Fiery Jack

See, I'm not always a self-centred drunken useless arrogant cunt. http://www.tripadvi...er-Bangkok.html http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowTopic-g293916-i3687-k6957204-Hostels_for_Single_Female_Traveller_Inexperienced-Bangkok.html jack

I know hundreds of lovely women. I just can't find one nowadays that'll let me shag her for free. jack

Q. What's the difference between a rooster and a Bangkok bargirl? A. A rooster says "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" but a bargirl says "Any cock'll do!" You're welcome. jack

Will be making a detour — 3 days betwixt Xmas and NY in BKK — to Hanoi next month. Will be parking the wagon —> at airport immigration, and thus, as always, looking for some shenanigans. Fellow quester and all-round top bloke Mekong has already generously PMed me in the direction of a couple of bars, but any additional up-to-date tips gratefully received. Yes, I've searched and googled it, soft lad, but all the info I find seems to be either out-of-date (good thing on Stickman's site, but was 2012, for example...) or annoyingly contradictory (some say it's 'chilly' there at Xmas; some say it's 't-shirt and shorts' weather... I realise that tuppenny tarts are not really 'on' in Vietnam in the same way they are in Thailand, but I'm not fussed about that, as I'll be syphoning the python in BKK both sides of the Vietnam trip. Just want a bit of sightseeing, a few ales, and a bit of laughter and fun. I'll be a first timer in Hanoi. Visited Ho Chi Min some years ago, but I understand it's a very different set up there anyway? I will of course post a trip report (sobriety permitting ), so there's something nice for you all to look forward to, lads. Probably. jack

My cock's 12 inches, but I don't use it as a rule. You're welcome. jack

It wasn't one of these bastards, was it? 15cm in length sounds about right. Mukade, they're called here: when I lived in (sub-tropical) southern Japan I had a couple scuttle across the tatami while I was watching TV. Scared the shit out of me. The wee fuckers are poisonous, can be fatal, and they're virtually indestructible. You can spray them all day with bug spray: no reaction at all. I remember battering one repeatedly with the base of a sturdy metal saucepan for about half a minute, and he was still bobbing and weaving, twitching and ready to roll when I stopped to take a slug of beer. (When my ex-missus used to do that to me, I was always out like a light after the first few clouts.) Mukade: that's 'scolopendra subspinipes' to you, partner. http://thejapans.org...nese-centipede/ https://en.wikipedia...dra_subspinipes Oh fuck, I see I'm back to being unable to embed stuff. jack

Thanks, lads: you done me proud. Fair rekindled my unbeatable faith in this board and the pilgrim souls that flock to its giving and generous light, like kindly good moths to a warm and bright and friendly flame. Lamphun does indeed look very worth a visit. I will endeavor to do so. Perhaps not at Xmas, my Thai-time then being of limited essence; hopefully early next year. jack

I know little of 'Lamphun'. Yes, I can and will google it. But, right now, I know very little. All I know is it's up north country, and a Thai bird I've known for many years (but never shagged, exceptionally enough ) has just moved there (it's her family home, I presume). And she is asking me to visit her. She knows I'll be in BKK at Xmas and e-mailed me asking me to swing by Lamphun. She lived in BKK for over ten years. She wasn't ever a tuppenny tart or bargirl (yes, yes, I know... but I've known her for over a decade and never seen any signs of hookerism, active or latent: she waited tables in 'respectable' restaurants. She is a good woman. I regard her as a friend. I got a severe and sudden middle-ear infection a good few summers ago in Bangkok, pretty brutal, and she took me to Bumrungrad hospital, waited while I was examined, and even paid for my treatment (and the taxi, and medicine) even though it made her late for work (I didn't have any cash or cards on me. I paid her back later that day, but she trusted me, and that's what remains). She's not asking me for anything. She's a lovely woman, kind and cheerful. I'd love to see her, so I want to know about Lamphun. Any advice and/or comments gratefully received. There might be a shag at the end of it if I play my cards right, like. Yes, of course I was thinking that. jack

Wouldn't mind a squint at my older posts on here, remind myself how good I used to be and how shit I am now. Searched for 'member content' : it only goes back a year. Searched for 'Fiery Jack' (To search for posts by specific users, click here.) via Old Nanaplaza Delphi Board but I don't exist (name not listed). Any ideas? I don't want to read anybody else's rubbish. Just my own brilliant stuff. All of it. jack

jack

Yup. Here's the Danish bird, Berit Brogaard, that wrote that piece (on the left). Guess what: she's a lesbian. (And guess what: I'd still tap it. ) jack

