Santa empties his sack in Thailand

bob says:

A breakdown of yesterday's trading in Bangkok showed, however, that the recovery in the stock market was entirely due to buying by Thais, with foreign investors dumping more than $80bn of shares on top of $700bn sold on Tuesday.

Both the International Monetary Fund and the ratings agency Standard & Poor's criticised the Bank of Thailand yesterday, while the U-turn failed to mollify a furious global investment community. "The one thing worse than an incompetent central bank is an incompetent central bank that flip-flops," said Bratin Sanyal, head of Asian equity at ING in Hong Kong.

Catherine Tan, head of Asia emerging markets at Forecast in Singapore, said: "They are proving themselves to be very unprofessional. Their actions are very irresponsible. They have totally lost credibility. I don't see foreigners returning to Thailand any time in the near future."

The IMF called the measures "too strong and far-reaching" but welcomed the exemption for buying shares.

Kim Eng Tan, of Standard & Poor's, said foreign investors would now be far more wary of Thailand. "This will lead to higher funding costs ... with negative implications for the prices of debt and equity."

Half Man Half Goat says:

Jesus, I detest Christmas too!... A merry one to Dave at Mangosauce for his site this year.

So what's been the highlight for eveyone on this site?

I really enjoyed all the shit thrown at Keith Summers for his moral crusade against Stickman. Some really funny posts flying around and everyone having a pop at each other. Credit to common sense, Lui Bei, Jack Wow, Dicer etc for some excellent put-downs, quips, and unadulterated mudslinging which made me chuckle. The spirit of good-will amongst Farangs is alive and well in Thailand!

As a note, the Yankee buck-toothed twat Summers is now having a go at Dave the Rave in his latest epistle. It's painful to read; not because of the content but how it is written. Awful!

Anyway, I feel a bit guilty, as XMAS always makes me feel,, because I get Christmas cards mainly from women (who always put their home address on the back) and I never send one back. Then I have to make up some bullshit excuse why I did'nt send one: truth is I could'nt be arsed. All me arse this xmas bollocks. If Christ was to come back on Dec 25th 2006, and have a look at his creation, he would not be able to stop throwing up and would resort to chasing 500 baht Beach Rd slappers for solace. As you do....

If you fancy a good read this Christmas, I have just finished 'The Satanic Bible' by Anton LaVey. Fuckin' Amazin! Full of common sense and the best treatise on religion I have ever read. A must have for all waverinig in faith this yuletide.

So, from a newly converted Satanist: Merry...erm...?????

Dana says:

Actions by the Bank of Thailand should not surprise anyone.

And I quote: ". . . we never imagined that farangs would panic so much."

Bankers should be saying 'foreign investors', not farangs. It is the same old Asian village territorialism that brands outsiders as retards and dogs and monkeys.

Thailand does not deserve to get ahead.

50bht1dollar says:

well, the IMF doesnt know jack, and personally I would welcome the return of 50BHT = 1USD. The Thai govt should be grateful there is ANY foriegn investment at all these days, given the options available in neighboring countries ! a "correction" is forthcoming in the Thai economy.

Hank says:

A farang friend of mine once asked his Thai girlfriend if she knew what it is that we celebrate at Christmas. "Santa Claus' birthday?", she asked, in total seriousness.

OXO says:

I think this is the time that we should reflect on those not as fortunate as us
A CHRISTMAS TALE

Late last week, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking lot as I was loading my car up with gifts that
I felt obligated to buy. It was then that I heard a quiet sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged flannel shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand! Thinking that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.

He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He had three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine years old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made very little to support her large family. Nevertheless she had managed to skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her
children Christmas presents. The young boy had been dropped off by his mother, on the way to her second job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and save just enough to
take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall, when an older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into the night.

"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked. The boy said, "I did." "And nobody came to help you?" I wondered. The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How loudly did you scream?" I inquired. The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me please!" I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry for help.

So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.

OXO....

Prufrock says:

50bhtdollar
“A "correction" is forthcoming in the Thai economy”

Fi'ty baht buck, Dana & bob

This here Baht is a regional fiat currency. By once again "watering the drinks", the Thais have instantly diluted the financial gravitas of the Baht to the level of Air Miles. Exclusive of tourism revenue and foreign investment, and, as of this week, this economy is currently supported by less real wealth-creation strategy than it had before its last major "re-adjustment".
You can take that to the bank.
Better yet, take it to Yaowarat.

There’s a reason these "smoke and mirrors" artists try to pull whoppers like this from time to time. It's a way of passing on that credit based crap-shoot debt from Thaksin's last eight years.
By closing their eyes to the consideration of consequences wholly driven by external (i.e.ignored) factors ,the "Greedies", at first, saw no benefit in considering implications and aftershocks so they didn’t.
At least until it’s too late.
In a manoeuvre akin to a bargirl’s family angling for that big sinsot windfall, this kind of obtuse posturing usually pays off.
In the case of this latest go at moving the goal posts,however, the punter’s farang “rellies” back at ranch are having a real good look at this one.

“Nawk pratet Thai” we “farangs” happen to have an S&P of our own.
Instead of croissant-wrapped forcemeat snacks slathered in mayonnaise and catsup, festooned with carrot cubes and green peas, our S&P sells risk ratings.

After last week's jive-assed move, the PANIC "interest group specific" patch jobs came in a little too "too little too late".
This one ain't over by a long shot.

Errant says:

I propose Thailand revert to a salt-standard economy similar to that in China millennia ago. This would allow the Thais to put to further use one of the half dozen things they manage to get right, namely food (the other being pliant women, the squirt thing next to the toilet and I know there must be something else).

You could argue that pliant women already play a vital role in the country's economy. Or better than argue it you could go out and see to its continuing. Think I'll do that right now. It has something to do with what the economists call pent-up demand.

Dicer says:

Her comment alone is the singing voice of a dodgy economy. No idea the barbarians actually had minds is what she's saying. After working with merchant bankers I say this: there are people like clever Bloomberg types who give input, but in economics it is one thing to spot the problem, another to fix it and another to do the PR to the public. Especially in international stuff it is cultural and psychological all psychological psychological psychological..factors. As in the past everyone knows with the stock market that any hint of change brings chaos so in fact a few Thais rolled themselves up into billionaire status quickly.

Another perspective is the golden goose theme. They always kill the goose. Visa restrictions, sneers and now the bank. At one time years ago when interest rates were up Thai Farmer Bank president (Banthoon Lamsam) said he was not about to have foreigners make money with Thai accounts and banned any foreign account holder from receiving interest. And now it's Krung Thai. How do you like that? A few farangs in the govt office I was in opened the savings and loan which was doing 7%, but when the Thais realised the amount of profit would not let any other farang join even though we were on what was known as the "international" staff.

The unitary vision of a mafia society is to orchestrate the best scams. Does anyone see the connection between the Bushido army taking over. New visa rules. Property visa cancelled. And now BOT antics and more events redolent of the abstruse. Foreigners lose locals buy out. When you make synthesis the screams of "paranoia!" are heard. Fleecing farangs has long been an art form that takes your breath away.

WINNING THROUGH INTIMIDATION

There is a small aerodrome right outside Pattaya. A chap in Silom (let's call him Brian) was selling real estate. They asked him to go to Chicago to put a big deal together and he did. He sat there in a room full of big bankers. They agreed for a meeting in Bangkok. Two weeks on the meeting came. The % should have been a big chunk for him out of a couple million dollar deal, but the bankers thought, why should we pay this guy a huge amount of money when he is a nobody with a licence. You don't even have to pass high school to sell real estate. So they paid him a token of the amount, about $30,000 instead of the requisite $250,000. As this was out of state, he was set up and had no recourse. He figured out what was wrong. The bankers had no use for him. In Cesar terms, no respect.

Two months on he was very fortunate to land another deal in Pattaya. A big hotel consortium wanted to buy land in that murky place. So he came up with a plan. He went to one of the special joints in Pattaya specialising in ex-ex-soviet hookers and hired out a couple of the Ukranian and Uzbeki stunners who could speak reasonable English. He gave them some instructions, got his Indian tailor mate to spruce them up a bit. He called the bankers to meet him at the air strip. Once the hookers were attired in standard office wear he took them to the aerodrome outside Pattaya a couple of hours before the meeting. He had already rented a Cessna. Then the snobbish yank moneymen took a cab from Don Muang to the airstrip. They got to see him show up in his own (rented) Cessna. He walked out with the two girls taking notes, their mouths drop, walked to a rented Benz which took them to a suite at the Marriott. He calmly made the deal and the alpha man (at least for the deal time) later collected full payment. You can see how people size you up and decide what to do next. Instead of showing up groveling in front of the bankers as before he had them meet him at the airstrip. He had the tarts around him nodding to the boss as the fat yanks sat back amazed.

CHACHOENGSAO GUNMEN

Now then imagine two guys march into the high demand bkk condo you want to live in and tell the manager at reception they are here to lease the penthouse for the Man. They do, and in walks you in shades and ascot (which is incongruous in bkk weather, but the point is to freak them out) while the goons are doing all the polite stuff. Then you send someone to pay the bills or even intimidate tarts and sneerers. What my Jap yakuza mate did years ago in bkk was hire a Chachoengsao gunman as a driver-cum-butler.

Years ago I sometimes went to a certain hotel's pool. The gym was a mafia deal. The reception guy in the gym had a cigar and wore a black suit black shirt and white tie all the time. One eye nearly closed. You know the one eyelid permanently half closed type with a menacing smile. All the guys were fat mafia guys smoking cigars. It was obvious and they had close circuit TV everywhere. They also had apartments in the building and watched everything in the area. So what do you do with these guys. Make friends with them is what you do, after you realise that using the treadmill while cigar smoke wafts in the gym air is not workout, but an exercise in futility. Actually these guys were trying to look normal which is comical. The Jap mate started coming to the gym and he immediately clicked with these guys. He quickly got them to find him the right gunman as a driver-cum-butler. In Saipan the Jap had a bodyguard service (Koreans) so knew what he was doing. Imagine hiring a few guys like these for a month to set things up. The bank, the terrified accountant, the obedient lawyer, the premium apartment, the all pervasive business.

You make that impression in a country where presentation and first impression is all there is. Shows you how creative culture can be.

