Fiery Jack

Oh yeah, and their aggressively-advertised Hooters Free Wifi' doesn't work, either. That was another thing the manager bloke was shouting about yesterday. I walked past at lunchtime today, on my way to a much cheaper drink, and the big-breasted Hootergals were on show already, noticeably earlier than yesterday (perhaps as it's the weekend?) and noticeably less attractive than yesterday too. Maybe because I was soberer, or maybe it's going downhill already. (At 1:30 pm it was virtually empty and all the surrounding bars were chockablock. ) Also note: one of the Hello Titty chicks on today was black. Very nice she looked too. :Head and shoulders above the rest not only in height, lads. jack

Two things I forgot to add: 1. It's a 'runners' paradise'. Two whole sides wide open. Tempting and easy for anyone to bugger off without paying. (No, I never do that.) Sandy told me they'd had loads of 'runners' already and they've not been open a week yet. They didn't think that one through... Result, alas, is that deck serves are under strict orders to hawk-watch and hover over punters, which doesn't make for the ideal atmosphere. 2. I got a good close-up look at Sour Arse Lovely Bones before I left. She's gorgeous, but a hell of a nose on her. Hooters indeed! jack

I was asked about this new bar (opened on Wednesday) in an adjacent thread. Here goes... Always keen to please, whilst savouring half a dozen lunchtime snifters there (small bottle of beer = 140 baht, I think) yesterday, I gamely interviewed my cute willing (ironically) flat-chested deck serve, whom I shall call 'Sandy': not her real name, but neither was the similar-sounding Americana moniker she introduced herself to me as. Presumably it's a daft Hooters rule that the gals each get a falang pseudonym? I think it's the same in Tokyo. 'Sandy', a girl clearly in possession of a heart of gold, told me she normally works at Pattaya Hooters, has done for a while, but had been brought over here for a few days to show the new BKK gals the ropes. Hearing this, how bitterly I wished that sweet able Sandy had been around on opening night when I'd dropped in to Hooters at sundown for a 'quick' one on my way to NEP. The pint of Guinness I ordered on arrival had still not been delivered some 10 long minutes later. Given the fact that at that early juncture the bar staff by far outnumbered the punters, this was not promising. A bearded bloke across the bar from me motioned wearily over to declare he'd been clean shaven when he ordered the burger and fries he was still waiting for. I hope he was joking. Perhaps he's still there. :blue: When pressed on the subject, Sandy swore that Hooters girls are not barfinable. She seemed startled, shocked and disappointed by the suggestion, or maybe she was simply startled, shocked and disappointed at my bleary half-pissed midday appearance and demeanour, as most folks I meet these days are. In fact, the only ride you'll get in hooters is on the sturdy mechanical 'bull', and that's precisely what an affable pork-pie-hatted Frenchman proceeded to do while I was there. He stayed on for about 5 seconds: I wished him better luck with the gap-toothed tattooed bottle-blonde takeaway he'd strolled in with on his arm, a Beergarden veteran by the look of her dusky resignation-scarred wrecked coupon, and no stranger to ye olde ya-baa by the look of the way she was downing pints of lager. By the time I was thinking about leaving, it had been announced (by way of strips of red/white tape sealing off the area in Crime Scene style) that the ladies bog was out of order. Cue a long, ahem, queue of anxious looking birds hopping cross-legged nearby while the manager (I presume: an American bloke who spend most of the day looking increasingly angry and shouting) tried to get someone to get the shitters fixed. A shaky start for Hooters then. They're up against it. The soi 4 corner of the terrace has already been reclaimed as of mid-morning by a rogues gallery of vigorously smoking grizzled punters and hard-looking tarts: it basically looks exactly like Golden Bar used to look but with a Hooters sign stuck on top as a joke. The outrageous drink prices should've scared these old troopers off and up/down the road, but they clearly haven't. Perhaps the blokes are newbies to the strip or, like me, too drunk and lazy to care, and the old tarts won't be buying their own. Newsflash: the gorgeous girls with the big tits arrive in their spray-on vests and undersized orange hot pants at 5pm. (Before that it's just regular gals though, at the moment, a hell of a lot cuter and younger than the server gals anywhere else on soi 4.) There's a couple of falang birds among the ample-breasted stunners: one very cute tall one who looks a bit like that Irish actress bird with the daft unpronounceable name (Souirse Ronan? Sour Arse, is it?) that was in that murder flick Lovely Bones. The other is a tasty freckled Eastern European redhead. Neither speaks Thai, from what I could glean. I would gladly tap either. The Thai birds who clock in at 5 are, needless to say, like love and being alive for this, very very beautiful indeed. jack

