panadolsandwich

She's like hiking up he her skirt, I'm like standing proud, Shit, I 've got a glock, she's a like saying you talk funny - Niggers in the hood, I'm a lover, not a fighter.

I want to empower her. I want to sell her sister. We are going to be Okay. Becuse today, I couldn't seem to find it, but generation, I've found it. Where should we go? The more I need me, then some time or never....Sonia here!

She said I say - in such a high-pitched voice. Her skin is perfect but she says she wants to be the same as me. But I never called her names. But I love her.

Jesus Christ, she left me alone so lone - then she kind of crept up with her soft feet, like the panther, she pounced with that curious sure-footedness. She came on like a blistering lover asking forgiveness. I;m feeling like the prize fighter - sore all over. She even gave my balls a loving massage. So there you go.

Keep going...................

 

Cheers.....Cheers....

 

Come on people! Thai 360 will never die!

Dempsey - I'm screwing it close and gentle. Kind of trying to rotate my knob into the G-spot. She's going crazy. fuck she's only the third chick I've fucked tonight. All for free. Still a lot of spunk there though, man I'm a seedy one, come again, and again. Boz couldn't = you'd have to wait two thousand years for him to get a hard-on! My best mate though.

became close I wanted to to happen. She was there at the bar, a scarlet figure in plasticine. I was going to cheat. Well this was bad. But wasn't the old school motto 'perservre to win'? I always thought it meant cheat to win - in Latin or no. But the slow hand - well you can't fight it - so I grabbed her hand, already promising some compensation -

we went out, Nebsy was quietly belligernent as usual. I gazed out at the street. It could be anything really - transport me to the Gulag and I would feel the same. No external influences claim me anymore. So I became -- free-- in some way. I transcend queues - they simply stopped existing. Nirvana - became close I wanted to t

Old Stickman must have a bit of game. Reporting on nightlife "characters" would be like reporting on the gaming, racing, vice anywhere in the world with all the associated mosbsters, bike gangs, money launderers etc. A tightrope act as I bet a few people would not that be that thrilled about having a light shone in their direction no mater how obique. Not to mention all those angry bargirls who have had their sponsorship deals cancelled due to investigation outcomes. Horses heads and all that. Good luck for the future.

 

Much as I do love Stickman - and I'm as indulgent as the next guy - but what you describe is complete fiction, i.e. unless you really are naive. Fleet of foot, and fanciful of heart - and more cunning than a shithouse rat - would better describe Stick.

 

The fearless and honest to the core reporting you seem to imagine - well Stick himself might set yourself straight on that - but curiously, I never saw where he ever did. The sort of excellence that you are extolling would certainly be better more truthfully attributed to the likes of Andrew Drummond. http://www.andrew-drummond.com/

 

Indeed, the suggestion always was that whilst Stick taught as a teacher at prestigious schools - a well respected, and even revered professional post in Thailand's culture, he *befriended* the likes of the mobsters and seedier part of town, indulging favours for advertising revenue. Whilst perfectly normal - and even quite understandable behaviour through the lens of Thai culture - this confounded and bewildered a small contingent of extremist malcontents in particular, whom wanted him lynched through a hateful wave of enmity. Needless to say it got quite nasty as different factions played off each other. The whole sordid history of this is - I am sure something that Stick would rather put behind him - like almost any rational being.

 

Whilst I could never really hide my disapproval, largely because I've always thought that he could have done so much better for himself - as mentioned he could have been an Andrew Drummond perhaps - except he seemed to impose on himself this idea of selling out. It was never necessary in my view - he could have just chosen go straight down the line - but he didn't.

 

The bar girl investigations display Stick perhaps in the most poorest lights - I like to think he took this up, because his earlier strategies weren't paying off enough - but I guess that would make me naive. I can't really come to any other conclusion than he had completely abandoned most ethics and morals most intelligent people have, purely for greed. Sad to say, and I wish that weren't true.

 

The investigations targeted bargirls - despite what is said to typically justify such 'investigations' - largely target a politically weak, poor, at the very low end of Thai heirachy - noone will be prepared to defend them as their rights are so brutally denied. The clients are typically equally weak, often very desperate individuals - forlorn, possibly even suicidal - the so-called result of such 'investigation' ready to push the forsaken over the edge. But not before debiting their accounts of course.

