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Because Nebs Said So


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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



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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...

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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...

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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 ...

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  • 4 weeks later...
  • 9 months later...

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.

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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.


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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!



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