Started a new thread about it, lads. jack

I wouldn't normally do this kind of thing, but Merry Christmas everyone. To bring their fabulous infectious Japanese joy and beg us all to smile along in time, I gift you all for Xmas the incandescent and indomitable PUFFY, two powerful and attractive women indeed, good in all their lucent glory. This is my favourite song today and it will be my favourite song tomorrow. All together now, 'Red, green, white green, red, red, white!' Merry Christmas, everybody, wherever you are. jack

Hooters is go. All lit up and there when I arrived on Soi 4 yesterday. Private do last night, and it opens properly tonight, I was told. Lot of well-stacked nice-looking birds working there by the look of it. jack

What's not to love? jack

Well then this one's for you, then, lads. And this one's for me. Nicking stuff is great: anytime, anyplace, anywhere, pal. A lifelong hobby of mine. Bookstores are about the easiest type of store from which to shoplift. I haven't bought a book for years. You'd have to be daft to waste your money on books when you can pinch them so easily. Here's how. If your pockets are small or you're a bit bervous of stuffing stuff down your trousers or inside your shirt, go in carrying a stack of 2 or 3 books or A4 folders/magazines under your arm and looking like a 'bookish' type. Select the book you want to nick, stand and flick through it while you make sure no c*nt's watching you (* see below, soft lad) and you're not in the direct line of a security camera (up on the ceiling, usually near the wall or in a corner: if one's trained on you, carry the book somewhere else where a camera isn't snooping or a shop assistant loitering), then, once all's clear, swiftly and blithely — naturally — add the new book to the pile under your arm (slip it between two other books), browse a bit more (again to make sure no store detective c*nt or assistant is on your tail) then pretend your keitai's gone off. Get it out of your pocket, flip it open and start speaking loudly into it: stroll out of the shop pointedly while talking on the blower like you own the f*cking place. If any c*nt comes flying out of the shop and stops you (or a security alarm goes off, which it won't), just act stupid or pished, go back into the store and say you had to take that important call and reception was better outside, forgot to go to the cash register (make sure you've enough money to pay for anything you nick in your wallet just in case you get huckled, soft lad: that's commonsense). I picked up the Oxford History of English Literature from a Tokyo bookstore last week, and that's a hefty piece of wood. I nicked the Rough Guide to Thailand, too, a few months ago. Why not? They're asking for it. : If you reside in a country with a mild climate, just get in there with a big coat on, my friend, and you'll be walking out with reading materials for a few months and not a penny poorer. As I say, bookstores are best. Large selections of tempting paperbacks (though not as large a selection as it was before your uncle Jack waltzes out of there with his pockets bulging trivia fans). They've all got security cameras but they're obvious and all pointing away from the decent nicking spots. And the staff are loopy-lou, useless as a chocolate kettle, standing there gassing with one another at the cash tills mostly, the soft c*nts. Game on. *99% of store detectives employed by stores are useless. They are always carrying a carrier bag. They're obvious as snow. If one's on you, ditch your swag and f*ck off. Don't risk it. If you're huckled with expensive goods, they will call the fuzz. Otherwise, you'll get a warning, but you won't be able to nick from that shop again for a long while as the bastards will be all over you like a Star of Light tart on a punter's cock as soon as you set foot inside the store for months after. When I went back to the UK last summer for a fortnight of boozing and blawing, I was amused to note that, in most supermarkets now, batteries and razor blades are no longer displayed on the open shelves. Instead, there's just a wee card thing that you take to the register and the bird exchanges it for the batteries or blades that are now kept in a drawer under the till. The reason for this: ‘if they're on open display, every c*nt just nicks them’, I was told by a bird I asked. They're expensive, and easy to pocket, so no need to pay for them unless you're daft or have more money than sense. Thankfully, a lot of supermarkets haven't cottoned on to that very