Right so. Went to Burma again. Fuck me, what a dump. Actually Burma, or Myanmar as it is now known, is lovely but the border town I passed is a fucking hole. It is so bad that people from Bangkok could legitimately be disgusted by it.
Anyway, got on this little mini bus at 7am and was almost instantly joined by an aging, none to gracefully, Canadian hippie and I'm struck at how instantly annoying she is. I'm sure she could have been classed as presentable in the 60's but it's obvious that she has seen better decades. One of these women that's been all over, although I must point out that it's been all over here too, by the looks of it. Her very first words to me are 'OH, we booked those seats. Me and my boyfriend always sit there'. Now, for those that don't know, nothing in Thailand is ever booked or reserved or anything else like it, and I could definitely win the argument, if I'm bothered but I can see that this woman is a succubus and immediately relent. 'No problem', I shout over my shoulder as I move to the opposite end of the bus, my bouncy senses tingling. And as usual, they are dead right. Straight away she starts a fight with her Thai boyfriend. 'Say something nice Mark', 'Pay me a compliment mark', 'Acknowledge me when I speak Mark', she begins, barely able to contain the overwhelming self pity. It is about this time, I realise, I will have to kill her. 'Why don't you send me any (wait for it) positive energy Mark? Hmmm? Why? I am always sending you my energy. What about all that (again, wait for it) sexual energy I sent you last night?' It is about this time, I realise I will have to be very sick before I can kill anyone. 'Tip me the wink and we'll kill her together, Mark', I project, but unfortunately Mark isn't psychic. Mark has the right idea though and turns up his i-pod earphones, lowers his shades and settles back for a snooze.
I spend the rest of the journey with a nice elderly gent from the Netherlands. Although as our journey goes on I realise I am not getting the whole truth. I suspect he may be a Nazi war criminal and start to weigh up the evidence,
1. He hasn't been to Holland in over 30 years and wont say why.
2. He changes the subject every time I try and talk about the war
3. He has one of those serial killer moustasches.
4. Probably the most damning piece of evidence, I have read a book on Nazi hunters and want to be one.
An interesting phenomenon about Thai culture (no link to the Visa story by the way) is the age disparity in relationships. 30 year old guys like to go out with girls around 18 to 20. And the 18 to 20 year olds like to go out with girls around 14. I can only assume that the 14 year olds like to go out with foetus'. I mean, I know it's part of the culture and all, but if my 18 year old daughter came home with a 30 year old on her arm I would probaly just lock in her room for another 18 years, mumbling about how I knew it was too early to let her out. But the 30 year old who thought he was on to a good thing turning up at my daughters place would be beaten black and fucking blue, the cheeky fucker.
Lastly, I started grappling with Pedro Lott, from Brazilian Top Team this week. Very enjoyable but very hard. Not the lessons, he is actually a very good teacher, with a laid back style and manner that makes it very easy to grasp and remember, but the guy himself. It's like wrestling a bag of angry snakes at bedtime.
Anyway, that's all for this week. Be good.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
3 months high and rising
Well, I have 3 months under my belt now and I have to go and get my Visa stamped by a sadistic border guard, who I'm fairly sure will have lost his enthusiasm for his job around the same time as his will to live, ability to ignore his wife's ugliness and his power to disregard his failing as a parent. "How do you know so much, oh wise and powerful Dave?" I hear you ask. By the way, you forget to mention handsome. Well reader, oh, and modest, it's because I met him last week and like the fun loving rogue he is, refused to stamp my passport because I was ten minutes late. The Cunt. The massive Cunt.
Finished my massage course on Friday, which was really good but by the end of it I had grabbed more nuts than a hungry squirrel who just found out that this year the family wont be sharing.
