Stickman Readers' Submissions August 29th, 2013

Michael Jackson vs. The Jungle Bunny


Those high-waisted, ass-flattening, granny-disco pants. I suppose I can take the dyed hair and the crackhead contact lenses, but those pants! Then you have the god awful lip reduction surgery where gobs of kissable fat are removed to enable that mouth-never-closed look. That permanent cadaver-like display of teeth, which of course sit atop a triangular chin implant, beneath a shiny plasticine nose which begins unnaturally between the eyebrows and ends with a protruded, elongated set of upturned piggy nostrils.

Oh, and let’s not forget the faint mustache which never bothers the lady growing it. Within this Michael Jackson-esque, fabricated head, is a brain of sorts, containing a mix of psychoses, selfishness, immaturity and pride that comes with the attaining of a degree earned through shameless cheating. A Degree in Whatever that is, at best, akin to a Western high school diploma.

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Moving south, we find a few overlooked armpit hairs poking through the incision scars of a mostly botched boob job, or perhaps there is no scar and not much of any boobs at all. With any luck, the physique in question will have an absence of masculinizing tattoos. With greater luck, there will be the absence of a tattoo covering up the rotted flesh of a botched belly piercing. And just a few inches further down you get to behold a revolting thicket of pubes in desperate need of removal.

Laughably, these ladies are considered to be the holy grail. The flat-assed, semi-educated Thai-Chinese. The wannabe hi-sos. Someone you can pridefully stroll through a mall with to advertise the fact that you are an in-the-know-foreign-local. You’ve got yourself a bona fide Thai-spec good girl and society had better damn well recognize the fact that you are obviously not one of those dirty losers who shacked up with a headcase jungle bunny hooker.

Too bad, though. Like most jungle-folk, there is a greater chance the jungle bunny will have a booty and be more naturally busty. They usually know enough to shave their pud. They may even be without an iPhone allowing their focus to possibly remain on you for a while. And of course they already know that they are expected to give a decent shag whenever it is requested, unlike the good girls who would rather go shopping and give lame begrudging screws to preserve their practiced good girl façade. They appear to believe that a show of bedroom inexperience will be construed as charming, innocent, and a hairy-holed proof of chastity. Too bad it only disappoints a man to the point of eventually returning to one of those hot uninhibited jungle bunnies, the ones with boobs and booty and a smooth snatch, because a horny poverty-stricken con artist is ultimately more alluring than a shopaholic Michael Jackson clone whose crotch resembles the armpit of a Greek truck driver.

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In short, it is usually the dirty girl – who has never given birth – who has the prettier orifice. Don’t get me wrong, I am all too aware that a nightmare can reside in anyone’s panties. Pubes aside, some labia look like someone set off a cherry bomb in a veal shank – regardless of social standing or whether or not a baby was ever produced. But if a baby was produced, well, welcome to the world of stretch marks and loose flesh. I have met precious few who have had a baby and everything went back to normal afterwards. The vast majority are rendered permanently kaput. Is there anything more revolting than the sight of a deflated balloon with an earring in the middle? The sight of wrinkly white lines cutting through jiggling cellulite must surely be nature’s cure for priapism.

Regardless of physical attributes, any relationship is sure to eventually sour. I have had verbal fights with both classes of Thai female over the years and have shown no regard for their loss of face in the process.

When things went sour with my garee girlfriends, I would remind them that, as a hooker, their opinion is invalid and they are lucky I am even acknowledging their filthy existence. I would remind them that if I were a poor bloke, I still would not resort to selling my butthole to paying homosexuals because cleanliness is next to godliness and I have self-respect. I remind them that the poor 7-11 girl is every bit as cute but is rich in honor because she doesn’t put money as the ultimate goal. I remind them that back in their village, the smart girls actually studied, the cutest girls would already be taken by a local guy, and only the dregs would need to venture to the tourist areas. I remind them that the second cutest dumb girls from their village would be selling their hole only to Thai men and wouldn’t dream of fellating the salty phallus of an obese farang wreck. And when they call me a hypocrite for being with them in the first place, I take the high road; I remind them that I am obviously jai dee because I did not judge them outright, I gave them a chance, I showed respect, but they screwed it up due to their own greed and stupidity. I make sure they feel bad about themselves before we depart for good. To hell with their need to save face. It’s absurd for a prostitute to believe she has any ‘face’ to save in the first place. Of course, if she is pleasant and doesn’t try to scam me, then the above insults would never be uttered.

Disgusted by it all, I boomerang back to the good girls, swearing off ever seeing a hooker again. I rationalize that the smooth snatch and the jungle booty are not worth the agitation, nor is it worth my own loss of face when I am observed in their company by polite society. No, I will once again nab myself a good girl. A good girl who, for some reason, no Thai man has thus far wanted. A good girl who, for some reason, doesn’t mind being seen by her peers in the company of a farang. And when that relationship eventually sours, I will inform her that she is the worst shag I’ve ever had. I will mock her pubes and the unsexy ignorance those pubes imply. I will mock her flat-ass, her pseudo-education, her plastic nose and chin and missing lips and the Michael Jackson-esque mental illness all that implies. I will tell her what I really think of those hideous disco pants, hair dye, and contact lenses. I will remind her that if she were really beautiful she would have been scooped up long ago by a hi-so Thai man. She should be ashamed of herself for having to resort to screwing a farang like me.

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