 

I always felt sick to the core reading of these 'investigations'. I also thought that there would be a good case for future prosecutions, as someone who believes strongly in human rights. As the world changes, and these meta-data laws are being brought in, Stick should be worried about potential prosecution. If it was me - I would be completely fucking paranoid.

 

Perhaps that describes his move better then any other explanation. Rats leaving sinking ships would be so completely unfair to say about Stickman, and also completely unfair to Thailand. He is not a rat. When all is said, he made his calls, he chose his paths, better than most I suggest. He stuck it out longer than anybody had any right to suggest. He has to live with his so--called Bargirl 'Investigations'.

 

Thailand isn't a sinking ship either. Call me a fool - but right now I'm investing very heavily in Thailand, even as Stickman slings his hook. But that is all, in all, a completely different discussion.

 

As said before, Good Luck Stickman.

Lets have an impromptu laissez faire approach to this - yes the ayes have it. No thank you very much I've got an important story to tell - calm yourself - it's not about gun running. Well that one *was* a captains pick.

How can I say this politely? Piss off, you gormless moron. Now back to my story.

Boz here. Nebsy isn't such a bad cat really. I know Demps, well he's probably going to tell

 

you something different, but that's Demps a real Dilletante, too much of a ladies man, kind

 

of a fool's fool, but a loveable cat really. He was sniffing about earlier with this bit

 

amazingly hot girl, quite young, still studying he put it, but left, the likes of us aren't

 

really his cake these days.

 

Nebsy said something to me the other day, that simply blew me away. More so than I just

 

didn't expect such an old codger, to be so progressive you see. He's really just a loveable

 

old pub dog really, basking his fat belly in the sunshine, and teasing those Isaan girls to

 

give him a bit of a stroke and cuddle - cracking that big broken toothed smile of his. I

 

mean you've got to love that, doncha?

 

He's normally such a pain in the arse - or the ass as the yanks would have you say that.

 

Always sounds so much more classier when a sherman tank says it - but then immediately you

 

just want them to shut up. It's like someone stuffed something awkward up their arse, and

 

they can't quite pull it out. Kind of good guys, real alley cats most of 'em. But they get

 

awfully old real quick - they seem to age in pub years.

 

Can't say I really liked any of them folk, well Nebs I'd say, they'd hardly squire a drink -

 

this was sponging, shameful, really, but I was broke, and I could hardly sell my arse. Nebsy

 

came through big time though, a bottle of heineken and a whisky rider - let noone ever sully

 

that old tomcats name - what a champion, a true scholar and a gentleman too I say - cursing

 

wickedly in Isaan slang as one of those girls groped my crotch = watch out!

 

But man, what sick cat that Nebsy is - he leaned over with his boozy breath, and thrust

 

something cold a metallic into my hand. What the fuck is this? But I took a closer look,

 

and it was a cartridge, full metal jacket, I suppose they call it - it was a fucking bullet.

 

Nebs was going, Boz, Boz, Boz - take a closer look, I was about to hurl it away, but examined

 

it, and there was an inscription on it - it was so small it must have been laser etched, but

 

his full name was there - Gerald Alfred Neb. It's the future of warfare - you see you don't

 

need to keep an arsenal anymore - you can just print them off to order = it's a green too,

 

less waste - Nebs you really are one sick cat, but thanks for that drink, but you see - I've

 

really got to go some debt collector guy is chasing me - well be seeing ya Boz!

 

 

Nebs never knew I was seeing Oui on the sly. It wasn't terribly difficult to ascertain this:

 

Nebs was inordinately thick in some ways. He was prejudiced like most others in his

 

situation. He retained a dignity that was extraordinary, maudlin, on the verge of suicide,

 

even in this day and age. I gradually realized that I felt sorry for him - perhaps he wasn't

 

as bad as I first thought. I felt bad for him.

 

Oui - pronounced 'We', was something else. I have this terrible affliction, where words

 

cause colour to arise in my mind. I still mind the time I was shocked to discover that it

 

wasn't a normal thing. Well I thought it was normal. I learn languages at the drop of a

 

hat, largely I think because of this ability. When I talk Thai,well it seems ludicrous, but

 

it's like this oil painting I'm gazing at. I really can't find a better way to describe it

 

than that.