The Songkran festival ended today. Traditionally, the Thais would sprinkle water on the back of each other's necks, to wash away the bad luck of last year and prepare them for a fortuitous new year, then they would do the same for the Buddha statues using perfumed oil. However, these days it's more like a city-wide water fight, between 200,000 happy revellers, with neither sides nor rules. Great fun actually. I know it sounds like a pain in the arse but once you accept that no matter how hard you try, you'll be soaked. Some cruel fuckers melt ice into their water so it's freezing once it hits you, though someone usually gets you with some warm water from the moat shortly afterwards. Moat water, pleasant on the skin but not entirely delicious. So yeah, it's fun for a few days but like a guy at a party who's only joke is to punch your shoulder really hard, it gets old fairly quick. So if your going to Thailand, try and go during Songkran, a festival involving thousands of fit, drunk chicks in wet t shirts. And because the Thais look so young and you can't really tell their age, it's ideal for a paedophile who doesn't really want to risk jail at the Big Tiger. Also, even if your not a racist, you can still enjoy a guilty chuckle when the Thais sing 'yerrow remon tlee'.
Got the hang of riding the bike after a few days. I'm probably get a gun next week, to complete the set. Then everyone will know I have a massive cock. Although in truth, the honeymoon with the bike and by proxy the legend of Steve Mc Queen, ended the first time it lashed rain when I was out, getting soaked, barely able to see and eating the crap from a thousand other poor saps trying to get home. And while we're on the subject, I'm not one for broad generalisations, unless it's about hookers...and unnecessarily cruel obviously, but what is the deal with Asian drivers. Holy shit, they are dangerous. Not so much in the cities but out on the motorways. I needed two hand and two feet to count the number of times we we're nearly killed driving to Burma for a look inside a fascist's hutch to watch his soul getting sucked into a gloomy void that followed him around. He is still a massive cunt.
That's all guys, talk to y'all next week.
Finished my massage course on Friday, which was really good but by the end of it I had grabbed more nuts than a hungry squirrel who just found out that this year the family wont be sharing.
The Songkran festival ended today. Traditionally, the Thais would sprinkle water on the back of each other's necks, to wash away the bad luck of last year and prepare them for a fortuitous new year, then they would do the same for the Buddha statues using perfumed oil. However, these days it's more like a city-wide water fight, between 200,000 happy revellers, with neither sides nor rules. Great fun actually. I know it sounds like a pain in the arse but once you accept that no matter how hard you try, you'll be soaked. Some cruel fuckers melt ice into their water so it's freezing once it hits you, though someone usually gets you with some warm water from the moat shortly afterwards. Moat water, pleasant on the skin but not entirely delicious. So yeah, it's fun for a few days but like a guy at a party who's only joke is to punch your shoulder really hard, it gets old fairly quick. So if your going to Thailand, try and go during Songkran, a festival involving thousands of fit, drunk chicks in wet t shirts. And because the Thais look so young and you can't really tell their age, it's ideal for a paedophile who doesn't really want to risk jail at the Big Tiger. Also, even if your not a racist, you can still enjoy a guilty chuckle when the Thais sing 'yerrow remon tlee'.
Got the hang of riding the bike after a few days. I'm probably get a gun next week, to complete the set. Then everyone will know I have a massive cock. Although in truth, the honeymoon with the bike and by proxy the legend of Steve Mc Queen, ended the first time it lashed rain when I was out, getting soaked, barely able to see and eating the crap from a thousand other poor saps trying to get home. And while we're on the subject, I'm not one for broad generalisations, unless it's about hookers...and unnecessarily cruel obviously, but what is the deal with Asian drivers. Holy shit, they are dangerous. Not so much in the cities but out on the motorways. I needed two hand and two feet to count the number of times we we're nearly killed driving to Burma for a look inside a fascist's hutch to watch his soul getting sucked into a gloomy void that followed him around. He is still a massive cunt.
That's all guys, talk to y'all next week.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Happy Happy, Joy Joy
Greetings All,
I hope everything is cool, wherever you are when you read this. A big hello to all my Icelandic readers. It may amuse you to know that the announcer at Thapae Stadium always calls me 'Iceland Champion'.