4. Ketamine Everest! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnawGiQlGQI jack

2. Good sweeties, man! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qcTxAYx0DaI 3. How does that work? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8FpONEhYgo :jack

Not in ridicule; in sympathy, in solidarity. So some of us can feel nostalgic and at home when we come here. 1. Easy Lionel! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klhw6hPlnZ8 jack

Easy Lionel. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klhw6hPlnZ8 Nice one. Cheers, mate. jack

Thanks for the tip, mate. Good call. I'd shag each and every one of them (yup, even the rather butch no. 8). That no. 14's arse at 28 seconds got me a hell of a good stalk on, and I was straight onto a Russian amateur porn site for a swift hand shandy. (Insert rugby/tuppenny tart joke about 'hookers'. ) Russian women prepare for home Rugby World Cup Sevens: jack PS. Any of you clowns know how to embed videos? F*cked if I can manage it.

See, Mekong knows me well. Those lines are eerily appropriate as I nervously look forward to falling off the wagon big-style and wonder where I'll land. I dare. Oh yes, I dare. But that doesn't mean I'm not terrified. Major Tom to Ground Control: I'm stepping through the door... jack

I see. Thanks lads. The Chinese 'miss you' angle would've been cuter, though... (I also wondered if it might've been named after the number of tuppenny tarts I must've shagged in LOS since my first visit in the early 1990s? About 40 visits, average duration of visit 10 days = about 9 birds per visit = about one a day? ) jack

Is it something to do with Chinese, where instead of “miss you†you can just type “360â€, “san liu ling†(æ€æ‹ä½ si lian ni)? Same same in Thai? Or just 360 [degrees] = 'all around' (as compass in logo and subtitle imply)? Strikes me I've no clear idea why this board is called '360', and I've never, till now, thought to ask. Please enlighten me. I'd love to know. jack

Could start a trend in some of the more 'hands-on' BBK bars (except the bird would be on her knees inside the bivouac, and sucking for her supper). Star of Light, take note! jack edited to add: actually, judging from the look on the geezer's coupon, maybe there is a bird earning her money in there.

