a breakfast snack food. No smile and she tears off the packaging and lets it drop to the boardwalk. Another Thai who loves to bleat about how special Thailand is but does not see despoilment through littering as a just a tad contradictory. But
no matter–this is not about philosophy or environmentalism. This is about me taking her back to room 612 at the AA Hotel and tearing her clothes off and bonking her silly.
It is not going well with Miss Unresponsive. She obviously makes her 'living' doing the basest of deeds and I should be at least acceptable with my three pound gold watch, custom made clothes, laminated sole and heel crocodile shoes,
shaved chest, and engorged private parts. But I can not get a smile out of her, or any conversation, or bright eyes, or even grateful acquiescence. She has seen me with others and she knows I am a player. But so far nothing. Nada. Zero. Goose
Egg. Not a smile. Then my little retarded one drops the bomb.
She points to a liver spot (hey, I'm 58) on my elbow and pronounces that I have HIV.
If you can successfully cross streets long enough eventually you reach an age where you get little brown spots on your skin. I do not have a lot of them but I do have one or two. The process of aging is inexorable. So I have on my right elbow
a little light brown spot. Up to now probably not one other human has noticed; or barring that, taken notice. And this human mistake with the roll of fat around the middle and the social aspect of a beagle dog has concluded that I have HIV and
therefore am not on her horizon of men she will bestow her charms upon. I sit there in shock. Boy, talk about a conversation stopper. I wonder how many other girls on the boardwalk she has told this story to.
I have spent the last couple of days thinking that I was holding her in reserve for the awkward time when I run out of class A Skanks and have to dip into the Plan B Skanks; and she has maybe spent the same last couple of days cutting my
legs off telling all the girls I have HIV marks on my arms. Boy oh boy: talk about drama on the boardwalk. Talk about the Thai experience.
I just love the jerks that tell you that you should be taking a Thai cooking class, or attending a 'Mahout For A Day' session at an elephant training camp, or watching a gem cutter in eastern Thailand load up the polishing drum
and that will allow you to get to know the real Thailand. Thai cooking is all about condiments and spices and combinations? Ooh, you are so International. The mahouts and their families would benefit from government social welfare programs? Wait
a minute–I'll contact the United Nations. The gem dealers are unfairly maligned as liars and cheats? You talked to one! No you tourists, and family value people, and bible thumpers: if you want to get to know the real Thailand mix with the
Thais. Dance with the Thais. And I do not mean going to a disco and watching Thais dance. I mean get out on the floor and dance. I can't know as much about the culture of Thailand because all I do day after day after day is mix with the Thais,
and you took a cooking class at the Oriental Hotel? You are kidding right?
I know you have more college degrees than I do, and you make more money than I do, and you consider yourself superior to me; so . . . you can see how this does not make sense right? Well, than have some international respect for the men who
travel long distances to talk to women. You may not respect their activities but saying they are not learning anything about the culture is just stupid. Every time, no exceptions, I engage a Thai lady in an activity of any kind I am learning about
the culture of Thailand. Ask yourself this question: if you got thrown in jail who would you rather have come and get you: one of your cooking class friends or myself and one of my friends? I think you will pretty much find it an axiom that when
the rubber of international experience meets the road and you are sweating bullets of fear, a wok or a ginger recipe is not a part of the culture that is going to do you any good. What you are going to need is a monger and his prostitute girlfriend
who can talk to the police. Now, that is culture.
You say you are a single white woman and you want to learn about Thailand on your eleven day vacation to the Kingdom? Ok, have sex with two Thai men a day for eleven days. Hey, and it won't be postcard easy either. You'll have to
do all the work, and take all the risks, and live in a world of chance without guarantee. That'll teach you something about another culture. Come on down to the boardwalk and dance with me and my girls and you may learn a lot about Thailand.
Wade into the dramas of men and women. That is what learning about another culture is all about. Anyway, my little overweight minx has poisoned the well of love for me here on the boardwalk in this month of January in the year 2008. Time to move
on. Time to walk up Soi 13 and catch the baht bus to Soi 6 where the girls don't let a little thing like HIV get in the way of love.