COCO THE TAME CHIHUAHUA OR NED THE ANGRY PIT BULL

Juxtapose this with the line of submissive loaded farang misfits, who even wai when being screwed. Never given the chance to examine ideas of course they have to log 2000 baht in Nana bills asking what to do next. Well, wallow we all do, but dimension is the deal, first, second and third. Second seems real and can nearly fool you. Do you notice with one dimension folk that in minutes their whole system is there unchanged for a lifetime and still running into walls. Here in a pretentious place a good deal of success comes from the trying on of masks, the affectation of a persona not one's own and becoming the subtle buccaneer, the smiling usurper who means to seize the crown by subtle proxy force. There is right now somewhere in bkk the most ultra posh condo with swimming pool fitted in each unit and thirty units in the whole building. A mate wanted to buy one and he walked into the office in shorts and trainers and said "excuse me." Some Chinese I'm sure used massive self control from throwing his coffee mug at this guy. Despite the go-go bar bombast there is uncertainty in every corner of their lives. They are in their slave moment. You on the other hand become Attila the Hun. So there's a huge reason to dislike you and the likes of you. I mean who expects to be cherished by those he tackles. The point is it does not matter as you can see through the scams and not only complain about your electric bill being cooked, but might attack. Instead of Coco the tame Chihuahua they suddenly have an angry pit bull. Like my ex Special Force yank colleague who used to scream at the office idiots in loud German. Here was a blonde hulking yank screaming in Nietzsche’s language and the girls were almost having a moment of terror induced orgasmic rapture. Pure admiration when he shouted, "When you work with me you are in US territory!" His Charlie Chaplin in Great Dictator act had the rest of us in stitches. It underscored the thin line of politeness one can cross and still get results.

The alternative can be sinister servility from the cringing slave status males. Servility though became sinister long ago, a quality to be mistrusted: when mutants suck up to their useless males, the assumption is that they are after something and/or that their lives are pathetically empty. Unless of course they have been trained to be that way. The irksome presence of neutered farang males, rushing in and out, clattering across the airport gates in their sudden arrival causes the locals to halt their conversations mid-sentence, since nothing of import must be got from these aliens. Except they don't. There are money accounts to be emptied. And bodies to be got rid of. Or perhaps sent back knee-crooking to the sarcophagus like new airport.

Brits used to refer to the servant problem as the difficulty of finding and retaining suitable staff. Today, aren't servants an embarrassing obstacle to the attempt to modernise? Not in a poor hierarchical larcenous country like this one. And not for those who are used to having them at home. And certainly not for crafty foreigners who need to create a buffer between themselves and the hostile world out there. As I said before life Thai style is the survival of the mutant locals, survival of the mafia fittest and survival of farang misfits respectively. Attention goes to the mafia fittest as they run the show. The mutants and misfits are the deus ex machina of the gambling den otherwise known as Smileland. And anyone who asks why I don't practice what I preach I say, I did, except got tired of dealing with wallpaper people and headed up the hills where between bouts of golf and whisky I get high from the smoke rising from the hill tribes burning the fields and their daily rubbish.

P.S Trump o Claus looks like the kind of guy they'd pick to have be Santa at Central...whee kids look at the standard farang geezer...whee

Dana says:

Dicer as King Cogent and very welcome and entertaining. I'd like to say--"I could have said that."--but I didn't. Am I the only one who wonders who this guy is and whence he cometh frometh?

Rufus T. Firefly says:

Dicer's comments were lifted, verbatim, from another website where the writer calls himself Korski. Terribly poor show, old boy...

Grunt says:

Even a cursory examination of syntax and prose clearly shows that the above 4 posts were written by the same person.

Dust off that yarmulke and put some effort into it, lady dicer.

Prufock says:

Dicer
Market-wise, (as y'awready know :-) they're a tad "niche-ean" but that's obviously the point. Ya do it fer the funuvit, looks like. Y'aren't doinnis fer money, are ya.
I print 'em out and read 'em twice. Once to get to sleep and once in na bog.
Rawk-on

ozricdan says:

if you want to celebrate the true spirit of christmas....go out and buy a dvd copy of BAD SANTA then go home crack open the whisky or beer etc with your girlfriend or mates and have a fuckin good laugh at the peeps who are not here in thailand with us who shall no doubt be dragged to some boring xmas lunch to thier wifes family etc etc.....you can imagine right?.

alternativly to the guys who cant be here in thailand........leave your in-laws go out get hold of a copy of bad santa go home have some whisky, beer etc and think about how long it will take to save for a trip to thailand while watching billy bob thornton drink rob and fuck the true spirit of christmas into your living room.

ps. half man half goat said...

I could'nt be arsed. All me arse this xmas bollocks. If Christ was to come back on Dec 25th 2006, and have a look at his creation, he would not be able to stop throwing up and would resort to chasing 500 baht Beach Rd slappers for solace. As you do....

h m - h g, you truly know the real spirit of christmas......ho ho ho!

dannyboytf says:

what shit gift's did you get........?

what about a singing cow toy, can you beat that ?

I think it was about 150b at most from Big C 8-(

Camuschula says:

Dicer-

You are the man. You are like the eccentric dude lingering on the sidelines giving sage advice to the moronic masses, and instead of being grateful for your services, the masses burn you at the stake for destroying their deluded realities.

There is saying poker, "If you don't know who the sucker at table is, then the sucker is you."

But here, you teach a farang not to be the sucker sitting at the table, and he will argue to his dying breath that he isn't even when he is sitting there naked at the end of the game without a penny left to his name while the Uriah Heep/Gollum like Thai Chink with the bald head and hairy mole is lingering to buy your gold fillings at a "wery gut pry."

In Thailand, you are either The Man or the slave. There is no in between. If you appear slavish and servile to the Thai, that is exactly how they will treat you.

Worse yet, when farang kow tow down to the feet of their Isaan whores, who are in the Thai world view even lower than slaves, the Thais know they can treat farang like crap, because the farang can't even abide by the simple rule of discretion: Rent the white skin Chinese girls for public appearances, keep the Isaan slappers off the streets and out of sight.

Like you said, it is all psychological, psychological, psychological, yet the farang act as if they are the lobotomized Jack Nicholsan at the end of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Nurse Ratched had the last laugh, didn't she?

It seems as long as the Thai allow the farang to get a whiff of that peasant pussy and keep them economically and psychologically ghettoized, they think they got us by the balls, and the farang, because they have no balls and no brains, will continue to beg for their 30 day visas, and their 49% share in their own companies, and for the crap condos owned by mafiosa property managers in the farang ghettos in Bangkok, Phuket and Pattaya.

In the past, if the Thais got a little too uppity for their own good, the French, the British, or the Americans would send a gun ship or two up the mouth of the Chao Phaya to negotiate treaty terms. The farang would say "boo" and the Thai would jump. The farang once had property rights, 100% ownership over their trade, their own banks, and extraterritoriality rules which meant farang were immune to Thai "justice." All those things have been signed away by the farang governments and the Thai still cry poor victim.

Now, a Thai sends a farang to Chao Phaya 2 on Sri Ayutthaya for contract negotiations, and for that 90 minute hump, the farang will sell his soul to a country of beezelbubs, and then go to Nana to see if he can get a 2nd mortgage.

ozricdan says:

camuschua.........
why do some farangs do this i have posted a tips on how not to do this but to no avail.

maybe now they will listen to a non-farang who knows the difference between the two different fictional characters such as gollom or uriah heep or maybe they should rent a copy of the cuckoo's nest to remind them what issan women can be really like.
as for the 2nd morgage in nana, i wont even try with that one

happy christmas....peeps

Prufrock says:

Camus
Always a pleasure.
Lord knows this ain't no poet's city.
It's like coming up for air.
As far as I'm concerned, you, dicer, Common (dramatic improvement)TK, Grunt (heh heh) and ALL the other "windy's" who'd care to, can just keep it coming.
Let the sound bite crowd do their ADL commentaries.

regards
Prufrock

Road Natzi says:

There's no doubt about you guys, your sure know how to crap away, you have plenty to say but little understanding of what you are actually talking about. Your 'know all' attitudes really make me sick, if you think I am wrong, just look at it this way. Think about when you were say 15, when you thought you knew everything. Think about how much more you know now (assuming some of you are more than 15 years old). OK, Now imagine what a fool you will feel like in another 20 years or so.

The best way to describe you all would be 'ARMCHAIR WANKERS'.

If you don't like what the thais are doing then 'fuck off' back to pakistan or whereever the hell you come from. Ohh and please don't come to Australia, we don't need ur type here, I'm guessing ur mostly english, after all they are the best whingers known to man !!!

H.M.H.G. says:

Last night I had a dream....

Three wise men, bedecked in linen, silk and leaf gold, came to me whilst I slumbered and told me what is to come.

The cyber-prophet St.Stickman will rise from his tomb and shall preach the word of Nana unimpeded.

The offspring of 2 Jackals, Keith summers (twice excommunicated) will lick the wounds of the prophet and spew futher linguistic atrocities in the north. There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth in Bangkok.

The phrase 'Mia Noi', accompanied by a suggestve wink, will replace 'Sawadee Kap' and a wai as the standard greeting to all women.

Thaksin, The Black Pope, will continue to control the Thai economy from his base in Cardiff.

The wise men continued...

Pattaya will become an Orwellian nightmare due to the installlation of 1000's of CCTV cameras. Banks and banks of monitors will display every activity; from Japanese sex tourists paying exhorbitant funds to spill the blood of desperate whores to TIC-TAC-TOE punters scurrying back and forth in the basements of abandoned Wats.

The Jesuits, aided by Haitian doctors, will introduce, to the sex industry, an STD so virulent that the stench of rancid, fetid jism ( and the whaff of black tar medicine) will mingle with the odours of Pattaya's foodstalls.

American Ghetto Pimps will turn their cash-flow radars on Pattaya. Walking St. will become the 'Strip' and mack-daddys will reign supreme. Haute Couture a la Huggy Bear will be de rigeur.

And finally...

Websites on Pattaya will evolve to include Rogue's Galleries in which undesirables are nammed and shamed. Profiles will include photos, last known whereabouts, modus operandi and hotlines for updates.

AAnd with that, the wise men were gone.

Dicer says:

"Dicer's comments were lifted, verbatim, from another website where the writer calls himself Korski. Terribly poor show, old boy" - Posted by Rufus T. Firefly

lol....

Who's Korski? And could you please supply us with the so called "lifted verbatim" link. In the meantime please none of this other website copied shite. Wallpaper people is my term for those who can't go beyond non-topic substantiation. 1st dimension it is. How much can one fool around with wallpaper at the end of the day?

"Y'aren't doinnis fer money, are ya." - Prufrock

Not here.

"instead of being grateful for your services, the masses burn you at the stake for destroying their deluded realities." - Camuschula

No gratitude needed. The skewered allusion to Prometheus is amusing though. All this just goes into the annals of adaptation. Which is an idea worth expanding on later me thinks.

Dicer says:

"But here, you teach a farang not to be the sucker sitting at the table and he will argue to his dying breath that he isn't..." - Camuschula

There are so many ways to explain this. For now let's see just one. Smugness. Heeeeere comes the caravan.