reaonable line of thinking yet, and I have never, so far as I recall, paid for a razor blade since the mid-1990s. Batteries I pinch from supermarkets too, or the stock cupboard at work. In fact, as must be clear by now, I enjoy nicking stuff. I can sympathise with that bird Winona Ryder. It's a thrill, fills in the dead hours. Things I have shoplifted recently: razor blades, toothpaste, tins of anchovies (f*cking outrageously expensive, and I like an anchovy or two), a pair of nice shoes (just left my old skis on the shelf and walked out with the new ones on :rofl:), a belt and numerous pairs of socks from Uniqlo, a pair of nice expensive cufflinks from a Paul Smith outlet in Tokyo, a swiss army knife, a soccer shirt from a sports shop (just put it on under my shirt in the changing room: it had no electronic tag on it and cost a fortune, so f*ck that ), a leatherbound diary, a silver ring, chewing gum from convenience stores (straight in the pocket with that shit, you just spit it out anyway), designer spectacle frames that I can get lenses put in for tuppence, sunglasses, a leather wallet from some poncey GAP shop, loads of fruit and vegetables from those unmanned roadside stalls in the countryside where they trust you to put money in the wee box. Then there's things I swipe from work: batteries, a coffee maker, blank CDs/video tapes/MDs, arse wipe, pens, trash bags, air freshener things out of the bogs, a nice set of kitchen bowls from the staff canteen, washing up liquid, a DVD-video deck that some c*nt had ordered from Amazon but was waiting boxed-up in the corridor outside his office one weekend, a telephone/fax machine out of the main office, just unplugged the c*nt and took it home after my own blower conked out. I don't think I'm a kleptomaniac because I only nick things when I need them (bog roll, shoes) or, if nicking wasn't an option, if they're things I would definitely buy (the cufflinks, the soccer shirt that I wanted to give to a mate for his birthday). I definitely get a buzz out of it, but I don't pinch things I don't need or wouldn't otherwise buy. I even nicked a bucket from the cleaning closet of a department store bog. That's how I got the bucket that sits under my kitchen sink. Waltzed out of the store — right out of the bog, through the food sections, up the escalator and through the jewellery and perfumes department, past all the puzzled Saturday afternoon shoppers — carrying a f*cking bright blue plastic bucket full of bottles of cleaning fluid and air fresheners and dishcloths. I felt like a f*cking window cleaner. Almost started whistling a tune. Oh, and porn mags (not that you need then nowadays, but I used to...). Actually, I've seldom nicked one of them in Japan. Convenience stores here have loads of security cameras so apart from easily-pocketed items such as chewing gum or fag lighters, I don't chance my arm when I'm in that type of joint. I tend to buy saucy mags only when I'm pished out of my box and rolling home at 3AM feeling rather sorry for myself anyway, which has the ‘two birds with one stone’ effect of simultaneously letting the cute female staff of the conbeni (at least one of whom I will have soberly chatted up and been charming in the presence of in the past) know I'm both a pisshead and a filthy old loser if truth be told. Anyone else got light fingers? It's great fun, like. jack

That's 'Roistering and Rogering', lads. So, I arrive in BKK tomorrow. Just in case, to those lucky pilgrim souls among you who stay or who have sojourned there of late, thus more recently than me, I say: 1. Best Nana Plaza bar/go-go(s) these days? 2. Best Soi Cowboy bar/go-go(s)? 3. Best Patpong bar/go-go(s)? 4. Best daytime drinking bar(s)? 5. Best late-late drinking bar(s)? 6. Best place(s) for lunch/dinner ("Table for one, sir...")? Thanks for all and any help you can give me. I'm not being simply lazy : I have a 'to-do' list already (a 'note' on my iBlower sort of half-heartedly compiled increment by increment based on stuff I've read online over the last few months and consisting mostly of places I've never been, or have never been for ages, (or might have been but can't remember ). It currently reads: But things change so quickly, so up-to-the-minute newsflashes are useful, so let's be having you, as the actress said to the rugby team. Safely thus armed with accurate up-to-date data pertinent to that above sestet of queries, my Christmas will come early and a Trip Report based on said data shall come forth with the advent of another new year. jack

