Last night I was trapped by Anus Moony at the TGI Fridays in Bang Rak. My friend Owen owed me a few bucks, and I heard Owen was going to be at a going away party there, so I showed up hoping to get my money and maybe a free plate of Endless Apps.
I didn’t know the going away party was for Anus Moony. Of course nobody else showed up. Anus has no friends.
Anus Moony is not his real name, obviously. A lot of guys who have to pay for sex go by that name because they don’t want anybody in the real world to know they have to pay for sex. This particular Anus Moony has a second reason: The world, and everybody in it, scares the living shit out of him.
So I was at the bar, on the end stool because that’s the one I like best, and Anus sits down at the next stool. The place was crowded; I’d have to crawl over Anus to get to the door. I was trapped.
“So…” I said, trying to catch the bartender’s eye and see if Anus would buy the only person who showed up at his going away party a beer. “So… what’s new, Anus?”
“I’ve eaten the Red Pill. I’m leaving. And I’m never reading Stick’s blog again.”
I hate “The Matrix” and I hate any arrested adolescent who quotes from it.
“Sure,” I said. I was waving at the bartender, a slender drink of chocolate milk in a red striped vest and a name badge that said “Bang-On.”
“No, really. I’m never reading StickmanBangkok.com again.”
“Yes, you will. You’re reading it now.”
Apparently the Red Pill didn’t give Anus the power to see through the fourth wall. He was confused and resorted to non sequitur.
“I want to thank you for helping confirm how lucky we are in countries like Canada and New Zealand because we were born into the optimal matrix.”
“Jesus. The Matrix again. What are you, fifteen? Listen, if you quote Jean Luc Picard I’m leaving.”
“Speaking generally for myself…”
“That’s an oxymoron.”
“…it took ten years of living in the illusion of love on ThaiLoveLinks before swallowing the Red Pill.”
“Dude, you can stop right there. I know everything I need to know about you. Ten years on ThaiLoveLinks? Were you corresponding with these women from prison?”
“A women’s only real trump card is beauty.”
“Okay, one, why do you constantly spell “a woman” as “a women?” Two, seriously, you can stop talking. You’ve said everything you needed to say. Your entire resume, your curriculum vitae, your credit score, your political affiliations, you success or lack of it with women, and most especially your mental health history, they’re all contained in the four words, “Ten years on ThaiLoveLinks.”
“Women are bad. Women are evil. Women push us men around and we shouldn’t stand for it.”
The bartender was making a big point now out of ignoring me. Anus had a beer. She must have served him, heard two words come out of his mouth, and now she hated him and any guy sitting next to him.
Maybe Anus had had more than one beer. Enough, anyway, to radically degrade his ability to spell common words or use the most basic punctuation. At least, I hope beer was at fault, and not the Canadian public schools.
“Okay,” I sighed. “Show me on this doll where the bad lady hurt you.”
“When was the last time a woman made you laugh so hard you blew chunks out your nose?”
“I’ve never laughed that hard and don’t want to, Anus. But women make me laugh all the time. Sarah Silverman, Amy Schumer, Carol Burnett, Lucille Ball, Ruth Buzzy, Rosanne Barr…”
“You’re a Blue Pill, Steve. And a simp. And a poop head. And a doo doo brain.”
“Poop head and doo doo brain are redundant.”
“Redundancy is the key to clarity.”
“No. It’s not. Who told you that? I ask again, who told you that? Am I being any clearer now?”
“We have been programmed since childhood beginning with our mothers…”
“Ah. There it is. Took three minutes to get to your mother, Anus. Just three minutes.”
“We don’t need women as much as they need us.”
“Anus, the whole point of human life is we need each other. Jesus wept, don’t you get the whole mechanism of sexual reproduction? From the cellular level to the superego, we need each other. Women and men form a mandala. We complete each other. Together we are a device with which God makes civilization. And my boy, nobody on earth needs the love of a good woman more than you.”
“Listen, my list is longer than yours by a factor of ten. I know about dating women, particularly the Thai type.”
“You understand that if you pay for it, that’s not dating, right? That’s just prostitution. And it’s basically the same thing every time. You can pay a hundred women to suck your dick and not know anything more about life than if you’d only paid one.”
“Without women, there would be little need for wars…”
“Wait. Dana, is that you?”
“I don’t need organization. I like to come and go as I please.”
“Says every thirteen-year-old on the planet.”
“Men invented everything. There is almost no contribution by women that makes my life better today.”
“Your life was contributed to you by a woman, Dickhead. Your father’s contribution to that life was a tablespoon of warm mayonnaise, and Nature had to make an orgasm the most sublime moment of men’s lives just to get the lazy bastards to contribute that much. A woman carried you in her womb, sacrificed her figure, the calcium from her own bones, years of sleep, and probably a career, just to give you the chance to sit here in the TGI Fridays in Bang Rak and spew the most ridiculous crap about her and 52% of the human population.”
“By the way, Mom, you were wrong about everything you preached…”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re mad at your Mommy. God damn, Dude. Seek therapy.”
I got up, elbowed my way around Anus and struggled through the crowd to the door. Outside it was raining like a bitch, the sidewalk was ten inches deep in flood water, there wasn’t a taxi in sight, and three hard young Thai men with that ya ba look in their eyes were staring at me from a doorway. But I’d rather be out there than spend another minute listening to Anus Moony complain about his Mommy.