THE SMUG GREAT DANE

A great smug-stasis example is this. The Chaophaya II massage parlour. Huge strange place in bkk. I was invited by a Thai Indian business man and a friend from London who is in banking. Tim the lanky Indian and Joe (not real names of course) the mad comic London mate had a Chinese couple as clients. They had set some business deals for them overseas. The man is a member of the family that owns the parlour and the chick was his sister. I didn't know any of this then of course. Like an idiot I went along without questioning what and where after Joe popped over to my office and dragged me out for "an evening of fun."

The sister, who was married to a mafia protector liked Joe so much - as a friend I guessed, the very likeable buffoon that he is - invited him and indirectly us over for a nice treat albeit without her husband's or brother's knowledge. At 530 pm we rolled up in white shirts, ties, briefcases to the Chaophaya. We were met at the door by a tiny pretty Chinese chick in jeans and a sweat shirt. We went in and lounging around were three smug post Viet war GIs with pony tails posing and pacing as they oggled about 89 girls in the glass cage, but then we appeared and the Chinese girl was saying, "so which one do you want?" The mafia guys with headsets followed Joe to see which one he wants. Now the smug ex-military guys turned around. Who are we? Three nerds? And who the fuck is the tiny Chinese girl with a nice arse followed by the two goons? We in effect did not make sense and the totalised guys were trying not to let surprise roll out on their faces. Tim giggled, "I'll take that one." And the girl passed it on to a goon. One of the smug boys marched up to us and pointing at the Chinese chick said, "How much is this northern girl?" and grabbed her hand. The Chinese chick, totally shocked said, "errr Khun Joe your friends?"

Talk to any farang fucker on the road and as far as the Thais are concerned he must be your friend. After she regained her composure she waited for Smuggy 1 to let her hand go. But the guy was already saying "how much," to one of the goons. Joe by this time realised that this could lead to an extreme faux pas with severe ramifications and slowly walked towards giggly Tim to alert him. Somewhat nonplussed I looked around wondering if we could leave this place and go get beer and food. The goons were calmly waiting for Smuggy to let her go. Joe and Tim figuring their business careers in bkk would abruptly end rushed up to Smuggy, and Joe said "sorry she doesn’t work here, actually she's my missus" and freed her. Tim, his giggles now gone said to the chick "actually we don't really feel like being here. Why don't we go to some nice restaurant instead?" That is if we could take them up on a meal instead. So now the goons escorted us to their restaurant as Joe heads up to tell the Chinese chick outrageous stories about London and the lingering smug guys were astounded. They had it all figured out, or did they? It's the post Viet war thing. The corrupted yank who speaks Thai, knows a bit, and sees himself miles above the hapless tourist. Knows it all. And around this is the incomprehensible mutant world. At the ki nok stage you can saunter around a bit of course. Not that Smuggy was anywhere near as close. Later on after we had the dinner and everyone, goons included left satisfied full of amusing jokes not to mention ok food the three of us proceeded to a pre-weekend get-tanked session. Once I was in on what had almost happened I couldn't help but feel it was a close call. Guilty by farang association. What if Smuggy had grubbed the arse of the owner's relative or simply did some other horrible thing.

MAHA SHAGGER AND THE NUTCASE MONK

I say ex-Viets because the best are the ex- Viets. I remember one other guy (this takes the biscuit) ambled on a bkk bus, obviously ex-military but now with a pony tail and a pot belly. I looked at him and thought "wanker." The kapao girl was, however, impressed. You know how it is with Thais, when they see marginal DNA they can get smitten. Anyway this guy is smug and sitting there smiled at the kapao girl and said in a broken Thai "do you want it," looking down at his crotch. He has it all figured out. But has he? Skip to Andy, the 160 plus IQ lecturer who gets all the smart people like Niels Mulder showing up to chat with him at the Uni. Elderly monks too. Not only does Andy speak fluent Thai, but can read and speak fluent Pali, an extremely rare feat. One monk who regularly went to his office is a complete bizarre young Brit. Quite bright and can actually do the Thai rituals in Lanna and read it, but in Andy's office in spite of the robes acted out UK cartoon characters shooting ray guns. In addition he told me he is the secret person who writes enormous letters to Postbag under some name. A raving nutcase in orange back to the pony tail.

Later on Andy is to help at a talk at Chula. Norbu Rimpoche is coming to talk. I get invited by Andy. After the talk there was the nut punk monk. Out of nowhere the pony tail guy on the bus popped up too out of when he saw the Brit monk. Right in the public when guests were leaving, he threw himself on the ground and wai-ed Nutcase Monk's feet three times as if to say, I am into this deeper than you know. I am Maha Smug because I have even figured out Buddhism right to the paradigm and realise that this guy although farang will get the respect and note, I know how to do it big time. This was the same guy who asked the bus kapao if she wants it!!! And I said to myself what I had said on the bus first time around: what a wanker! The guy really did it. To a cartoon monk, to make the point to me that smugness has "maha" edges to it.

TOTALISED CANINES

If you talked to Maha Shagger you'd get his variation of the successful super person. And then you notice another ring of interest is the stasis-smugness many fall into like a mini totalised Levi-Strauss world. This is for all types of western folk. They assume they have it all figured out at some point and go smug. They get away with this as they chat with the waves of new tourists who are amazed at everything. The trick is to look for totalisation as an ultimate theory, but be willing at any point, to say well this idea was good up to here and now for the next theory. Like body language it is fine when it comes out, but is only visual. You try to understand the Maha Shagger episode and NLP comes closer, but put Cesar and NLP together and you have a special martini. The point is, there is always something else.

We all seek a few generalities to plough through this will. At this point a few Buddha ones do pretty nicely. Maya is great as it answers the question who is Maha Shagger and where did he come from? Next is no self. If you can drop self for a while, you can relax and get a new view of the world. Schopenhauer was right when he spotted this as something barbarians could learn from Asians. It's easy to get too much into the self program (even in a foreign country and then you can't see straight) Anyway I digress.

Stasis, totalisation smugness are all interesting. The Thais love to reach that stasis where they 'feel' comfortable and there are no surprises. Then some go to totalise which is to fortify the stasis with even more lawn furniture. Finally the western smug who just nods at Thais is beyond level one faux pas, not quite yet grabbing the arse of Jao Po's daughter or prostrating yourself to a cartoon monk. Understanding the mutant misfit difference is for anyone who has done a bit of reading - Freud's Beyond the Pleasure Principle is a good place to start - realises that human stuff will never be figured out. It goes on and on and is a complete mystery. Thais of course give up little clues as you keep watching them. But they have depths of things like evil that boggles the mind. Or general lack of human behaviour. They can really go off the edge.

US FIRST

Anyway it's the same old thing of desperate hamlet people working for 3000 baht or so while at the same time in debt up to the nose watch the foreigners eat up more on one Christmas dinner than they do in a month. When you show up too many times it gets hard for them to mental erase so they try to get rid of you. Eventually if they can't you become a mythos and they end up dreaming about you. In other words, they are OK as long as you are in the fog and they can barely see you. To make it worse they may suspect that we can see through the fog. This is awful. They assume everyone is clueless like the "individual them" and the fog is a mystery. When you catch the looks on their faces, they know that you know and show you faces. Which is what I generally refer to as sneers.

Thailand is effortlessly greed with a superimposed docility facade for the masses. Otherwise you have a revolution. Or war. Underneath this is a strange angry bunch of people. The long view is that Thais are so intensively US FIRST I almost have to give them credit. I mean look at the Palestinians, the Mexicans, even the Pinyos, not to mention Turkmenistan and Congo.

The other day I went to get tenderloin for Sunday BBQ. There is a nice 4 inch cut waiting plus a new uncut roll. The lady immediately picked up the roll. Nope, the piece waiting. The end cuts were rough and half of what you'd get would be grunge. Pretty slick, feed the crap to the "tourist." Save the good stuff for us. I did my wrecked sneer face . This is not good, but also not good when you see entire societies fall apart. Thais have something golden going and it is the ability to organise themselves for larceny and nimble felony games in the fog while keeping perfect composure. Magic!

CHICKEN GUMBO OR BUGS

Reality is like wearing real Nike and eating chicken gumbo in Louisiana one minute. The next minute you're eating bugs in an Isaan village wearing fake Nike. It is a continuum. We linger in the fringes of reality happy owning all kinds of funny goods like fake Nike for us and Hello Kitty ear rings for the rice tart. A sort of salvation. We can then laugh as we have had a tiny minute of respite in a suffocating Saxon dream. Why laugh? Because your relatives are back home defocused on the shopping mall fluorescent. To make it a tad more interesting you can send a box full of the fake Nike to the folks back home eating gumbo. Time warps easily cross.

BABY CHASED ME WITH A KNIFE

You then step out into the open neolithic fields of Northern Thailand to inhale laminated cornflake smoke - perfect season now - and to meet lost barbarians. One guy in a hundred looks interesting. Talks at the gym. Not too smug. Talks on the phone, out a few times and finally what seemed like an interesting person for the collection turns out to be a freight train. I postulate that everyone needs to meet a few lost men to round out their life. There is even a last glimpse of hope and light, but any person at 65 who thinks mutants are cute or that nesting is OK is hopeless. Of course it may be too much DNA pumping instinct stuff. Like the geriatric who looks like Buffalo Bill with a trilby hat. Buffalo Bill was at the store buying a microwave but doesn't cook, wine but doesn't drink. Last time it was a full set of china and talked of nesting, but doesn't have a girlfriend. Just had his prostates removed and is waiting for some elbow surgery. It was not long ago that the prostate-less geezer was chased out of the house by a knife wielding little woman because he refused to buy her a Honda Jazz. "Baby did that to me," he first said months ago. And she called him "Papa." I thought, raaaaight, there it is right there, the cops can extort monies for semiotic incest.

The same man recounts stories of Xmas fun with his long dead parents. Back and forth in the time warp. His brother and him at younger years knew how to pretend to be invisible. Huge cooking and weeks of prep with spritz cookies, celery, hams, lots of goodies and finally the big blow up. When mother and uncle were around they'd almost set the house on fire. It's thematic this switching between topics of a long gone ritual bust up and Baby chasing Papa out of the house barefoot. I think to myself when all the philo crap becomes boring you get a Scotch and dollops of nihilism before madly chasing life around hooker joints.

Happy Solstice All.

Drivespline says:

Well, prufer, you certainly are very impressed with yourself. I thought this site was directed towards hookers, toilets, and low brow humor. I seem to be wrong, as recently the site has become a repository for unpublishable writers to unload their unpublished literary "Cleveland Steamers".

