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The Morning After a Thai Full Moon

Last night was the Full Moon party.

This morning a platoon of primary school kids in Spriteā„¢ green sponsored shirts are marching onto the beach in an orderly fashion. The drill – they know it well.

Scrape away the caked-up make-up off the filthy beach.

Wipe off the mascara-mess.

Brush, floss, rinse, spit.

Fish out smoked-out butts from the sand. Beer bottles, Sangsom, cans, rubbish. Rubbish. Rubbish.

“Informative, formative lessons on the inglorious, glorious!, culture of Western hedonism will take place today instead of class, class”. The kids won’t forget. A bargain Fausted upon them.

We are the strangler figs.

What a filthy mess – to take away a monthly chunk of education, on this! But kids are cheap, and Western dollars are swell. The kids won’t forget.

See the older, Western kids, from over there, must have overheard something about fun, and that this is how you get it, over here. Like this.

Like plastic buckets brimming with a hip-flask full of Sangsom whiskey, hope, red bull, expectation, ice, confusion and stupor. Like toxic, tacky glowbands to get into the party groove. or rut. what’s the difference?

Like pissing in the sea. Continuous drunken actions shifting the burden of the bladder right onto that beautiful beach. Save the feet a walk, and the mind a wait. Wouldn’t ever want to contemplate. Are we having fun?

Like pissing in the sea? Well, some couldn’t even be bothered making it to the water’s edge – preferring, like, to create their own water’s edge regardless of where others might wish to tread. We’re not in our own country, so like whatever. I think Me. You? No – Me. Me. Me.

Double dry-humping whales are nocturnal animals that beach themselves every Full Moon across Haad Rin. They’re more common than you’d think. Paradoxical considering the alcoholic mating requirements render them too stupid to de-clothe, properly mate, and pro-create. A natural abberation. An aberration of nature. Literally – stupid fucks.

Their more co-ordinated bare-back cousins sometimes migrate to the sea, oblivious to the impurities collecting in the water from the hundreds of male biological pumps. In a moment of clarity does one of them tenderly whisper to the other:

“No Love.
 It’s not even Lust.
 It’s pure Filth.”

I’m now recalling that poor English fool who wobbled too near. Seemingly suspended – propped up? – by the imagined force of the vomit that yearned to lead a mutiny by rushing from the rudderless ship and onto the sand. So many times His Most Unseaworthyness looked like crashing onto the sandy shores of Haad Rin. What a wreck.

But then a saviour, in the form of a Thai Lady-Boy. But the fool didn’t know. About Thai Lady-Boys. That this is always their cue. Pounce when they’re trounced must be the golden rule. Wave a discernable rump in their direction. The lure lures. But patience.

Subject: Staffing arrangements
From: His imminently drunk head  
Date: Mon, August 30, 2004 4:58 pm  
To: All Staff 
Priority:  Normal 

This is to advise that due to a Company outing tonight the sexual radar room will be running on a skeleton staff later this evening. Although this is not in the Company’s interests it is unavoidable due to excessive alcohol consumption.


Patience. Locked in? Good. Bump and grind. Look at his face! “What a time!” – that’s what he’s thinking – i’n he.

That stupefied, glazed look of joy as he dimly gathers that he might, even, maybe be having fun. soon.

Until he realises (with the help of his new lady friend) that he has lost (a wallet?) or even found something unexpected (an extra appendage? On her!).

What then?

Well I can’t, nor would I want to, report firsthand. But with the phenomenal powers of the mind we can imagine that if this almost-paralytic reacted savagely when he discovered some uncomfortable home truths he might discover another: Lady-Boys are locals – an accepted, protected species in Thailand who are apparently ruthless, hunt in packs, and have been known to absolutely kick peoples asses.

Is he having fun? Now, I mean. I wonder what happened.

Well what happened last night, as it progressed, was that the last generation of  primary-school kids have graduated from rubbish duties. They haven’t forgotten. At least the beach-combing skills. Now they get their own back by picking up wallets and electronic consumer goods. A little light lifting ever helps feather the nest. A friend’s digital camera and cash, some of our shoes!

So now I can see why this mess from the west has a hidden cost, and I wonder whether I didn’t get drastically undercharged.

Oh, but I had fun. Didn’t I?

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