Cautionary tales, and timely too, as I step to pack my suitcase for next week's misdemeanors in BKK. I must've just been lucky. Sole loss was an ipod nicked out of my room in Nana Hotel a couple of years ago by a ya-baa-addled Soi 7 Beergarden takeaway freelancer on her way out (metaphorically as well as in a perambulatory fashion). It was a temperamental old banger with a smashed-up face anyway (the ipod, and the hooker too, come to think of it ) and I got a much better upgraded model with the generous insurance money (an ipod), (and a tart too, no doubt, with the not unsubstantial amount of free cash left over once I'd claimed for the brand-new top-range non-existent camera, lap-top, and christ knows what else that I also reported as 'stolen' ) Best be careful, eh lads? Of course the goalposts shift once all that booze kicks in. Travel light. Worked for Cliff. A pocket full of dreams, lads. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ca800tcy-B8 jack

I'm pretty sure that's a tautology, mate? (i.e. True love is never permanent, quickly fades and slowly dies. Or maybe it's just me? ) (Nothing's permanent, Jack, you dipstick, so you're on a safe bet there, soft lad. ) jack

F*cking hell, I think that's that bloke I shagged up the arse by mistake in Singapore. Does he hang about in Orchard Towers and call himself Min? jack

Reminds me of that gag: Q. How do you stop a woman from giving you a blow job? A. Marry her. Yes, I do speak from experience: my first missus, the weather-woman, fashion model, and all-round money-grabbing sour-faced lying selfish rotten cow. jack

Maurice (aka Muff ) says he's looking for a 'girlfriend experience' this Xmas, whatever that is. The last girlfriend I had hated my guts and told everyone I was a drunken cunt, tried to smash me over the head with a table lamp one night, and spent all my money*, so if that's what he wants, good luck to him. (*On the other hand, shortly after the miserable bitch finally red-carded me, I shagged her best friend, who is 28 and has a lovely arse and massive tits, and whom I'd always reckoned was a lesbian. Silver linings and whatnot. ) If he finds a decent 'keeper' bird in Bangkok, Muff says he might take her over to Hanoi with him for a few days so he's got snatch on tap, but he's a tight bastard with his money so I doubt if that'll happen. We'll see. jack

Good to know. Thanks mate. At least I'll feel at home: it'll remind me of Soi 7 Beergarden. jack

Oh f*ck, looks like I spoke too soon, lads. 21 messages waiting for me on Thaicupid, but I can't read any of the bastards unless I 'upgrade' i.e. shell out 4000 yen (=1200 baht) for one sodding month. Hmmm. They all look like old bangers anyway. A right f*cking rogues gallery: . Soi 7 Beergarden sprang somehow to mind. Whaddya reckon, lads: Should I pay or should I go? jack

Is it April 1st already? F*ck me, I must've slept for 3 months and missed my Xmas flight to Thailand. jack

Well-intentioned and pointedly witty as ever, and I normally admire and respect what old Banksy does, but he might not quite have thought this one through? So, we should welcome migrants because some of them might be exceptionally talented and useful and make a lot of money for us? Forgive me if I'm wrong, Banksy mate, but I'm pretty sure that's not the message you intended, and even more sure that's not the reason we should extend human sympathy and kindness to persons fleeing to our shore in fear of their lives. jack

Thanks! Got myself aboard Thaicupid, mate: false name and a photoshopped mugshot of myself 20 years ago in the dark with the light behind me. Am already beating them off with a stick. Registered at midnight, and 21 messages waiting when I switched on at 6AM! F*cking hell, are there any birds on there that AREN'T hookers?! #feels-like-I'm-in-Bangkok-already jack