As for the rest of us ADL addled monosylaballistic peasants, we can only collectively hope to someday reach the rarified and windy heights from whence your intellect guides us. Speak, O oracular orifice of crap, thine vanity dost sway us so hither and yon.

Still, you certainly do stand out as a beacon of literary clarity above the debris. And you're head and shoulders above the Issan whores, as well.

You seem to have the whole "how to lose in Thailand" genre spot on. Wondering why.

Please be generous to your Issan whores on this Christmas Day. You, too, may someday have to take refuge in whoring rather than your obvious intellectual prowess. Who knows? You could wind up your days wandering around a whole subculture of whores and losers.

Dana says:

Well, using the 'Thai fog for the foreigner' as an excuse I am not sure whether I am evolving or devolving; but I found Dicer's latest readable and repeatable. Reminded me somewhat of something I wrote a long time ago (#83).

I would gamble that much of what appeared in Dicer's latest has been offered to us before but this time it looked more attractive and went down easier. Maybe it is me. Anyway, I believe three ring bindering his posts would be entertaining and instructional. When my butler returns from winter recess in St. Barts I will have him get on it.

This year I mailed out application forms to suitable worshipers for the Church of Dana and the Dana Fan Club. It never at the time would have occured to me that there was a single human that would not benefit from the associations. Now Dicer. An ego conundrum now walks this Earth. Since non-Danaites can never have this problem you can not feel my pain. I bow down to no man--but I am on one knee in front of Dicer. Who is this guy--and from whereth does he whenceth?

tingtawng says:

Dicer talks like my dreams. All present tense and perfect, but no thread. Tantalising, semi-sensible gobbledegook.

It's like listening to my girlfriend's uncle's passa-Issan monologues - I am smiling, nodding, not-understanding, but smiling and nodding anyway.

Grunt says:

Exactly why are there so many absurdly long posts by lady dicer and her many alternate names?

25 Tactics for Truth Suppression

22. Manufacture a new truth. Create your own expert(s), group(s), author(s), leader(s) or influence existing ones willing to forge new ground via scientific, investigative, or social research or testimony which concludes favorably. In this way, if you must actually address issues, you can do so authoritatively.

Note the "create your own experts" part. Seems dicer has created a one woman majority here leaving little to no room for anyone else to get a word in edgewise.

Way to go David!

Grunt says:

I would think the general consensus of any new readers here would be "LOS looks interesting at face value but if its full of rip roaring asshats like dicer I think Ill look elsewhere".

Lucky for us, dicer has never set foot in the LOS and every "factoid" presented is gleaned from mother google.

Captain Spaulding says:

Dicer has done it again... some original and some not. Perhaps a bit further towards the not. Probably 70-30, meaning more...not. Atually, there is very little original material here. Moreover, it has been lifted from another page.

tut tut
ii
1 1
2 2 2

Faber & Faber says:

Ms. Dicer. I have read the work you submitted and have 'changed' certain elements to suit a wider audience. You will agree, your work now has vibrancy and humour after my magic touch has created art from a ruddy paste of words that you called your 'work.'

You additional offer of oral sex has been declined at this present moment in time.

I

SMUG THE DANE

A great smug example is this. The Chaophayattayayuaayuttaaygayadivgfter II massage parlour. Huge strange name. I was abused by a Thai Indian business man and a friend from London who is in spanking. Tim the wanky Indian and Joe (not real men of course) the mad London mate had a Chinese prostitute as a pet. They had set some business deals for them overseas. The man has a large member and the family that owns the parlour and the chick love to paint it.. I didn't know any of this then of course. Like a pube I went along without questioning what and where was a tax form. After Joe popped over to my office and drugged me out for "a yard long rod of fun", we got dressed and went out.

The sister, who was married to a muslim liked Joe so much - as a friend of Allah I guessed, the very likeable kebab-eater that he is - invited him and indirectly us over for a nice threat; without her husband's or brother's bollocks, this story would end. At 530 pm we rolled up joints in white paper, flick knife,, yaa baa and of to the Chaophayattayayuaayuttaaygayadivgfter II massage parlour. We were met at the door by a tiny pretty Chinese dwarf in jeans and a sweat shirt. We went in and laughing at the dwarf were three smug post Viet war GIs with pony tails posing, high heels and tiny little blouses; pacing as they oggled about 89 pygmies having sex., but then we appeared and the Chinese dwarf was saying, "Chaophayattayayuaayuttaaygayadivgfter II massage parlour. Is a big fokkin name rye?" The mafia guys with headsets followed Joe to see which asian dwarf just cursed... Now the smug ex-military guys turned around. Who are we? Three siblings o dwarves? And who the fuck is the tiny Chinese midget with a nice arse followed by the two by fours? We in effect did not make sense in calling into question someone's height. Short guys (not exactly dwarves...nearly) were trying not to let surprise roll out on their faces. Tim, totally stoned said "I'll take that one" pointing to the dwarf's barbie doll .And the girl passed it on to a goon. One of the smug boys marched up to us and pointing at the Chinese dwarf said, "How much do you want for that fokkin midget!?" and grabbed her hand. The Chinese dwarf, totally shocked said, "Fokkkerrr Khun Joe i no monkey i dwarf yes but give big love rye Joe??"

Mucch meatier methinks...Whaddayasay Pal?

Anonymous says:

ANUS FIRST

Anyway it's the same old thing of desperate hookers working for 3000 baht or so while at the same time in debt up to the nose watch the foreigners eat up more on one Christmas dinner than they do in a month. When you show your cock too many times it gets hard for them to ease so they try to get rid of you. Eventually if they can't become hard and they end up dreaming about you. In other words,they dream about you if they can't get hard.

They are OK as long as you are in the fog and they can barely see you. To make it worse they may suspect that we can see through the fog. This is awful and unlawful; it is scornful, mournful and Bourneville (chocolate) They assume everyone is rock hard like the "individual them" and the stiffness is a mystery. When you catch the looks on their faces, they know that you know and show you faces. Which is what I generally refer to as catching the look on their faces.

This is'nt just mimicry Dicer.

SlowJoeNY says:

Looks like you have not been back to England's green and pleasant land for quite a while. The traffic jams on the motorways within 20 miles of any major city in the South of England are just as bad as the afternoon rush hour in Bangkok.

Uncle Derek's suggestions on how to get from Berwick Upon Tweed or anywhere else on country roads have a high value in present day England.

As a foreigner, I am surprised that the English can fuck their traffic up as badly as the Thais.

Dicer says:

"Last night I had a dream....Three wise men, bedecked in linen, silk and leaf gold, came to me whilst I slumbered and told me what is to come....." - H.M.H.G

I guess the wisemen forgot the easy all time tsunami to just wash up and wash back the Pattaya bunch.

Or we could turn affairs over to the Mongols who were so clever in the 13th century, sure, they can do it again. Breach the whorehouses of Silom and demand stewed marmot.

It seems to me that all of the festive dream is due to someone getting into a Seven Eleven and finding some sniffer's ether left.

Looper says:

Apologies to all the English readers for Road Natzi's unwarranted rudeness.

Regards
Looper

P.S. You will not be seeing The Ashes again for another 16 years so get it up you

Prufrock says:

Divespine: ADD not ADL. My bad.

Dana says:

"The mutants and misfits are the deus ex machina of the gambling den otherwise known as Smileland." -- Dicer

If I had said that tracers would have been added to the incoming mortars from the politically correct. Maybe it is the messenger and not the message.

Anyway, nice to read reality neatly presented. I once characterized Thailand as an amusement park run by almond-eyed and slant-eyed and squinty-eyed mafia. Cue the incoming mortar attack. Gee, this emailer knows a nice Thai; and this emailer married an Essan angel; and this emailer has spent more time in the Saimese sewer than I have.

But not one of these costumed intellectual children had a compelling argument for the fact that I was incorrect.

But enough about me, let us consider something that throws a wider net: to wit--why do we (the generic human 'we') have such a need to have or believe or sell everything as wonderful when clearly either by a relative scale or simply by an absolute measure everything is not wonderful; especially with regard to other peoples and cultures? We are not even consistent with this behavior.

If your child needs brain surgery you do not automatically assume that all brain surgeons are equal and wonderful. You apply some kind of standard to the problem and make distinction decisions.

Why then is this kind of data examination not on when it comes to other cultures? Beats me. The notion that all peoples and all cultures are really equal and wonderful is absurd but very very popular. Want to nail that dark skinned high breasted Israeli backpacker? You know what you have to say . . .

Common Sense says:

Dana,
I often wonder about many of the posters here on MS. Who are they, what’s their story, and what brought about their view of the world. Few others spark this curiosity as much as Dicer. While we will probably never know the answer to your question "Who is this guy--and from whereth does he whenceth?" we can always speculate.

My assessment of the man we know as Dicer is that of a reformed free roaming hippie with a love for Bob Dylan. He one day pulled his head out of his ass and rejoined society, bringing with him revelations of the surreal life that we live in, which were brought about by the use of psychedelic drugs. He is now a highly educated psychologist who leads a fairly normal life, but sits down at the computer every evening with a massive doobie and lets his real thoughts loose upon the MS audience.

My assessment, right or wrong, makes no difference. It only adds to the allure of some of his posts. While I admit to not being able to stomach some of what he writes due to clarity and long-windedness, most of his writings are excellent.

DicerdoesDana says:

Dana kneels before Dicer. Dicer opens his trousers. Dana giggles. Ho Ho Ho

Cut to Dana's face covered in bollock yoghurt.

Inigo Lopez says:

Dicer empties his sack in Common.

Dicer says:

Faber & Anonymous, that was funny. I guess there is something in there for every chiseler. Even Grunt who's been announcing his departure for the past erm I dont know how long. That retardation must have caught him. And he pictures everyone to be Agent Smith.

Grunt is forever shouting at us that he is about to tell us that something we must know or has just told us something revelatory like everything sounds like one person's syntax and idea. He says again that we failed to hear him or that he will, God grant Grunt some sanity, get through to us so that we should know everything sounds like one person's voice. And if we refuse to acknowledge this he will either tell all the newcomers this at the gate or he will leave. But he's not sure. Actually when he does approach anything he always shifts into an inflated and always swelling quote about tanks or Buicks which is not easy to understand, but is tied to the very same info of Grunt ready to leave or leaving. It is quite depressing what this reveals about his mental state. Who am I? What am I? What do I want? Does anyone recognise that I'm Grunt? Am I spinning down into retardation or pschzophrenia? Why does my wife, my colleages, even that bloody dog sound like that one voice? His portentious cry of what should be said and not said is muffled by his other cry for people to partake his analysis of mangosauce syntax. Curiously the more he says this (really a looog time) the more he is ignored and subsumed into the wallpaper. The lack of response is to me at the centre of Grunt's desperation. Even if he says it louder and louder, wears brighter motley and shakes more foolish bells, the final tragedy could be when we at last decide to say ok Grunt what is it, so much of his energy would have been spent in getting the indifferent ear to listen there may be not strength or sanity enough to say what he knows. Exhausted after having seen straight through everyone's syntax he may at last die mad and murmuring.

divad says:

you're being sussed out dicer.

thailand wants you to fuck off.

dana wants to suck your cock.

not looking good, is it?