Anyway, down to business. I was reading my blog there and it occurred to me that I might not be getting across how fucking happy I am doing all this. Not to say I didn't enjoy the first 29 years of my life, but if we were in happiness prison, 2007 would make all the other years his bitch. And he'd be tough on his little prags too.
Got a motor bike today, so getting to grips with that at the moment. Motorbikes are fucking cool. They are big and extremely clever and like smoking, most of the cool older boys are doing it. Just trying to get used to the 'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law' attitude towards traffic that the Thai have. For example, red lights don't mean stop, they actually mean be careful going through this junction, as there's probably traffic coming at perpendicular angles, it's probably going fast and it's probably not going to stop. Even if he sees you. No left turn signs mean, be very careful turning left here, or not, up to you. And of course no Thai bike experience would be complete without the magic wand. Basically if you beep your horn at any time, for any reason you then have three seconds in which to perform any maneuver, no matter how dangerous or how many laws of physics you break.
Got talking to someone during the week about various cultures and anthropology which is sort of a hobby of mine. Anyway, the subject of the Eskimos came up, and their alleged '11 words for snow'. Now firstly, I'm fairly sure this is a load of bollix but even if it's not, what do you expect, they live in a fucking icy wasteland. There are no current events, other than snowfall. What else are they going to discuss? Spring fashions? The OC series finale?
Have a few mates coming over soon, which I'm looking forward to. It's going to be like living in a frat house. And I've already thought of our motto; Alpha Alpha Alpha- It's only rape if you let her live long enough to talk about it. I'll be accepting applications at the usual address.
Rod Fucking Stewart.
I hope everything is cool, wherever you are when you read this. A big hello to all my Icelandic readers. It may amuse you to know that the announcer at Thapae Stadium always calls me 'Iceland Champion'.
Anyway, down to business. I was reading my blog there and it occurred to me that I might not be getting across how fucking happy I am doing all this. Not to say I didn't enjoy the first 29 years of my life, but if we were in happiness prison, 2007 would make all the other years his bitch. And he'd be tough on his little prags too.
Got a motor bike today, so getting to grips with that at the moment. Motorbikes are fucking cool. They are big and extremely clever and like smoking, most of the cool older boys are doing it. Just trying to get used to the 'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law' attitude towards traffic that the Thai have. For example, red lights don't mean stop, they actually mean be careful going through this junction, as there's probably traffic coming at perpendicular angles, it's probably going fast and it's probably not going to stop. Even if he sees you. No left turn signs mean, be very careful turning left here, or not, up to you. And of course no Thai bike experience would be complete without the magic wand. Basically if you beep your horn at any time, for any reason you then have three seconds in which to perform any maneuver, no matter how dangerous or how many laws of physics you break.
Got talking to someone during the week about various cultures and anthropology which is sort of a hobby of mine. Anyway, the subject of the Eskimos came up, and their alleged '11 words for snow'. Now firstly, I'm fairly sure this is a load of bollix but even if it's not, what do you expect, they live in a fucking icy wasteland. There are no current events, other than snowfall. What else are they going to discuss? Spring fashions? The OC series finale?
Have a few mates coming over soon, which I'm looking forward to. It's going to be like living in a frat house. And I've already thought of our motto; Alpha Alpha Alpha- It's only rape if you let her live long enough to talk about it. I'll be accepting applications at the usual address.
Rod Fucking Stewart.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Two tickets to Paradise
Wow, has it been two weeks already? I wouldn't know on account of the paradise. :) I haven't looked at a clock in months.
Well I've finally decided to take some action with my injuries. That action is typically Irish, in that I will be doing nothing. Well resting, I guess, but really it's doing nothing. So for my couple of weeks rest I decided to take a Thai massage course which is really interesting, but not as much fun as you'd think because it's pretty much just me and the master, who has to demonstrate on me first, then lets me practise. So first he sends me to sleep with a world class massage, then wakes me up and forces me too work. Needless to say, his card shelf will be pretty bare this Christmas. To be honest I'm dreading the last lesson, which I suspect will be the happy finish that 99% of massage places offer. I've only found one place that wasn't a rub and tug.