 

Oui fascinated me. She was far to intelligent for this life. We always talked in Thai -

 

there was like a secret deliciousness, like eating a chocolate, in talking to her. Her

 

colour was sunshine.

 

Stickman, oh Stickman. The man is a treasure - he is an institution. Never to be knighted, he's chosen to inhabit that shadow world of debauchery, but still. A man can only persevere for so long.

 

Hang on? He is a treasure isn't he?

 

Well, it gets a bit complicated at that.

 

His self-imposed regime of posting his weekly thought bubbles was curiously eclipsed by his excellent photography. His thoughts were curiously mishappen and stunted, but he took the most amazing photographs. You could really marvell at him or the photographs, I'm still undecided.

 

I personally have a soft spot for Stickman. He enthralled the world, and many enthused Bangkok'ers 'thralled by his miscellaneous gaffes.

 

Anyhow Stick, this is just good natured ribbing. I really will miss you. I do mind some of the most excellent articles and Editorials. Best of luck.

 

 

 

Met this amazing girl the other day, 19, university student wanting to meet guys go dancing,

 

obviously shag happy. She couldn't speak much English, but my Thai is pretty good these

 

days. I'd arranged for a private language tutor over the past year, in order to smooth off

 

the rough edges, and when she came up to me in the club, boy oh boy was it starting to pay

 

off. This girl was way hotter then the photos I'd seen online. The initial plan was drinks,

 

dancing, then some fancy restaurant were portion sizes are small but with enough substance

 

for that shag NRG. But we really hit it off in the club, so we got some take out and got a

 

taxi back to mine.

 

This chick was a dream come true, horny as hell when the door shut her hands were on my flys.

 

My cock sprang out proud I suppose a woman novelist might describe it. It came out with

 

inertia and we were both shocked, like a third person had just entered the room. It was

 

embarrassingly big, bigger then I ever mind it being before - can your cock get bigger - I

 

didn't think so, but this just looked lethal, huge veins engorged - you could swing it like a

 

baton, yes definitely more heft than usual. She had these condoms, I suppose they were for

 

made for the smaller Thai man, or guys like Nebs I suppose, one just disintegrated, then the

 

other kind of recoiled and went zinging off into the air. We had a good laugh at that - then

 

it was like, oh well we tried to do the right thing, she's like I don't mind if you don't.

 

Caution was so much thrown to the wind, as blasted into the stratosphere.

 

I undress her kissing as I go. She has this bit of fuzz beneath her navel, running like a

 

trail of gunpowder to the jackpot. My God this girl is a peach. She's a blossom, sweet

 

Jesus she's ripe at the peak of her powers. My God I'm almost choking with lust, a pulse is

 

jackhammering my temple I can't breathe. I kiss down between her legs. I feel the power of

 

the artist, admiring those curves, but how can art mean anything after this? I can drag a

 

brush on a canvas, but won't it always just be a pale imitation.

 

She's like straddled me athwart, in porn I think they call it reverse cowgirl. I can see her

 

winking arsehole, hello there and welcome I say. Giddyup cow girl - rawhide!

 

I suppose I'm a pretty simple guy - When I feel like this, the world's problems seem

 

eminently solveable. Why be greedy? There's a woman for every bloke. Why fight - lets just

 

fuck each other and live the peaceful life. It's people like Nebs that want to spoil it for

 

everyone, complicate it all.

 

I mean give me a girl, a good curry, a beer and the football, bit of music maybe; and I'm

 

happy. Why complicate it any further than that? Why participate in a daft consumerist

 

world. I'm just a jack the lad salt of the earth type at heart I suppose.

 

Most guys see coming as the raison d'etre of sex. I'm different, after all you've got to

 

take time to smell the roses. But this was going to be an embarrassingly copius emission, I

 

could sense it somehow. I half expected her to comically rocket off the end of my knob when

 

it came. We cuddled and drifted off to sleep. I felt all emotional like some sort of chick

 

I suppose. I felt like crying - well maybe there was a tear, just one.

 

This girl, she might just fucking save me yet. But I do, I want the simple life, with my few

 

pleasures. I was thinking I could write a book - or find a quite corner in the pub, and

 

dictate a book. The Simple Philosophy I suppose I could call it. Kind of a cry out to the

 

world - chill! brothers, I had this dream, with shagging as the core philosophy.