Drivespline says:

See! I can only remember the first "D".

Dicer says:

"If your child needs brain surgery you do not automatically assume that all brain surgeons are equal and wonderful. You apply some kind of standard to the problem and make distinction decisions." - Dana

It starts with the hooker wife and you get manipulated into putting up with the most awful behaviour. All the standards your mother taught you go out the window. The same as pretending a bunch of completely awful people are OK. Of course the mutants are a lost cause and the aliens they attract are equally low level. It is situational. Most of the foreign bunch here are magnetically brought into the sewer given the enormous problem of socialising a world stuffed full of roaming barbarians in an insular fenced of culture. Who should they emulate? Trump o Claus of course! They see him emptying his sack and pshhhhh ditto their verbal scrotums.

"why do we (the generic human 'we') have such a need to have or believe or sell everything as wonderful when clearly either by a relative scale or simply by an absolute measure everything is not wonderful; especially with regard to other peoples and cultures? We are not even consistent with this behavior. “- Dana

I think the crux of the matter is the lack of synthesis. I have a nice neighbour. My friend has married a lovely bkk girl. My first boss in Thailand was a true gentleman. This is compartmentalised information. The majority of people cannot go to the next step.

SYNTHESIS: DOG BEHAVIOUR VS PACK BEHAVIOUR

As the culture situation goes on, I must say a lot of it has to be experienced to be understood. More so for Western people with a bag of Christian idealism over our heads. And fuzzy untested liberalism. One has to crawl through one's own assumptions until the totality of reality finally gives the choices of getting mad, giving up or figuring bits of it. There are two kinds of lack of synthesis going on: the locals experience problems of synthesis on the micro level, day to day problems of putting things together. Western folk suffer from a lack of synthesis on the macro level. Nation to nation. Always expecting others to be exactly like we are. Anyway I learned long ago doing some research in the Maya Quiche highlands of Guatemala followed by Mali and Cameroon that the locals are not analytical about their culture. They are in stasis, in the ontological now of being not past or future. In a state of being. More so with the Akha up the hill from where I am now. I asked them to do the genealogy and I would write down the names. Couldn't do it. They cannot conceptualise a term like great-grandmother at all. If the person walks in the door, then they remember the term. A different way of using language, I'd say.

Now, when you get people trying to NOT examine life or themselves like my clever Thai PA wondering when I tell her about historical antecedents to northern Thailand stuff why she should be concerned with history - "NOT MY PROBLEM" she would say - you can see this intent of not knowing adds to the lack of articulation about culture and why someone else such as your western historians like David Wyatt do the top in history and Neils Mulder in sociology from all points including the Thais.

A big point is the question Asians keep asking themselves. Why are they so far behind? On TV a China prof in Peking was giving a class on the 'failures' of the post Sung dynasties. Points to Marxism as the scientific western way to swing out of the 700 year Chinese slump. But as Chinese and Indian writers point out, no one can explain the slump. They only finally say that the west was somehow lucky or with better geography or the like. But that's not the whole case.

BUBBLE BUBBLE

Back to Waldos. There are such a variety of reality bubbles people can live in. The new age thing is complete denial as though admitting evil is wrong in itself. For instance, when I told a mate that the local phone company cheats on itemised calls all the time his reaction was gee, how can they do this when they seem nice all the time? And this chap has been here longer than me. This is a clue of a very simplistic reality system. One obviously has not tested much by life, but when you counter the cozy world with reality and nasty things they blink and finally the eyes narrow and they aren't listening. They are trying to figure you out: Whatever is this guy's problem? I also find somewhere in this kind of denial bubble that there is a little system built to be clever and skirt people like yourself. You know this is working when the eyes narrow. These are the same people who sat in the back of the room in high school and refused to study or take notes and figured they could out smart the teacher. Of course the exact same plan failed. So to conclude what is really missing is synthesis (putting information together), integration (checking it with your belief system) and action (doing something); Oddly enough the missionaries here (the dodgy bunch that they are) can down spot Evil right away and are not fooled by the locals. So do the foreign mafia geezers. Not much denial.

WHO PUT THE VIRUS IN MY NEW PRINTER CD?

The real sad saps are the ones in denial who confront reality with their weak generalisations. Well, gee maybe it's a mistake by the phone company which sent you incorrect itemised bill. One guy walks into Pantip Plaza, bargains for a printer and was upset and a bit loud with the chap who took ages to respond. He comes home and plugs the printer and in goes the copied driver in the CD which nicely reformatted his hard disk for him taking all his work with it. His explanation: Maybe it's something to do with Hewlett Packard. And says about the Pantip shop: Oh, they probably put the wrong software on and I got viruses. So I countered, "but you bought the printer new. It was right in front of you. He took the new disc out of the box and then SWITCHED it." At this point the guy glazed over, said "oh..." and seemed to go into a fog. This is the same guy who gets cheated regularly. Now actually a more in-depth denial person would say, "SEE, it was the printer people who put the virus on ...not the guys at Pantip."

On top of the denial (and dogma) it is a case of saying well giving a virus intentionally sounds somewhat counter-intuitive. Now why would a Pantip Shop do this? This does not make sense. You are paranoid. These guys can not attack their customers. Saying that it is counter-intuitive is fine and well, but making the leap from that to "no the shop assistants cannot do that intentionally" is where the denial kicks in. They lack the causal closure that is required of a reasoning which presumes that anyone working in the computer shop deliberately putting viruses in CDs might be possible, even probable. No it is not, it must be the hum of the machine they say. If this thought is pursued they'd reach a neural breakdown.

PETTINESS

One explanation would be simple petty revenge by an assistant who only gets paid 20 baht an hour. George Orwell in Burma Days said of the hideous Raj Brit ladies sauntering in the open market in their long white dresses holding a matching parasol would have a local chappie snick from behind and spit betel juice on the skirt.

He says:

"in an aimless, petty kind of way anti-European feeling was very bitter. No one had the guts to raise a riot, but if a European woman went through the bazaars alone somebody would probably spit betel juice over her dress. As a police officer I was an obvious target and was baited whenever it seemed safe to do so. When a nimble Burman tripped me up on the football field and the referee (another Burman) looked the other way, the crowd yelled with hideous laughter. This happened more than once. In the end the sneering yellow faces of young men that met me everywhere, the insults hooted after me when I was at a safe distance, got badly on my nerves. The young Buddhist priests were the worst of all. There were several thousands of them in the town and none of them seemed to have anything to do except stand on street corners and jeer at Europeans." - Taken from Shooting Elephant. Burma Days.

Ok here one can say well done Burmese! But the point is the pettiness that underscores many transactions. In Thailand during the Second World War noodle ladies were cheating the Japanese 10 satangs more in a similar "I cleverly cheated you 10 satang because I dont like you" pettiness. It is advertised to others as well. So they giggle in satisfaction. I suggested to the printer chap that whoever put the virus in there could be trying to have a go at the owner of the shop or could simply be a disgruntled employee. And went on to tell him the grilled pork salesman who tried to overcharge me 4 baht and the restaurant which poisoned a mate's omlette and on and on. Of course anyone will OD sooner or later. But his was a kind of denial that required a newspaper article or something printed and the Orwell anecdote stuck with him. He then started to look for these trifling incidents to examine what is going on. Well Buddha works in mysterious ways.

A friend who moved back to Virginia recently related a story back about a geezer in Reston VA who married a Thai. She bonked all the guys in town and then stuck the guy's head in an oven and killed him. My French golf buddy would say "c'est natural, mais oui...ils sont les Thais n'est ce pas?" I told the friend it was the usual thing here. Now lack of synthesis and he replied, "but surely it doesn't happen all the time" BUT = refutation. SURELY = supposition. Together they make up for a shaft up the proverbial arse. I think he has an inkling but likes to think these are just exceptional cases. Not a general theory of nastiness. To wit: It's the totality of this stuff that boggles people. After I OD him on stories he thinks more and comes back: "yes, they may have more bad people than other countries do." Amen. There's a lot more to it of course.

The biggest problem seems to be not the inability to conclude and identify evil when it comes in concentrated form, but what to do about it. So something is too bad. What do you do then? Eternally winge. Adjust to it. Leave? Even if you can do the choices finally admitting a whole group of people can be evil goes against the grain. Back to the dogma feeding denial thing again.

Incidentally, one can lay it thick on Orwell for being a tool of the colony, but what followed from above refutes that:

"All this was perplexing and upsetting. For at that time I had already made up my mind that imperialism was an evil thing and the sooner I chucked up my job and got out of it the better. Theoretically--and secretly, of course--I was all for the Burmese and all against their oppressors, the British. As for the job I was doing, I hated it more bitterly than I can perhaps make clear. In a job like that you see the dirty work of Empire at close quarters."

One can't help, but nod in agreement. Colony or no colony petty behaviour is all around us whereas synthesis is nowhere to be seen.

Common Sense says:

Dicer,
You've either let a few words or praise go entirely to your head, or your a little lonely and depressed this holiday season.

Either way I suggest you get a dog, a hug, or a fuckin role model.

rickhatesboxingday says:

Dicer,

This last one was just luminous. Not only entertaining, but effortlessly illuminating, makes abstract concepts easy and you easily frolick between disparate anecdotes. I beg to differ from Tingtawang who says there is no theme to it. My one question is why put all this fresh insightful stuff among ppl who r talking cock and bull. I say that with all due respect dudes. Could you answer that one Dicer?

Although many stinas find you exasperating (dicerisque word hehehe) I think you give this website a huge service... and just in case, I emptied my sack in my bird before I wrote this. The whole idea of lining up behind Dana and Common didnt appeal that much not to mention my certainty that your bum is sealed and you are wearing a Hannibal mask. If they put a chastity pant lock on you some of these jizz chasers would disappear and we can have a less excited chat. Before I foret, Grunt you have at long last received the final blow you motherfucker....

Dicer says:

who told you that I needed a praise or erm whatever.... the fact that we're both here says something. By the way, not psychology. I switched from Anthro to abnormal psychology and hence...

Dont worry too much. I got back from my ritual golfing and chilled in the evening before erm letting the caravan go, so to speak. If you are worried about the bumming comment from the twerp upstairs then ok I confirm that I said no.

