Palm Beach Ne’er-Do-Well 2008


Many of my female friends laughed upon hearing about my summer job of dog walker on Palm Beach.

“What’s so funny?”

“We know what’s going to happen.” Each women was possessed by a singular vision. “You’re going to fleece some heiress.”

“Fleece?” Both my wife and mistress had green-lighted any multi-zero gigoloing with turtle-fleshed heiresses on the fabled island of the filthy right. “If I’m lucky I’ll marry an eighty-nine year-old woman with six weeks to live and give her the best month-and-a-half of their lives.”

Two months have passed since my arrival.

Number of conquered hearts.

Zero.

In truth I was more than happy in my mansion of solitude than haunting the Leopard Room for a horny dowager, which Adrian Dannatt, obituarist, had recommended for a hunting ground. I went there once. The women were happy to flirt with their regulars. I was a rookie rogue. None of my clothes were Gucci. Their beaus rightly dismissed me as a ne-er-do-well.

My wife and mistress were disappointed by my failure.

“Aren’t you happy that I’m faithful to you?” I posed the question to them both.

“Yes.” Their answer was half-hearted.

“I have two more weeks. Maybe I’ll be lucky.” Telling them the same thing makes it easy to recall my words.

“Chok dii.”

“Thanks.” And I need good luck too.

56, broke, and fading good looks.

The ne’er-do-wells of Palm Beach.

Ever faithful to my wives.

Our Lady Of Palm Beach June 2008

I went for a swim this afternoon.

Normally no one is on the beach next to Donald Trump’s estate. Today an older woman was sitting on a blanket. Her empire of plastic bags attested to a lack of property. I said hello. She said nothing, as if she feared I would call the police. She was too fucked up by life to hear me say I wasn’t calling anyone. A cigarette dangled from her mouth like a set of dentures bound to slip her gums. She washed her feet in the sea and tugged on unwashed soxes. I had no money in my pocket and left the beach, hoping there wouldn’t be any rain, because she was destined to sleep in the sea grape bushes tonight. So far so good. Tomorrow I’ll go back to the beach with change in my pocket. If she’s there, she gets it.

Our Lady of Palm Beach.

Kitten Bar / West Palm Beach 2008


Coming back from the Dixie Supermarket In West Palm Beach I spotted this bar across the inter-coastal waterway. the Kitten Club. Happy hours 2 for 1 until 7pm. I decided to check it out. The time was 6:30. Inside the small bar a few dancers nursed water. The girls were pigpen specials. They all outweighed me. And not by a few kilos. The skinny ones were meth heads.

“You want a lap dance?”

“No, I have a back problem.”

I couldn’t afford a chiropractor.

There was a very up-scale go-go bar on this side of the Intracoastal Waterway.

A female friend says Rachel’s has good food. I don’t go to go-go bars for food, so
I’m in purgatory at the fat pussy bar and a redneck asked for a lap dance. I gave the stripper an OK nod. I downed my four drinks fast and tipped the lap dancer $5. What did I do in my previous lives to deserve this?

Mad Dogs And Farangs in the Sun

Last week I met Jamie Parker on Soi Chaiyapoon. I hadn’t seen him in ages. He looked ten years younger and said, “Botox. Only cost 5000 baht.”

No wrinkles around his eyes and those furrows in his forehead had been smoothed out like 5-star hotel sheets. I was a little jealous. “So now you’re ready for a gigolo position on Palm Beach.”

“Not the right season.” He grabbed my arm. “Damn, it’s hot.”

“Lorn mak.” Pattaya for the last week has been baked by the seasonal heat wave. “I think it’s hotter than last year.”

“Me too, but check out that fat Teabag across the street.”

“He seems fine with it.” The Brit was about 55. Tattooed like a druid, 5-5 and weighing about 14 ton which is a XXXXL in the USA. bare-headed and no shirt. Skin burnt to a tender red. I was wearing a full-length shirt and a cowboy hat. Long pants too. Standing in the shade we ordered two beers from the PIM bar.

“Yeah, mad dogs and Englishmen. Only ones that can take this heat.

“You know this isn’t really hot.”

“up in Isaan it gets hotter.”

“Cambodia is a frying pan this time of year.” My friend Nick and I had spent Songkran 2007 in Phnom Penh. Both of us would have suffered from water depletion if it wasn’t for a steady replenishing our liquids with Khang beer. (7-11% alcohol).

“What about the East Village in July?”

