Kho Tao, Thailand — For the past few days I’ve been stuck on an island with no alcohol and no NFL. No beer and no football make Andrew go crazy. I’m about to write a screenplay called The Shining Beach.
Some bars here advertise happy times. This is like happy hour but without the awkwardness of time classification when the 61st minute comes around. I would like to propose that bars keep happy hour but add other hours. There could be jubilant hour, festive hour and ecstatic hour.
To promote Muay Thai fights, they have trucks that drive around with billboards and a loudspeaker built into them. I heard one today, that if I didn’t know better (and I don’t) I would have thought the guy was doing a spot on parody of one of the Ree brothers from Better Off Dead. Maybe he was. I haven’t looked at the box office figures, but perhaps Savage Steve Holland is huge in Thailand.
I rolled the dice on the malaria medication. Because rafting down the Mekong without Maleran doesn’t seem like a huge risk after having unprotected sex with a Bourbon Street stripper.
I was sitting on the balcony of my guest house sipping a fine local brew and listening the the music pouring out of the bar across the street. The house cover band was on stage and their lead singer has a very thick Thai accent. The band was playing Sweet Home Alabama. I have encountered many cultures and religions. I’m not sure which god I appeased, but I’m glad I did.
Is it wrong that when I go out to eat my tip will be affected by how well my server speaks English? I look at it this way. This person took the time and effort to learn another language and should be rewarded. Of course, I only reward people that took the time and effort to learn my language. The server could speak fluent German and I wouldn’t give a flip.
Fruit and pancakes go together like shama lama lama shoop do doop to doop. Or something like that.
An English bartender served me a beer. He had some difficulty counting my change back. He apologized by saying “I’m not too good with numbers.” I responded with “No worries. The world needs poets to write the words that get the accountants laid.” He asked me who said that, and I told him I did. He asked me who said it originally. And I told him me just right now. He asked me if I had just made that up on the spot. I confirmed that I had. He then said “you’re a clever chap.” I grinned. Old British guys are the second best people in the world to receive compliments from behind only old black ladies.
Iran has banned rap music because of the offensive lyrics. The article I read didn’t specify, but I hope the Iranian government consulted KRS1 to be sure they were banning rap and not hip-hop. To the best of my knowledge, he is still the go to expert on this matter.
I like the wai. No awkward hand shakes here. I never have to worry if it was a handshake or hug moment. No grim is too firm, no grip is too loose, because there is no grip. It has all of the advantages of dap, but with zero physical contact.
I love one way streets. My chances of dying are reduced by 50 %.
I thought about buying a compilation of Shakespeare plays to bring on my last train ride. There is no inride entertainment. So I figured we could just assign parts to everyone in the car and act out the play. In the spirit of objectivity, I will let the pullman porter handle the casting and let the conductor direct.
This is an idea I have floated to many people before (pun intended, you’ll see). I want to buy a cruise ship. Once the boat gets seven miles off shore and hits international waters the fun begins. It’s now a floating casino, sports book, bar, brothel and buffet (let’s face it, after all of that debauchery, you’re gonna need at least a snack). Who wouldn’t want to play blackjack while sipping Absinthe and getting a blowjob from a prostitute? It should be noted that I’ve never studied maritime law.
There was a huge celebration for the King’s birthday. I know because it took place early in the morning right outside my window. There was a young girl singing a terrible pop song. Just here way of saying ” Happy Birthday King! I hope you like crap!”
The pharmacist that helped me last night was named Pimporn. My inner Beavis suffered a seizure.
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