Met a nice french girl during the week too, and had a good laugh showing her round Chaing Mai, while impressing her with how much I could drink. That now brings my total of nice french people that I know, to 2. Yes, I am surprised as you are. The other one knows who she is. Solid.
And speaking of countries who were on Hitler's side during the war, I had a good laugh with the only funny German person ever. He was a fighter at the gym and a very nice bloke. Knew a lot about the war too, and was only too happy to talk about it, although I had to explain to him that he would make more friends if, when talking about war criminals and the atrocities committed by the most evil people in history, instead of saying 'we' he used the term 'the Nazi's'.
It's getting hot her now too. Many mornings this week I lay in bed like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now... I asked them for a fight, and for my sins, they gave me one... Then I drink heavily and smash my room up, travel up north on a boat, take a load of acid and kill Marlon Brando. It's one of the lesser known tourist treks.
My flat mate has found Mrs. right, or at least Mrs. right now, and has headed off to a chilled out tourist resort with her. Yeah, Mrs. right the lucky git. Though I bet her first name turns out to be always. I haven't been so lucky and to be honest, at his stage I would settle for anything that didn't have a penis or a price list. Falang no want boom-boom. Well actually, Falang would love some boom-boom, but he's not as keen on the aids and you my *ahem* beauty, have more aids than the U.S. president.
So that's all I've been doing for the last two weeks. I'm certain my ribs will be back to normal by the time my massage course is finished and then it's back to a hard training regime, with another fight about a month after I start back. And to be honest I can't wait. I still haven't managed to kill anyone in the ring yet, but I'm holding on to the dream.
Well I've finally decided to take some action with my injuries. That action is typically Irish, in that I will be doing nothing. Well resting, I guess, but really it's doing nothing. So for my couple of weeks rest I decided to take a Thai massage course which is really interesting, but not as much fun as you'd think because it's pretty much just me and the master, who has to demonstrate on me first, then lets me practise. So first he sends me to sleep with a world class massage, then wakes me up and forces me too work. Needless to say, his card shelf will be pretty bare this Christmas. To be honest I'm dreading the last lesson, which I suspect will be the happy finish that 99% of massage places offer. I've only found one place that wasn't a rub and tug.
Met a nice french girl during the week too, and had a good laugh showing her round Chaing Mai, while impressing her with how much I could drink. That now brings my total of nice french people that I know, to 2. Yes, I am surprised as you are. The other one knows who she is. Solid.
And speaking of countries who were on Hitler's side during the war, I had a good laugh with the only funny German person ever. He was a fighter at the gym and a very nice bloke. Knew a lot about the war too, and was only too happy to talk about it, although I had to explain to him that he would make more friends if, when talking about war criminals and the atrocities committed by the most evil people in history, instead of saying 'we' he used the term 'the Nazi's'.
It's getting hot her now too. Many mornings this week I lay in bed like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now... I asked them for a fight, and for my sins, they gave me one... Then I drink heavily and smash my room up, travel up north on a boat, take a load of acid and kill Marlon Brando. It's one of the lesser known tourist treks.
My flat mate has found Mrs. right, or at least Mrs. right now, and has headed off to a chilled out tourist resort with her. Yeah, Mrs. right the lucky git. Though I bet her first name turns out to be always. I haven't been so lucky and to be honest, at his stage I would settle for anything that didn't have a penis or a price list. Falang no want boom-boom. Well actually, Falang would love some boom-boom, but he's not as keen on the aids and you my *ahem* beauty, have more aids than the U.S. president.
So that's all I've been doing for the last two weeks. I'm certain my ribs will be back to normal by the time my massage course is finished and then it's back to a hard training regime, with another fight about a month after I start back. And to be honest I can't wait. I still haven't managed to kill anyone in the ring yet, but I'm holding on to the dream.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)