Dicer says:

Ok rickhatesall,

I put it up here coz I can. Or a better answer is it is extended solstice time. I'm up on a beautiful hill. golf, swims, bbq and erm more...in between tying loose pieces from long overwrought ideas. The funny ones are those who think this took days...anyway does it really matter? One thing I know for certain is that the ether induced three wise men vision doesn't go north so I'm in safe lands here. I liked the belt idea btw...haha.

cheers.

Grunt says:

Hey David, just rename this webpage to "little miss dicers personal sandbox", pass out some pooper scoopers and walk away.

Faber and Faber says:

Ok rickhatesall,

I put it up here coz I can. Or a better answer is it is extended masturbation time. I'm up on a beautiful hill. My arse is open for all to see...in between tying loose pieces from long overwrought ideas. I spread my bumcheeks to the moon and the sweet breath of Lilith invades my sphincter, bypassing the winnits and anal fissures. The funny ones are those who think this took days... I can jump and skip to the melodies of Common's lute whilst caressing the back of Dana's head. Anyway does it really matter? My rectuum is open to all of Asia. The Burmmese have a beautiful map of my ass, alas I digress.. One thing I know for certain is that the ether induced three wise men vision doesn't go north so I'm in safe hands here. Dana, my dear, pass me the anal probe....

Thanks for the first draft. Just touched it up a little. By the way, The Big Issue are interested in your work. Shall I say you'll call them?

Grunt says:

"I'm up on a beautiful hill. golf, swims, bbq and erm more...in between tying loose pieces from long overwrought ideas." - miss dicer

Translated from "dicer-ish" (a modified form of feminist-speak) to english...

"Im cooped up in this lower east side hovel, my yarmulke hasnt been washed in months, and my computer phreakers club meeting is this saturday. Lucky for me, I have the biggest UNIX manual."

I dont worry about anyone putting any faith in ms. dicers babblings, as only dicer reads them.

Simon & Schuster says:

My editor is getting vexed over your ramblings. It would be easier to nail jelly to the wall than liven up your pedestrain prose. Notwithstanding this, I have done a good job here methinks.

SYNTHESIS: DOG BEHAVIOUR VS PACKET OF CRISPS

As the culture situation goes on, I must say a lot of it has to be experienced to be understood. More so for Western people with a bag of Crisps. And fuzzy logic concerning biscuits. One has to crawl through one's own assumptions until one totally becomes bored of referring to one as..one. Reality finally gives the choices of getting mad, giving up or fingering Dana. There are two kinds of crisp production going on: the locals experience problems of synthesis on the slicing potato level, day to day problems of putting things together. Western folk suffer from a lack of synthesis on the 'getting-the-fat-at-the-right-temperature" level. Nation to nation. Crisp to Crsip. Always expecting others to be exactly like we are. Anyway I learned long ago doing some research in a 7-11 followed by Tesco and Asda, that the locals are not analytical about their Crisps. They are in stasis, in the ontological now of being not past or future. In a state of being like a crisp. More so with the rent boys up the hill from where I am now. I asked them to do the crisp-o-meter and I would write down the names. Couldn't do it. They cannot conceptualise a term like Smoky Bacon at all. If the person walks in the door, turns 360, breaks wind and flys away, then they remember the smell. A different way of using potatoes, I'd say.

Errant says:

Have long wondered where all those mouth-breathers clutching a copy of Jane's Defence Weekly in one hand and Gravity's Rainbow in the other would fetch up.

Common Sense says:

Dicer,
I'm not worried about any bum comment by the twerps chiming in from the cheap seats. I just much prefer your shorter posts and get a little overwrought when one of your longwinded diatribes appear. It seems as if you have been making a point to post these more frequently since Tanai’s comment last week. I think Dicer in smaller doses would have a greater impact.

Since the psychologist part of my assessment is the only portion you disputed, am I safe in assuming the rest was fairly dead on?

Grunt,
I do recall a time when I saw some worthy posts from you. Your fixation with Dicer appears to be turning into obsessive-compulsive disorder. Any post of Dicers is immediately followed by a Grunt post, only you have been repeating yourself in various form for weeks now. You seem to have gone from a regular poster with something worth saying to one of the twerps chiming in all to often. Your capable of more than hate mail directed at Dicer so lets have it.

Grunt says:

My GOD "common sense"...

The sheer magnitude, not to mention the lenght, of ms. dicers posts (not to mention a goodly part have absolutely NOTHING to do with ANYTHING regarding LOS) and its me...

ME?!

...thats obsessive compulsive?

Thank you for proving, once and for all, that little miss dicer and yourself are one in the same in word if not deed.

Dicer says:

I have a small peripatetic confession to make although I'm usually very suspicious of those who make confession type of speeches.

Here goes.

There is no single attitude or argument here. It is more brushstrokes of the all too obvious. There is also not a single thread about some "cock and bull" sermon that quarrels about some Sigmund "it's all in the tart’s vagina" Freudian point of doctrine which says that we have a corner of abnormal psychology in Thailand for western people who have a nice, but small gift for self-destruction. That has been made abundantly clear over the years.

Also unlike Dana I do not disclaim any messiah without real hope of paradise on earth or in heaven, and with no precise mission. Neither do I use this place as a pretext for the resuscitation of antique religious myths which stroke (or strike) The "ego conundrum":

"I am the way and the life ever after, crucify me, you hackers, for mine is a ritual death! Take my flesh and my blood, partake me and know mysteries!" There are a few who say and said that. And the curious thing is they will crucify you; they will partake of your flesh; yet no mystery will be revealed. All of us take a tone that is natural to us. And I do enjoy calling a sewer a sewer and a beaver a beaver.

And there that goes.

Here is the last installation as the caravan reaches Solstice Station. Some of the stuff I’ve lumbered you with here was left out by the local editors of my Thai travelbook collection a years ago. When it comes out in the US it will hopefully be in there, but if it is not I thought what a better existential place than here, to hang it dry where jeerers and hecklers thrive in adversity.

This one is for Priapus - yes, Sigmund I hear ya - that fertility god of purely phallic character, keeper of gotes, vegetables, gardens and Tupperware. His Roman half brother who indorsed the Saturnalia is Mutinus.

A 78 YEAR OLD CELEBRATES SATURNALIA IN CHIANG RAI

Last year a neighbour worried that his father might give his house to one of the hideous relatives in the US as he got closer to tepid senility. And father and son did not get on. This estranged son (Matt) decided to show his father (Mr. S.) a good time in Thailand. There is no easy way to come out on top when it comes to inheritance. I said to Matt, "it's a no win world." Maupassant really made it with stories of relatives fighting over a guy's goods before he's dead. Punching each other while the half dead guy is slumped on the stairs. The best was the one figuring out the worth of a woman and sticking her in a barrel of water. You can't win. You even bring in sweet sister Martha the Catholic or aunt Ruby. What do they do? Smack you one with a mallet when no one is looking. Inheritance feuds bring out the worst in us. Anyway Matt had his 78 year old father, Mr S. fly over for solstice last year. “What on earth am I going to do with him after the Xmas dinner," Matt moaned after a few beers. ”Why, the point is to show him a good time so there is plenty you can do," said Attila here.

In a celebration fit for Saturnalia, the old geezer's birthday on Boxing Day and a successful future probate I suggested to Matt to hire a dancing village tart on the dinner table for 15 minutes. Mr S. who's never left Pennsylvania would probably change his glasses and say, "is that electromechanical?" This joke led straight to a new faux pas that awakened the old man from dementia.

Later in his mountain villa Matt brought to the old man's bed room an out of a box, puffed face, Chiang Rai Kachin hill tribe prototart called Pui, the sort you've probably spotted in a Rachada fish bowl, with the tribal lipstick (if you see Chin hill and Burma girls they load on lipstick and it seems to mean they are ready to go and no idea about avon.) This one had a red elf hat which matched the overly red lipstick. "Dad, she's going to stay with you," said the flippant son and closed the door to his father's bedroom on the way out. Eagerly I asked, "what happened then?" "Oh I don’t know," said Matt nonchalantly. "Maybe my dad in his polka dot pyjamas and thick reading glasses went into his own kind of shock for a while and perhaps the girl stood there staring at the fuzzy geriatric heap and sunk in her astro-tribal funk, until I'm sure my old man chucked his glasses and did her." "Did he actually say that," I asked incredulously. "No, but the next morning he was beaming at her outside in the garden. Besides the maid reported that everything in the bedroom was tottering groggily on its pins. I surmised they must have committed some kind of interstellar perversion."

"Don't you feel odd bringing a hill tribe girl into your father's bedroom," I asked. "Erm...no... au contraire, I want him to ball as many tarts here before he kicks the bucket. You see he is a miner from Pittsburgh and he's never had any fun in life. My mom died when I was 15 and he's been a grumpy ass ever since."

I thought to myself, ok this chap although not strapped for cash is riding here against the wave of common sense, but might pull something off because the whole idea of his father's house (at least the way he put it to me) going to some nasty relatives is repugnant to him. Besides with a little fun he's trying to make up with the old man. At least it is a plan, not a good plan, but a plan.

THE PRIAPIC GOD IS LOOKING

Up in the mountains in Chiang Rai unlike say in Pattaya the self lacerating hysteria towards sex does not climax to a blood knowledge. The cruel priapic god of Pattaya is ape mad, bad and dangerous to know as people in Pattaya, evidently, are capable of a kind of exclusivity to sex and take solemnly the hydraulic like constant release as a central meaning to which all experience can be related. The repeated act then flourishes and possesses their minds as that single idea to which they subordinate themselves, in an apprehension of a most amoeba-like protean reality. I read somewhere an email from a bloke asking about what he could use to remedy his chapped cock after too many BJs in Pattaya. Another guy quickly suggested it could be mixed acidity from several types of saliva and could he try apple cider vinegar capsules to fix the pH of the skin membrane. Afterwards I could only think that the priapic god was pulling a fast one on him. It's too much. Ultimately, not Christ, not Marx, not Freud, despite their pretensions has a final word to say about this.

The priapic god of northern Thailand, however, is not as cruel. He provides in a village a palliative to the unending urge. That is the whole point. Even an old miner from Pittsburgh who's never left the US can suddenly act like a spry youth who partook in the apotheosis of solstice humping.

The joy of the village, unlike the town is this: In pure native style, locals hook up, the guy does his beastly peasant behaviour and wifey in adoration, but by a few weeks they are getting bored. NOTHING KILLS LIFE QUICKER THAN THE GENERIC PEASANT ROLE ROUTINE. I man you woman. Great for six weeks in a kind of a primal one dimensional wallpaper thing, but then both get bored.

