Archive for Thai military crackdown

Jimmy Smithers Released…in his trousers

Posted in สะพานลอย with tags , , , , , , , , on July 19, 2014 by สะพานลอย

First, sincere apologies for not getting news out of Jimmy Smithers sooner than this. Lek was just now lounging about Saphan Loy Central with a perpetual frown, like she wanted me to get up and entertain her. I told her to run along and catch a picture show. Lately she has been jealous of Tuy. Why this is happening is quite unclear. After all, Lek has some unique qualities about her which afford her the proper place as the primary wife: she is able to drink me under the table for starters, she could probably kick my ass up and down the soi without breaking a sweat, and her Kegel muscles are so strong that she must have spent her entire adult life inserting things into her vagina for sport.

Words of wisdom to those fortunate enough to secure the affections of two Thai women simultaneously: create few conditions whereby they have an opportunity to pull each other’s hair out, and keep your cutlery under lock and key.

That said. Oh, yes. Smithers.

Turns out, he had exaggerated his purported “run in” with the Thai military. He had been drinking for several days, that much is clear from the witness statements and surveillance video. But his problems with Thai officialdom resulted in actuality from his failure to pay a much older “woman who searches for food” for her evening of “services” which included, at one very low point, the insertion of her foot into his rectum for sensory erotic purposes. When Smithers frightened her with his incoherence, his inability to achieve an erection, and his unwillingness to remit her fee, she called the Thai gendarmes, and one of them, with an embarrassed almost apologetic smile, told him to pay her what he owed her: 1,000 baht.

Regardless of his reluctant fiduciary compliance, he was unable to walk down the single flight of stairs to the soi, and therefore needed medical assistance, which was happily provided by the lovely nursing staff at a provincial Thai hospital despite the fact that one of them had to give him a sponge bath, his first hygienic experience in perhaps several weeks if discounting his bizarre fortnightly “bathing” ritual in the Gulf of Thailand.

Enter Saphan Loy, Lek, and Tuy. Mainly, we forked over the emergency funding to get him back on his feet again and hopefully to an internationally qualified physician and attendant psychiatrist, the names of which were provided by the exasperated staff at his embassy. Lek and Tuy also made a phone call to the province where he was temporarily domiciled in his grim little hospital room to have two fat ripe Durians and a bottle of whiskey (obviously against hospital policy) delivered directly to his bedside table over the timid protestations of the head nurse.

Smithers argued that he had no hand grenades at time of admission.

Smithers argued that he had no hand grenades at time of admission.

At any rate, faithful readers, my apologies. I have allowed that fat prick Jimmy to interfere with my whole plan for the last time. Now that the world is ending, or at least as illustrated by the last gasps of the dying nightlife of Thailand which, now mortally wounded, kicks its legs erratically the way an animal might after being struck by a moving vehicle, we should focus on what remains fun in the Kingdom, for those who will still remain here after the 30-day sex tourist visas wallpapered in their passports result in a sudden, military-like departure from the Kingdom, paid for in full by them or their perturbed families.

In even better news, our old companion Mobi has opened a bar on some dubious lake on the outskirts of Pattaya at what is perhaps the worst time imaginable: during a military occupation of the country’s economy, a plummeting baht, and a badly damaged tourist sector. Not surprisingly, he has recently become depressed again. And while I am not plugging his bar for sympathy reasons, Lek and Tuy (and I) strongly recommend you pay him a visit on the dark side of the lake. Mobi is keeping the fires burning, putting up the good fight, and all that, and for that we should be grateful.

Bring me my breakfast. Make sure it is ice cold please.

I am certain she will serve my English breakfast as I take it: ice cold and in the bottle.

Now, while we just admitted we were not doing this out of the pure goodness of our darkened and twisted hearts, it is our hope that we may be recompensed in kind when the three of us take a jaunt out into the countryside and require refreshing libation, tasteful music, actual conversation in properly enunciated English, a variety of food offerings, and additional female companionship (should Lek and Tuy humour an old man like me, of course.)

Is everyone wearing a seat belt?

Is everyone wearing a seat belt?

It is my hope that at the very least, the drive out there had better involve a nice long Thai back massage (more than ten minutes, or I will take away those damned cell phones, ladies!) while I thread the Saphan Loy Dream Machine through the inexplicable traffic patterns (or complete lack thereof) that suddenly confront us, the ancient Heil lorries loaded with chemicals, cement, sewerage, and God knows what else, bearing down on wobbly motorbikes, bullock carts, and sundry rattletraps that defy basic principals of mechanical engineering, as we struggle with the wisdom of such an undertaking in the first place.

And we won’t invite Jimmy Smithers. That is a promise.

 

The View from Above

Advertisements