 

I mean, seriously, why complicate things? Like that cunt Nebsy.

Nebs said, "Here I go, here I go again! Wicked! Wicked man I thought I kicked it. Man she licked it like a lollipop should be licked."

So I asked Dempsey, that is a suitable analysis of American Hip Hop, I mean it's flawed in almost every single way, not to mention the racial menace you seem to extol at the drop of a hat. You seem to uselessly posturing about black Americans, and at least I thought they deserved better. He quick fired back whether I thought J-pop, or for that matter, K-pop came from and how long before C-pop or even T-pop would come about. Why do they litter their songs with English? He explained that they are all a franchise kind of a Frankenstein branch from American blues, there was some stuff about inelastic theory - a fancy name for the amount of air time you can stand, it's fixed, or at least it ought to be. Sony picked up this new reality before being kicked to the kerb and famously tamed by American Multi nationals.

 

A man came up to us selling zippo lighters. I'd kept losing my zippo, or giving it away, I'd bought many Zippos in my life - I knew what they were worth, but despite wanting one, I couldn't be bothered haggling. I'd buy a bic at the 7-eleven - hell they're almost giving them away. I ordered another beer, and wondered why, it certainly wasn't doing me a large amount of good.

 

Nebs was just about plastered enough to speak to intelligently. Nebs was on the best form when he had managed to down a couple of those horrible drinks. Nebs had a way of making you feel bad for drinking too much, while he stowed way more then I would ever dream of, he quaffed those ladies drinks like a man on a mission. Nebs took up his glasses again - I briefly flashed in my mind Oui with Nebs glasses while I rode her with a woolly blue hat. I mean you could read the declaration of independence in the time it took Nebs to polish his glasses. Then he said it ...

I suppose I was playing the long game, in a game fraught with potential to error, but that just kind of spiced it up to me.

 

Dempsey was fond of saying Groove was in the Heart. He used to do that purely to piss me off. The dancefloor was run by the corporate suits telling you to 'pump up the jam', a meaningless statement, and then raking in the dollars. It was a response, a cynical response he stated, of nigger-boo politics, engendering the bringing in of African Americans, the back slapping, the high fives and crip handshakes, but with the real purpose of subjugating and incarcerating them and to make a buck at the same time. What better he said, that a hero of rap, should talk about his niggers - just the way that we do! It was a real triumph of propaganda, and Pump up the Jam almost became as popular as Support the Troops. But then Demps was off on his tangent...

 

What was he doing with Oui? This was clearly betrayal, but knowing Dempsey, you never really know...

That was Demps and Oui. I'd tried (Oh how I'd tried!) to get with Oui, but she was kind of stuck on a weird concept. I'd proposed 5000, but then she said surely if you'd pay that, then surely you'd pay 10,000. And it kind of went like that, until I proposed to give her a ridiculous amount of money but I'd kind of fluffed the attempt so to speak, drinking this kind of coconut wine from a long steel straw - I mind thinking, that the straw, already six foot long, should be longer. I wondered if I could fuck Oui with a six foot long dick, this went on for ages. And then I awoke to her pulling her jeans on. And she refused to see me after that.

 

All of which Dempsey knew, because he'd often say, well he despised every thing I did, but especially that. Why didn't you fuck her? I couldn't tell him that she had won my heart, that such trivial concerns pale before true love - you must please remember, that feeling of true love you must of felt to somebody - but he refused to remember. Fuck her, he implored me...

Nebsy was already at the bar when I arrived, that peeving bastard. He was always asking after that Laotian whiskey the pretentious cunt, when they didn't have it, he'd fake sigh and say well he just would have to settle for an apéritif, for all the world as if some ageing mumasan who spoke laos in such a broad dialect her cousins from the next village confessed to finding it rather difficult to understand her would understand such a request. I'd read Bangkok Days as well you cunt I think as I walk in sizing up the place. Luckily he had one of those fruity white spirited cocktails already, and I was spared all that trauma. I mean some people really take liberties, don't you know?

 

 

Alright Boz he says, then kind of farted out of his lips in that way of his, ye certainly tied one on last night

 

ya fucking cunt!

 

 

This was completely untrue, but you can't show one hint of annoyance because it's just a red flag to cunts like this. Nebs I says, kind of demolishing the syllable, it was the first actual word I'd said the day, and the realization made my stomach rise to my throat - that fucking cunt!