“Worst is Needles, California in August. I got off a bus there and smacked by a wall of heat. The thermometer inside the Dairy Queen said 135. didn’t have any money and had to hitchhike out of there. Old couple heading to Lake Havesu saved my life.” I can remember a cold glass of lemonade. The old man wasn’t scared of madmen on the highway because his wife had a gun. A Colt 45.

“What year was that?”

“1974.”

“You were a hippie then, right?”

“I had long hair.” At least I listened to the Jefferson Airplane and Iggy Pop, instead of the Dead.

“Here come some more mad Englishmen.”

A trio of skinhead beer-drinkers on motor scooters. Sometimes Pattaya seems like the Millwall hooligans have a training center on Soi Bukhao. especially after my Boxing Day 2006 beating by King Kong.

(Who seems have gone back to his cro-magnon existence in the UK. Small miracle)

“They all early melanoma cases.” I use sun block 50 on my face, which vanished the black circles under my eyes. “Madmen. I was stranded in Penang once and wandered into the old English graveyard crammed with Brits struck down by the heat.”

“No one sane should be out in the heat this time of day.” I was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West.

“What about us?” Jamie was no hypocrite.

“Let’s go up to Maggie’s for a cold one.”

Jamie was primed for a pint. Me too.

We were only a little bah or crazed by the sun. Back in the 70s hippies went to the California Welfare Bureau to get certified as mad to get checks from the state. I don’t think Cally offers that service anymore, but if the State does, then you could take advantage of the list sent by Michelle from New York’s famed Gotham Bookstore (Wise men fish here).

20 Ways to Maintain a Healthy Level of Insanity

1. At Lunch Time, Sit in Your Parked Car with Sunglasses on and point a Hair Dryer at Passing Cars. See If They Slow Down.

2. Page Yourself Over The Intercom. Don’t Disguise Your Voice.

3. Every Time Someone Asks You to Do Something, ask If They Want Fries with that.

4. Put Your Garbage Can on Your Desk and Label it “In”.

5. Put Decaf In The Coffee Maker For 3 Weeks. Once everyone has gotten Over Their Caffeine Addictions, Switch to Espresso.

6. In The Memo Field Of All Your Checks, Write “For Smuggling Drugs”.

7. Finish All Your sentences with “In Accordance With The Prophecy”.

8. Don’t use any punctuation.

9. As Often As Possible, Skip Rather Than Walk.

10. Order a Diet Water whenever you go out to eat, with a serious face.

11. Specify That Your Drive-through Order Is “To Go”.

12. Sing Along At The Opera.

13. Go To A Poetry Recital. And Ask Why The Poems Don’t Rhyme?

14. Put Mosquito Netting Around Your Work Area, Play tropical Sounds All Day.

15. Five Days In Advance, Tell Your Friends You Can’t Attend Their Party, Because You’re Not In The Mood.

16. Have Your Co-workers Address You by Your Wrestling Name, Rock Bottom.

17. When The Money Comes Out The ATM, Scream “I Won! I Won!”

18. When Leaving the Zoo, Start Running towards the Parking lot, Yelling “Run For Your Lives! They’re Loose!”

19. Tell Your Children Over Dinner, “Due To The Economy, We Are Going To Have To Let One Of You Go.”

20. And The Final Way To Keep A Healthy Level Of Insanity …

Text this To someone To make them Smile.

It’s Called… therapy!

I got a little smile from this, then again I’m a simple man and sometimes a little ting tong or mad.
ps The saying “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun” is thought to have originated with Rudyard Kipling.

Resistance # 4 – Anti-OMG

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As a devout atheist i cant recall ever using the term, ‘oh my god’. OMG has become the #1 exclaimation for youth around the world. even my son Fook in Thailand uses it. My aging millenial friend Jake can say in several times in a minute. Younger people don’t seem to be infect with these three words, but we have to realize that we have enter the witch hunting era with the MAGA and their Christian minion seeking to create a New Jerusalem. Any use of OMG gives them power. They love hearing GOD. They pray for the Second Coming. The Faithful believe it’s around the corner. Another tool in resistance is to de-god your speech. It won’t be easy. Personally I have always used, “Hell, yeah.”

Especially in response to a OMGer.

According to Wikipedia the first attested use of the abbreviation O.M.G. was in a letter from Lord Admiral John Fisher to Winston Churchill in 1917.

Hopefully this will be the last time I ever use the term.

OMG NO MORE.

Following is g-idle’s OMG.

MAKE AMERICA AMERICA AGAIN.