Once you watch the hill-village people and find out their old ways you learn that in the jungle days they were so busy trying to survive that boredom didn't factor. Now after six months by marital sex nearly ends with Thais. And the drifting off begins. When you get to neolithic Burma and China tribes you find the women romp around like crazy and especially in matrilocal societies there is constant sneaking around and night bonking. Given a higher degree of subsistence farming there is more time to get bored, no TV, so they just screw. In the Chin hills you find the tribes with a special long house for the young. Off they go into a communal screw house where they plug away all night. Kills boredom it does. Suddenly this bunch finds themselves dealing with Waldo The Western who is monogamous, moral, boring and an idiot. Very confusing. What to do as the boredom factor looms even faster than with Issans. My theory is every time a Bangkok tart feels bored or sneered at, like an addiction to get high she needs Waldo to get her one more conspicuous faux Gucci purse at Central or the latest in plastic shoes. Up here in Northern Thailand what you need do is walk into the hut and plug away in good ole neolithic fashion. And when you're tired of plugging away you pop over to Mai Sai border and buy her some of the Chinese plastic shite imported from Kunming.

MR S THE HUMPING HERO

Matt came back to me with an update. After new year 2006 the inevitable happened and 78 year old geriatric said to his son that he does not want to go back to Pennsylvania. Would you blame him for saying that? He screwed one Kachin, two Thai Yai, one Burmese Shan and one Chiang Rai village tarts. None were hookers, but rented from village headmen by the resourceful (and Northern Thai fluent) son. Mr S. even spurned his son's golfing trips and stayed in everyday swapping genes. Until the son exhausted the budget allocated for the father’s sessions. And finally Mr S asked for Pui (the first tartlet back.) Pui was the barometer to measure the others by and Pui was all he was going to have thank you very much.

By this time Matt was a nervous wreck. "All he does is fuck man!" "Isn't that what you want him to do?" "Yeah, but he's 78. I didn't think he had it in him. I mean the last three girls complained to the maid (as they do) that he was at it all night. If anything happens you know how far the hospital is." I was pissing myself laughing now. This was already entering Borat territory. And needless to say Mr S. became my instant hero in this mountain range of idiotic foreigners. I said without thought, "right Matt, Sunday I'm doing a BBQ and bring everyone over. I'll even get the pool cleaned as it's been two weeks so it'll be BBQ swim and drinks." Matt looked confused. And to clarify I said, "I want to meet your old man, he sounds like a cool guy so." We agreed and left it at that for the rest of the week.

Come Sunday. Matt, Mr S, Pui (just as Matt described her in her elf hat and lipstick) and her cousin, Ning (Ming more like) arrived at the house in Matt's four by four. Mr S is a jovial fellow whose girth looked his years, but with facial features similar to Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond. Except he was all decked out in what appeared to be near bag-lady attire of one of those guys who hides in alleys to expose himself. I took one look at him and was tempted in my canine-mania to start off with: Have I told you about Cesar? Concerned that I'd sound completely mad, I didn't.

Once deposited in our garden chairs I suggested to Pui and Ning to look around the house or have a swim if they get bored of our talk and taking this as a hint or perhaps not wanting to look like used soubrettes who stand at the heels they scarpered to the service quarters where snacks were being prepared. I suggested drinks and Mr S said whisky to his son's worried face. Whisky it was and Mr S started talking about Mr S in the army, Mr S in Korea and Mr S working in some mine. Which was all very well excepting the fact that he constantly kept referring to himself in the third person which made me feel a tad annoyed. It is not unlike when a person is hovering very fast around you the vision becomes blurry and you want to poke the man on his "must" with a stick. Nothing a few pre BBQ shots can’t fix. Forward a couple of hours.

"I see. So Mr S what you're saying is..." "What I'm saying is, it's all between her legs." "Erm... what is?" "You know they talk about a jealous God, marriage. All this stuff is invented to keep us in check." I was not sure who "they" were and what the "check" was. By this time it is late afternoon and the crisp solstice mountain air was replaced by the daily ritual of hill people below in the ridge smoking their shit. And I was pissed on Scotch. So I could not care less about the conversation, but rescuing my already wrecked lungs. I said, "sorry folks could we go indoors as the smoke is coming", but they were too drunk to notice what I said and the old doddering lecher was rearranging his crotch, approvingly attended by Pui's eyes. Rather than running indoors as my lungs dictated I sat there and gave Mr S a makeover. I reached the potbelly and wondered how slim Pui could maneuver herself on that perfect semi-hemisphere. Went up to the face again and superimposed Professor Yamada's face on top of Mr S's. Professor Yamada was someone Borat quoted on one of his HBO shows. Although his face was not shown I pictured his old Nihon-yank figure. Maybe Yoko Ono's uncle or the like. Professor Yamada then says something along the lines of: "Men and women are dispensable carriers of seeds and eggs; programmed to mate and die, mate and die, mate and die. One can see why love was invented by some artist who found the dull mechanism of our mindless mission to be fruitful and multiply." Of course I'm inventing here as I had had too much Scotch and whatnot at the time. I leave crotch master and worried son there and dive in for a quick swim to get the blood flowing again.

ANATOMY OF A SNEER

George Orwell told us that he found the "sneering yellow faces" of the Burmese annoying. Now hues aside not only have the Thais created an extremely elaborate scheme of various facial contortions to express emotions a certain category of which I call 'sneers', they have sneers to show scorn or contempt or derision, even faux servility and a plethora of other situations. When it comes to dealing with foreigners the sneers dominate of course.

You don't spot the sneers most of the time as Thais have a very slick first encounter system which fools you. The sales banter, disarming smile and the seven prescripted questions about food, country and women are there for a reason. Once is too many times for most guileless western visitors who go on endlessly about the smile. Well, even the smiles can be categorised. In a country where first impression and the presentation that goes along with it mean all that first encounter has you wrapped up in a dewy eyed appreciation of how lovely your hosts are. There are no second encounters because they usually don't expect you to return. And when you do it's a whole different game. First is the surprise followed by how to handle you as you've already been through the first encounter. The extended or repeat service is ok for Thai to Thai transactions where the punter immediately gets slotted in the right rank and title. You are an unknown quantity and they'd rather drop dead than use the regular honorific titles with you. The nice hooker or village tart may call you Pii, but don't get too excited as you're dealing with someone who is really outside the system so it does not count.

Even then most of the rice tarts don't do it. So what exactly happens? That very same girl who was dripping with charm on the first encounter will at best become curt and barely co-operative. Worst case scenario is sneer-land. Making faces is an integral part of everyday reaction that conveys meanings that cannot be enunciated for the sake of surface politeness. For instance, last time I was in a long New York post office queue the wanker in a dirty track suit and imitation black bomber jacket standing in front of me screamed: "hey, lady at counter 2...are you fucking sleeping or doing your nails...get a move on". In a Thai post office a behaviour like that is totally unacceptable. Maybe the occasional oddball can get away with it. In which case everyone will erase him out of their minds. So how do they express their frustrations in similar situations. Assuming that there isn't a close friend or colleague to wag chins with usually they don't. Or they make faces. Faces faces faces all kind of faces in all sorts of places. When you see a very cute tarts on the BTS or bus what do you do? Oggle? Smile? Drool? And you get a look back from the tart's face as if she stepped over dog poop. I call this the "kii maa" (dog shit) face.

I see this happening all the time and there is me quietly snickering at the back. I once tried to find a way of countering a self-satisfied sneering tart. A looker Chinese tart in skimpy outfit stepped into the train at Thong Lo and stood in front of me. She looked up one, two and I did my kem na (salty face) before she did a kii maa (dog shit). Salty face is easy so I started off with that. Kii maa takes lots and lots of practice. After a few years of coaching by the tarts I started to achieve basic kii maa. How is it done exactly? Modify the "hey you cutie" smile suddenly after a couple of seconds into lips rolling and twisting in great speed all at once and look away first. Actually what works best is raising the edge of the right nostril and mouth corner up by about 10 degrees and flicking your left eyebrow corners up a bit. Drives them mad. It really pissed her off. She was talking about it with her mate when I got off.

Ok ok, I admit this is the kind of stuff 13 year old kids play in western schools where they claim to have an "image" and want to sit with the right group in the school canteen. And everything they do is about how others see them. Too self conscious and fearful to come out of their own skin and act free. Now in Thailand it's not only the kids, but university students and even office folk who do this. And everyone pulls and contorts faces. They just don't do it; It has an unspoken elaborate language all its own. So the kii maa exercise comes in handy when dealing with people at different levels. A true gem when it comes to studying proxemics. In an international seminar a few years ago I used the kii maa scenario as an example and the Thai members of the team were in stitches. Later on I got the girls to show me other types of faces for different emotions. Some even said that they've practiced them in front of mirrors! It turns out I was just a novice and my new found pride from doing faces on the BTS was shot down instantly.

Now back to the BBQ. I was talking to Mr S. and Matt for some time and I realised that the two tarts (Pui and Ning) had taken a look around the house the garden, skipped, played with the dogs, the puzzles and were totally bored. I think of the Tart Capsule to keep them busy but I don’t have it. Most western hosts or guests at parties immediately put the locals on "invisible" mode and carry one with their talks and flirts. I find it impossible to do that. If a friend has a new tart and he doesn't introduce her to his mates I make a subtle point and start to talk to the both of them and drag her into the conversation somehow. It goes on for a few seconds and she is shoved out again as I'm the only person trying to get her into the circle. Most western people do this and I find it truly exasperating. Not only is it obnoxious, but simply wrong. And the worst are the Brits. Not only do the girls become invisible, they get slagged off, in fact everyone gets slagged off in shrouded references there and then. In this case I was with two yanks, but it was the same. Actually Mr S didn't speak a word of Thai so I can't blame him. He did what was required of him, which was to make sure occasionally that Pui's tits were still there. And that was his senile way of connecting with her, which was well and good. But Pui and her cousin Ning were bored out of their wits because they are not used to sitting next to foreign barbarians who talk all afternoon. And this is where sneers come in. As I've done a hundred times before at parties and social gatherings I asked them to join me in the pool. Many locals incidentally don't care about swimming costumes and only request if you have a T-shirt. A foreigner's T-shirt for them is like bed sheets so don that and jump in with brassiere and knickers still in place. After ten minutes of water fights and giggles again they got bored so I told them about how Thais make faces. These are two hill tribe girls who don't share much with their southern cousins, but they picked up on everything. And there we were playing who can do the best kii maa and naa buum (literally sulking face) and they were screaming and howling in delight. Mr S was of course making sure by way of regular glances that the howl was not induced by me fingering his two hapless girls in the pool.

Later on when I rejoined them I'm surprised that not only is Mr S. still animated, but he's feeling Pui all over, which was a clear signal to me to wind down the BBQ and send them off as I don't want them in my guest room.