Thanks. In his prime, indeed. Muff's the same age as me, truth be told. And what 'dating sites' would those be, my friend? jack

There's been a frenzied prominent plethora of posts on here of late (i.e. two or three posts during the last 6 months, mostly by me ) all respectfully rueing and lovingly lamenting the apparent and oft-reported demise of the once-cherished 'girlfriend experience': the GFE, that pleasant and mutually-affectionate faux courtship ritual by which a punter exclusively rents a bird not just for one hour or one night, but for several days and nights, perhaps the entire duration of his holidaying sojourn, thereby enjoying the 'experience' of having a 'girlfriend'. I remember that experience well. Mostly I enjoyed it. I even ended up with one or two 'proper' girlfriends (i.e. keepers, good women who gladly hung about with me 24/7 on subsequent visits and chatted with me via email in the meantime, gamely pretending to care about me and mostly not asking for money, at least one of whom I just about fell in love with and sometimes wish was still available ). You know what I mean, lads. Sometimes the girlfriend experience misfired: severe bouts of intoxication more than once led me to light the touch paper on such an arranged relationship only deeply to regret it once the bomb had gone off (and I'd sobered up ). Yup, I've spent some white-knuckled hungover mornings trying to shake off one or two persistent and/or teary late-night rentals: charming exquisite beauties of the night before who'd magically become fat old clapped-out nagging harridans by cold light of day. YOu take the rough with the smooth, I suppose, and, contrary to what Hot Chocolate would have us believe, not every one's a winner, babe. But some are. Yet we hear that this emotionally-useful Thai 'girlfriend experience' is no more? Can this be true? I want and propose to find out during my forthcoming Xmas trip to Bangkok. Now, let's say I have a, ahem, friend coming to BKK with me, and he's lonely and no spring chicken. Let's call him Muff Richardson. Muff's in his early 50s, no film star but not bad to look at, cock and balls in good working order, decent bloke, divorced, affable and occasionally witty, speaks a smidgeon of Thai, popular with bar gals, likes a good drink but mostly behaves himself, staying at Nana Hotel, and his wallet's fairly full, so he's good to go. Let's say old Muff's not a soft touch, but he's not as familiar or jaded with Bangkok as a cynical old cunt like me. Okay. So, if Muff were about to visit Bangkok, let's say over Xmas, and he was looking to partake in the 'girlfriend experience' what would be his best Modus Operandi? Go-gos? Beer bars? Freelancers? Nana? Cowboy? Patpong? Any places with the specific kind of gal that'd be game for the GFE? Recommendations required. All advice greatly appreciated. If we get sorted out, I'll get Muff to post a Trip Report when he gets back. jack

F*ck's sake, a Hooter's on Soi Nana? Who the hell's gonna be interested in that? They might as well open a Bible Study Centre. There goes the neighborhood. jack

7/10, so... Bad news: I got 3 wrong. Good news: in each case I took a genuine 'lady' to be a 'ladyboy'*, and never vice versa. That's okay, then. Better safe than sorry. * probably the 3 most attractive. Following the principle that ladyboys are often as good looking, if not better looking than genuine birds. Facially at least; so far as the knockers go, in these silicon-enhanced days, your guess is as good as mine, mate. This one, for example, (spoiler alert! ) I thought this stunner was too good to be true. Gorgeous. So I (erroneously) voted 'ladyboy'. In hindsight, perhaps too 'clean' and 'natural' looking to be a katoey. Then again, in hindsight, perhaps I was foolish to squander decades of my life pissed as a fart. Great thing, hindsight. (That bloke I once shagged up the arse by mistake in Singapore because I was pissed and thought it was a bird and I'd already paid was a 10/10 drop-dead stunner. Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. ) jack

Paul Garrigan's book sounds of interest, more so to those of us with first-hand experience of Thailand's insidious charms. Anyone read it? I just bought it. http://www.amazon.co.jp/Dead-Drunk-Saving-Alcoholism-Monastery/dp/1905379692/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1449532843&sr=8-2&keywords=paul+garrigan jack

T minus 13. Unlucky for some; lucky for me. jack