 

He looks me up and down, then picks up his reading glasses and pretends to read something from the newspaper he

 

pretentiously carries everywhere - always the Nation. Puts down the glasses then deigns to acknowledge me

 

again: seen Dempsey?

 

 

Yeah I had, but didn't tell this pleb I'd seen him last night. Didn't look too pleased, since he married that girl from Myanmar, Burma I mind him saying. She didn't even have an ID card, was in fact stateless, he'd kind of adopted her, took her to England the way some people pick up a souvenir, he just paid a lot of money that's all - but if you knew Dempsey, it was no act of charity, the sick cunt. Still he was my best friend, a throwback to an age that perhaps never existed where the understated and style was important. You could ask him anything and he would give you the low down effortlessly. He was my entree to Thai society, or what he loved to call, the excuse for it. I once asked Demps why the Japanese paid the girls more, and he looked at me like a true ignoramus - because they fuck them more! when I said I think that was rubbish, he kind of stared me down - You like fanny don't you? Why can't they like cock? The Japanese have got this eye of the tiger going, it's like they don't even fucking enjoy it, except when they back in the bar drinking a single malt pondering how they fucked a girl every which way but loose for about six hours, popping four or more times at least. The girls are just shag happy, what's wrong with the world? Eh?

 

Anyhow I tell Nebs, nah I haven't seen Dempsey in yonks, but then he walks casually in the bar - and he's with her. To be

 

continued...

Where I used to work, anything over six drinks per week was considered heavy drinking. That's less than one drink per day. The last time a Doc addressed my alcohol comsumption, he said: one glass of champaign on New Years Eve

 

Interesting fact from my copy of "Drink - a cultural history" and I just love facts like this - 'The act of renouncing alcohol absolutely and forever acquired a name - teetotalism. The neologism was coined by Richard Turner, a man with a stutter, at a meeting of the Preston Temperence Society in 1833. Converts to abstinence at such events were in the habit of making a public pledge, and Turner stood up before the audience and declared "the he would 'Be reet down out-and-out t-t-total for ever and ever." -

 

Working-class organizations favored dramatic meetings, at which individuals about to renounce the demon drink would stand up and confess their failings before making a tearful promise never to touch liqour again. Such performances had parallels with evangelical Christianity; The drinker played the lost soul, who had seen the light and found the path to redemption, in the manner of the apostle Paul en route for Tarsus. This secular impersonation of religious enlightenment alarmed the clergy, who tended to belong to middle-class temperance societies, and they reacted by preaching against mistaking sobriety for Grace.

 

I just find all that incredibly fascinating.

After reading your post, I was about ready for a nightcap, but it occurred to me that in the old days, life expectancy was much lower. Excessive drinking could have contributed to their early demise.

 

You want to live forever? Besides their early demise was more likely oweing to malnutrition or disease. If you want I can establish a causal link - but why bother? I am a doctor, a surgeon in fact - and I can safely say that a drink or two won't harm you - there is perhaps evidence your tipple could even make you healthy - especially wine. So yes, by all means; I approve of your nightcap. Cheers!

Jesus! And here I was thinking my life was complicated! Woeful - well you've got my sympathy.

 

If I'm working, which is getting rarer these days I don't touch a drop of alcohol. On my days off yeah I'll go on a two or three day binge, something like that. I think it's part of our heritage to drink. In the old days, let's say only 100 years ago you would have been seen as a bit nutty if you drank water, it was far more likely to have a pint of beer for breakfast - indeed it was considered a foodstuff. I like to carry on the tradition, lol.

 

I highly recommend "Drink - A Cultural History of Alcohol", by Iain Gately, if you want a light read on the subject.

Bandolero, with Jimmy Stewart and Dean Martin.

Raquel Welch with a Spanish accent.

Classic 60s era Western.

 

 

 

True Grit - kind of redemption western with a 14 year old girl as the heroine. You might like it.

Sorry guys, had a wee tipple last night and jesus christ am I, oh jesus christ am I paying for it now. I bought this stuff called heng and it's supposed to put paid to a hangover, but all I want is fish and chips and a kip that lasts a few days but I'm stuck here in the remotest part of Isaan for now until I can stomach the drive out of her. I'm even thinking of setting up a saline drip for myself; never again...