Decades ago, when the world was still round and I'd not yet set foot or put penis in Asia, I lived in northern Britain. There was an amateur drug dealer bloke — acid, speed, a bit of blaw — that used to hang around our shithole flophouse flat. His name was Norman Kinelly, and everyone called him Noddy. He was one of the unluckiest characters I've ever met. Everything he touched turned to shite. He was the first feller I knew of to catch genital herpes, and he got them bad, all over his neck and coupon as well as (he claimed, wistfully) his tadger, balls, and arse crack. Word got round, and he couldn't get a woman after that, even if he offered them free drugs. His flat kept being burgled, too. In the end, all he had was a sleeping bag, then some heartless wide felon broke into Noddy’s drum one night, found the cupboard bare, so to speak, and, thus clearly much perturbed and affronted, urinated and defecated on Noddy’s sole surviving possession, the aforementioned sleeping bag, and slashed it to shreds with a knife. Noddy started sleeping in his car. Then someone torched his car. It wasn't insured and, anyway, he’d got it off a bloke up from London in exchange for some drugs, so he didn’t have any documentation. He just left it in the street, a charred metal corpse. It remained there for months, and then someone came and towed it away. Noddy was knocking about homeless for a bit after that, his freshest tragedy, sleeping on people’s sofas or park benches. Then he got busted by the fuzz with about 20 grammes of whizz on his person and went inside. At least he had a reliable roof over his head for a while, we all said. He got out eventually, started dealing again, then wrapped someone else’s motorbike around a lamp post whilst out of his box on acid one night. He nearly died. He was in hospital for months. He finally got out, and disappeared to Amsterdam. I don't know what became of him after that. In our broad-church circles — gypsies, tramps, and thieves and whatnot: all in it — during that hedonistic period, the term 'Noddy' thus came to mean ‘f*cking lovable loser’ or ‘you soft git’ or ‘you sad bastard’ in our shared parlance, our coded palare, applied semi-scornfully 'You fucking Noddy!' but more-than-half-affectionately to anyone who was missing the point or floundering in some department. He gave that word to my world. (As a footnote aside, Norman Kinelly wasn’t nicknamed Noddy solely because his name was Norman. He was semi-affectionately christened so because he had some sort of uncontrollable nervous twitch that made his head sporadically jerk and bob around about twice a minute, as if he were heading an invisible soccer ball downwards to a poised team mate's feet.) I remember we put a ‘purple microdot’ acid tab in Noddy’s tin of beer when he'd gone for a slash one night, round at our flat. The poor c*nt had a right time of it, trying to jump out of the window and whatnot. He was going like a rocket for about 48 hours. He thought his feet were on fire and tried to flush his trainers down our bog. Then he covered his face with shaving foam and put a metal saucepan upside down on his head, stripped all his kit off bar his boxer shorts and ran outside to buy a newspaper at the Paki shop on the corner. It was snowing. The shop was shut, because it was only 5AM, but there was a stack of newspapers in the doorway, and Kinelly nicked one, buck naked, bar his tartan smalls, and barefoot. We were all hanging out of the apartment window watching the show and cheering raucously. Some old biddy, a cleaning lady or something on her way to work, saw him and started screaming. She rang the fuzz, but he'd got back to the flat by the time they showed up. We turned all the lights and music off and all hid under the kitchen table. We stuffed a tea towel into Kinelly's mouth to stop him laughing and shouting, because there wasa police woman banging on the door, then she started shouting through the f*cking letter box, ‘Open up. It's the police, we know you're in there!’ It was f*cking hilarious, but kind of scary too, because we'd all had some acid as well to try to catch up with Kinelly. The cops went away after about half an hour that seemed like years to us, but they reported it to the uni and we got kicked out of the flat, as it was a university owned property. But it was worth it. It was a crap flat anyway. It was freezing in the winter months. We used to have a joke. If we were sitting round watching telly and smoking dope after the pub, one of us would stand up go and open the fridge door and sit in front of it rubbing his hands, as if it was warming him up. People who’d never been to our flat before thought this gag was hilarious. Then the electricity got cut off, so that joke didn’t work any more, but we still did it, like a sort of ceremony or ritual. My bedroom window was broken too. I'd taped some cardboard over the gaping hole which kept out the icy winds and meant the snow and the haar didn’t blow in. But it also meant I couldn’t watch the world outside. And it didn't completely keep out the cold. In the mid-winter, there was sometimes frost on the polished wooden floorboards of my room when I awoke from troubled slumbers to another clearly loveless morning. jack

Thanks, Flasher. Good to see someone's awake. You joking about the frost, or is it a metaphor? I stayed in a shithole flat in Scotland for a few booze-fuelled years. My bedroom window was broken. I'd taped some cardboard over the gaping hole, but, in the mid-winter, there was sometimes frost on the polished wooden floorboards of my room when I awoke from troubled slumbers*. I kid you not. But I wish it could be Christmas every day. I really do. jack * I wrote some shite about that flat, I recall. I'll fish it out. I'd post it in the 'Stories' forum or whatever it's called, but no one ever looks in there, and it's not a (made-up) story, it's a genuine real memory. Board Bar, then. (edited to change it a bit.)

So here it (almost) is, a merry yearly festive interlude approaching and encroaching on our fonder hopes of sensibleness and sobriety like garlands round our rusty chains. Your favourite faithful histrionic scribbler, fall-down drunk, and bare-faced lying bar-room bore Fiery Jack is booked and bright-eyed bound to spend his coming :hubba: yuletide in Bangkok this very year, and he's looking forward to it like a child looks forward to... well ... Christmastime I suppose, which says more about me than about children, trivia fans. Now, of course I've sojourned in LOS over the end-of-year stretch in the past, but that was several wobbly years ago and I'm damned if I can recall that much about it, so here's your chance to do unto Jack as he'd do unto you, and do old Jingling Jacky a favour, lads. Right. What can I expect in terms of weather and wenching, last week of December through first week of January? Business as usual, barfines (thence knickers ) up or down, bars and thoroughfares busier/quieter than normal? Special stuff on? Xmas eve? Xmas day? New Year's Eve? I really am f*cking clueless, so all tips and/or sarcastic comments will be more than welcome. Take your protein pills and put your helmet on. I do. jack

Shagging a bird and avoiding her go often hand in hand with me, mate. Usually in that order. jack