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Entry 3

khunsanuk

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khunsanuk

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Greasy Pig

 

There is an old saying in Bangkok ?How do you get a million baht in the bank? Start with two million and open a bar?. Well, here?s the thing. I fucking hate old sayings. ?You never lose the girl, only you place in the queue?, ?You can take the girl out the bar but not the bar out the girl?. Fuck ?em all. Trite sayings bandied about by those swamp sucking scum farangs that hang out around the nightlife scene.

 

And I was proving them wrong. With a modest initial investment, a shit load of hard work and keeping a very, very, very close eye on the Thai?s, I had my own slice of heaven, a single width shop house bar on Soi Cowboy. Three hundred and sixty four days we had been open and the cash was rolling in. Nearly needed a wheelbarrow to cart the money away. Come midnight, we would celebrate our one year anniversary. ?Tiny Teenies? was a roaring success on the street. Yeah, it had been a risk, but niche marketing was the thing. Forget loads of old slappers shuffling around thinking of their fucking buffalos. None of my girls over 4 feet 8 inches, and none over 23 years of age, and I was very selective. Road tested them all myself. If a girls gonna earn a living sucking dick in my bar, she can damn show me first that she knows what she?s doing. And man, although some of those girls looked like they should still be sucking mama?s titty themselves, they sure knew how to clean a man out. Now, you don?t go getting me wrong, I don?t go for any of that underage crap, but well, if a girl forgets her ID card when she comes for a job, or if she does not look quite like her ID picture, well, you gotta give them the benefit of the doubt don?t you? I made the girls wear pig-tails, and over-sized lollypops were on the house. Rounded out with short skirts, stockings and suspenders some guys had been know to pop just walking in the door. Yeah, I get some stick from the damn puritans, but hey, as I always say, if a guys? got an itch, there?s a buck to be made.

 

So tonight we were going to celebrate. Half price drinks all night a whole spit roast pig and all the trimmings. Noodles, rice, that crap papaya salad, you name it. No expense spared. This was my ?fuck you? night to the street, to the Thai?s and to all those old faggots who said I could not do it. I was gonna rub their faces in it, and laugh all the way to the bank.

 

It was getting on to 9pm and time for me to head to the bar. My ?Numba 1? girl, my Thai manageress, had been told to open the bar and get things going. All the dumb bitch had to do was open the door and stand aside. I knew she was scamming me on the drinks deliveries, but given that she was a favorite mia noi of a police major on the side, the loss was worth it. Life could have been much more difficult without the men in brown turning a blind eye.

 

I got out a cab on the 23 side of the Soi. None of this fucking ?motocye? shit for me. At 250 pounds, five minutes outside and I would be sweating like the proverbial pig. I paid the cab driver and waited pointedly till I got my 5 baht change and headed off down the Soi. ?Jay, I work for you?, ?Jay, I give you free everytime? from a couple of six foot katoys. Like they would ever set foot inside my place. Its fucking ?Tiny Teenies?, not fucking ?Tiny Peenies?.

 

Ignoring the rest of the noise and bustle on the Soi I walked towards my bar, taking the time to hawk a lugie outside of Dollhouse. As I got nearer my bar, I could see some sort of commotion going on and as I reached the bar I looked on in disbelief as smoke was pouring out the door. What the fuck. I pushed past the crowd, and flipped aside the curtain to look at what was going on. There, on the fucking stage was the fucking pig. Not Numba 1 girl, but the fucking roast pig. The pig was on a spit over half a steel drum that had been split sideways. Half a dozen steel bars had been welded across the drum so other shit could be placed on it to grill after the pig was done. Underneath the steel bars a pile of charcoal was burning, and filling my bar with thick smoke. As the fat from the pig dripped down onto the hot coals, they would flare into life, sending sparks showering around the room.

 

?What the fuck? I screamed at Numba 1. ?What the fuck are you doing?. The fucking thing should be outside?. She looked at me and said, with that maddening ?logic? that?s Thais have ?Jay, outside too hot for you nah??.

 

With visions of my bar burning down around my head I screamed ?Get the fucking thing outside?, only to be met by the blank stares of two dozen dumbshit Thais who were enjoying the sight of a farang slowly going bright red in the face.

 

?Fuck?. If you want something done, do it your fucking self. I grabbed the barbecue grill set up with my bare hands and rushed out into the street, trailing smoke and sparks along the way. As I set it down, the fucking pig slipped off the stand. I grabbed the greasy fucking thing and slammed it back on the grill stand. As I turned back to go and rip the heads off a few people, I half slipped in a puddle of vomit, a kind gift from some early celebrant. Reaching out to grab anything as I fell, my hand, still greasy from the pig, slipped through the steel bars of the grill and touched down on to the hot coals. As my fingers started to burn I screamed and tried to pull my hand free, but no luck. The pig grease that had let my hand slip through the bars had flamed off and I was now stuck in there more tightly than a mangda in a bargirls wallet. I wrenched at the steel bars with my other hand hoping to rip one out, but for once, a fucking Thai had done a job well and they were welded in there tighter than a nuns cunt. As my fingers started to blacken and char, as the bone started to burn I looked down and realized they were right and started to laugh. For once they were fucking right:

 

You can take a grill out of the bar, but you can?t take the bar out of the grill.

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