"All the dos and don’ts have created so much miserable people, not to mention asthma..." said Mr S. When I heard the word I was preoccupied again by the thoughts of the Hmong rubbish smoke choking me there and then. How come these people don't feel it and it is I who is coughing and cursing, I thought.

"You know Dicer, you're a young man and what I say is there is nothing in the male head that finds monogamy normal or natural, it's a load of bull."
"In that case Mr S, you'd fit in well with the hill people here," I quipped. The Chin screw houses would be exactly the thing he'd want to hear. And there goes Matt's inheritance. The old man would sell it straight away and move into one of the screw houses where the teenagers spend the hot months. No more old age home or relatives. This road started with no precise mission except one dictated by his ever changing temperament may lead to a nice but little hill house for Pui or some other tart and Mr S's speedy demise. If one is 78 that may not be a bad thing after all. Considering all that's left in Mr S's life are obsequious relatives and a son with a hidden motive.

THE SHOOTIST

Listening to Mr S who has found in Pui a new zest for life I could not help, but wonder if this was the perfect place for him. I pictured him happily ensconced, receiving his mid morning blow from Pui or her surrogates in a Chiang Rai villa with maids clacking in the background. But a nagging thought rudely interrupted the happy scene. Could you imagine Mr S at 78 having a baby with this hill tart as some of the geriatrics here are wont to do? Nature says the male's function is to shoot semen as often as possible into as many women or attractive surrogates he can get his hands on, while the female's function is to be shot briefly by a male in order to fertilise an egg. Although there is nothing anywhere in the male psyche that finds monogamy natural or normal the monogamy concept is drilled into him from childhood, because, in the absence of those original tribal support systems that we discarded for the Bible, (and Pui's lot cherish) someone must help the woman during gradavity and the early years of baby rearing. But at 78? Even if we look at their bodies men and women don't get on very well within marriage, or indeed in any exclusive sort of long-range sexual relationship. Pui is designed to take time off from her busy schedule as nuclear scientist and role model to lay an egg and bring up the result. They are on different sexual tracks. Which goes to show that all our natural instincts are perverted from birth. It is a fact that, like any species, our only function is replication. It is a fact that even the dullest (and the oldest) among us now suspect we may have overdone. Six billion clatter a small (now dusty) planet built for two. I would be angrier if I had a high opinion of the species, and no Scotch in my bloodstream but I don't, and so I regarded with serenity each one of us shootists as the somehow preprogrammed agents of our own demise. Hordes of furious beavers are loose among us. And there goes the dormant senile Mr S who was awoken into a shootist beast by an unprepared son.

I for one accept the demonstrable fact that the male has no exclusive object in his desire to shoot. Instead of hysteria, when he wants to shoot to his last days, like Mr S here, he should be encouraged to do it albeit in a way that will not add another mutant consumer to the population.

Before they left I said to Matt, as a kind of conclusion: "As long as he does not decide to live here for his remaining days he's ok. If he does then he'd need a lot more energy which I'm sure is going to be a little tough." I suggested to him to convince the father to fly out one season a year which means three months of winter sex and nine months of old age home stateside, which is a cruel thing to suggest, but at least practical and manageable to the son. The geriatric would screw all the stunning twenty something hill girls, take the photos and head back to a Pennsylvania old age home to brag to his dribbling buddies who in turn would probably lash out at the fat old ladies scrubbing the floors and changing their nappies.

Eventually Mr S returned to the States and is soon expected for a second arrival when the battle of wills continues in another season of humping with a Pui II or a Ning II.

As for each of Mr S's jealous friends stateside living an acceptable if dull life with the wife who is a loving, caring, warm, mature person in love with her husband, why on earth would the man stray from her ancient body, which is ever-ready to receive his even greater wreck of a biped even though he only dreams of Pui's photo Mr S showed him while pounding the old wife, who lies there eyes shut, probably dreaming of Pui too. The whole thing is a mess. And I finally thought to myself yes Mr S is right to want to be here.

Who knows how karma works. Old geezer finds Pui moves into a Chiang Rai village. You can almost get into the deal of how much each hill girl is worth anyway and do the Maupassant with the lady in the barrel of water, which is inspired by Archimedes. Then figure the displaced water. Mr S can then buy her by the liter. Good thing is tiny hill tarts can't displace too much water. You can bet it will be about brideprice. Once that's concluded Mr S. falls in love. Sells his house. Builds a house up in the hills. Dies after a couple years of shags. An ex colleague summed it up when he said that at 60 he wants to become a a participating pornographer in a place no one knows him, like in a suburb of Jakarta. Priapus approves one hopes. What I would have said would be a win-win situation for both doddering lecher and crafty son is a season pass in one of the Chin screw houses for Mr S (or for anyone of you geris headed his way).

Happy New Year.

Common Sense says:

Grunt,
What the fuck. Now yoru accusing me of being Dicer. hahaha. That's about the best laugh I've had all day. I'm starting to think you truly are a few bricks shy of a load.

Obsessive-compulsive/maybe, maybe not

Obsessive/ Definetly YES

In case you haven't figured it out his postings are about the behaviors of the Thai people, and not just in the behaviors that take place in the bedroom.

Either way your incessant complaining only instigates him to post more rather than less.

Pants Elk says:

Dicer's posts are like air for me. I don't care what they're "about". It's just writing; great writing, and I'm grateful for it. I think it deserves a better setting, is all. Your own blog, Dicer? Why the hell not?
If Dicer's writing isn't your thing, if it's too long or whatever, may I draw your attention to something on your browser window called a "scroll bar"? That way, you can SCROLL over Dicer's posts and land directly in the swamp of the inevitable bitter and frustrated and off-the-fucking-point-entirely riposte from grunt.
Any chance of placing the "posted by" rubric at the head of the comment, rather than at the end, David? That way I could scroll over Mr Natzi's posts without having to flinch.

Road Natzi says:

Pants, why are you so the total 'FUCKWIT' of the blog ????

I would love to see how big you are when it comes to giving abuse in person, I reakon it would go something like, "yes sir mr natzi whatever you say, mr natzi, suck my own cock no problem mr natzi".

You big pussy pants, why dont you piss off and start your own blog and watch how many people come to listen to ur crap.

Happy New Year pants, I hope you get a life !!!

Pants Elk says:

For readers new to this blog, Mr Natzi is Australia's Cultural Attaché for the Performing Arts.

Pants Elk says:

There's something sloppy seconds about following up your own post (so to speak), but I just read Mr Nazi's fragrant billet-doux - I don't usually bother - and found this impossible to resist:
"yes sir mr natzi whatever you say, mr natzi, suck my own cock no problem mr natzi"
He's right, but how did he know? And why does this scenario appeal to him?

Chuck says:

Happy new year dicer. I don't care who or what you are or where you whenceth. That was remarkable.

dub says:

Umm, I thought the comment about Christmas being Santa's birthday was pretty funny. I would have pissed myself if I'da heard that first hand. Next year, thats what I'll tell em all.

Common Sense says:

Road Natzi,
When exactly when will you be in Thailand next. You seem a little anxious for an ass whooping, I'm willing to deliver.

Road Natzi says:

Common,

I will be in Thailand in February, would you like to catch up in person, for lets say, 2 seconds......because thats all it will take to scare you.

Please bring a small jar common, you will need it to put ur teeth in !!

I'm up for it anytime champ, perhaps you might like to bring some back-up you gay freak !

Pants Elk says:

Fantastic offer, C.S! My money's on you because a) you have a gun, and 2) Mr Natzi is fourteen years old. He'll also need to lose his tracer bracelet to show.
May I suggest the street in front of Big Dogs as the venue? I'll be doing sissy screams from the rail.

Nambam says:

In support of Grunt:
One piece of dog psychology that is relevant to Dicer is this: if something looks like a dog, and behaves like a dog, it probably is a dog. Well, Dicer behaves like a dog, she is obsessed with them, and I am sure that she must look like a dog – almost certainly a Dachshund with a belly so big that her tits scrape on the ground as she waddles. And why is it that the breeds she mentions are always the namby-pamby ones? Dobermans or Alsatians too big? If its size that bothers you Dicer, why not go for a nice Pit Bull that can tear your throat out as soon as look at you?
So what have we in Dicer? someone asked.
Certainly a failed author who has found that she can spew her rejections like vomit all over this site and make reading it a misery because the webmaster doesn’t notice or perhaps doesn’t care. She is the opposite of the three monkeys (a better source for psychology one would have thought) – she sees evil everywhere, speaks evil constantly and listens to the worst kind of evil gossip as food for thought.
And why, Mr Webmaster, do we have to put up with Dicer talking to herself in so many different identities? The Prufrock one is the most bizarre – is she subconsciously trying to tell us that she never leaves her room? Very likely since she must spend all day as well as all night constructing the rubbish that she posts. If so, perhaps Prufrock was a good choice of name but I would have thought that ‘the hollow woman’ was better.
Dicer is, without doubt, the archetype embittered cunt. She has her head so far up her arse that all she can see is shit and the only noise that she can make is to fart through her mouth – and the unfortunate readers of this site have to put up with it. So stop knocking Grunt – what he says is on the ball and he deserves some support not brickbats.
And by the way Grunt, no need to do a grammar and syntax comparison – just apply the yawn test. If you have yawned more than twice by the end of the first page, it must be Dicer.
Nambam

divad says:

"I'll be doing sissy screams from the rail"

who will be bumming you?

ozricdan says:

hey.........is thier any chance that some of you people with fuck-all to do write shorter threads.
either that or get a fucking life......

ozricdan says:

im a little curious about peeps here on this site, it seems to me that most of you have fuck all to do and when you do think of something mildly interesting it is to slag off each other, but i have to say the put-downs are so good it keeps me coming back, apart from the fact that im sure david must work for a lads mag. i.e. fhm loaded etc. or maybe the thai version of fhm, anyway i love reading it all and even post some short items myself, but why is that the women hate us for being here and the men hate each other for being here.

surly there are enough chavs to go around for everybody.

its not the content, but the context that counts.

Prufrock says:

Can it be in front of the Thermae at around 2:00 2:30?

Common Sense says:

We'll I was going to be able to make our February play date until Jihad Joe decided to start blowing shit up in Bangkok. It'll have to wait until I'm out of the Marines now. Fuckin travel bans.

I can now add not being afforded the chance to knock the shit out of you and fuckin with my whoremongering to the growing list of reasons to hate terrorists. At least I can sleep a little better every night knowing I dispatched a few of the fuckers to see Allah and collect their 72 virgins or whatever it is their supposed to get.

Prufrock says:

Common: I’ll try it this way.
I was interested to read your comments and your views on Ban