Kung Fu, Transvestites, and 12 Year Old Whores: Getting My Ass Kicked in Thailand. (a true story reposted in full) (6235 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.92 on 67 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Isaac Bickerstaff (View user info) at 2004-12-08 20:47:33 EST
So you wanna know what I'm doing in Bangkok, child? Cuz I'll tell ya straight up, even if you couldn't tell by the creaking in my joints or the unshaven weariness on my once-upon-a-time good lookin face. But that was a couple broken noses and several broken hearts back, and now I'm starting to show the scars from both.
If you ask my therapist what I'm doing in Bangkok, he'll say I'm "sabotaging any chance at a workable relationship by being on the road and emotionally unavailable all the time." One of these days I'm gonna fire his overpaid ass and get my abuse from my mother like a normal person.
My manager, JD, says I'm "Nailing the opportunity for hot and cold running starlets." Perspective, man, that's what JD gives me: perspective. All I know is I gotta be at the stadium in two days for a big kung-fu exhibition and right now all I can think of is her and how I probably should have told her I was gonna go to Bangkok.
Currently I'm walking down Pat Pong road in the serious thick of all the nastiness; and when I say "nastiness," my people, I don't mean the American notion of what a sketchy red-light district would look like in a third world country. I mean the honey thick, oil soaked air of twelve year old hookers and pre-op transsexuals; I mean the pounding rock and roll thud that hardly covers the screaming of drunken foreigners and the cries of mugging victims. The streets are packed, my brothers, with pedophile cops in full on rock and roll bondage gear, polysexual skid row hookers with floral vine tattoos running up their AIDS ravaged legs, dope-fiend dignitaries hiding behind the tinted automatic windows in their state issued sedans, and Tommy Bahama dressin' frat boy fuck-ups lookin for trouble that they'll never be able to handle. It feels like home... wherever that is.
Fucking therapist.
So what am I doing in Bangkok, man? I mean, let's be honest, it's all hiding, right? When you're not there. Not, you know, THERE. With the girl, I mean. Anytime you're not with the GIRL, I mean... It's all just hiding right?
Alright, bitch, so I'm HIDING in Bangkok and I'm walking down Pat Pong road with my manager JD, and a lunatic stuntman named Bobby Knight who falls off of stuff for a living and a couple of the dancers from the show; little blond types; the types that make you nervous when you're walking down Pat Pong road with em in the middle of the night and there's more than a little drunkin' debauchatude going on all around swirled together with a fuckload of Asian gangsters hard packed with sharp shit and gats
It was Bobby Knight who saw it first and had the idea, the fucking idea, the truly preposterous fucking idea, for one of us to get in the ring with that guy. Nobody does that, right? I mean, nobody climbs into a street ring in Bangkok that's got ropes and shit and actually fights the 19-year-old Muey Thai Motherfucker up there in the ring, right? And the announcer is like a Fear and Loathing version of Dick Clark after a rough night on Santa Monica and he's yelling into this mic like it's not workin, like he's gotta yell for us to hear him and all I can think is that someone oughtta tell the little old guy that we CAN hear him and for the love of God stop shouting.
But it gets our attention and that's the point I guess and Bobby Night is already shoving me toward the ring barking, "C'mon, Zach, get in there and curb stomp the little slope. You're like a cyber-ninja, right?" And JD, never one to let me pass up an opportunity to seriously injure myself adds, "Dude, this is the shit legends are made of," and then to further solidify the Odysean magnitude of his heroic vision of our epic adds, "besides, you're a faggot if ya don't."
Now I gotta tell you right now that there is no fucking way I am getting in that ring so don't let your mind go there cuz there is no fucking way. That skinny cat up there has got me by like ten years and I'm looking at his pupils and they're like pinpricks from all the crystal he's on and he's shadowboxing and scanning the growing crowd to see who it's gonna be. Whose it gonna be, pussies...Don't hide...whose it gonna be?
And without even thinking about it I'm already all up in my head, "Left handed, favors his back leg, scars on his shins cuz he likes to kick close range..." but there is NO way I'm getting up in there, "twitchy eyes, he'll be fast, probably doesn't hit hard but will certainly hit FAST, little finger has been broken on the left side cuz he flicks his jabs..." but no worries cuz I am NOT GETTING UP IN THERE.
One of the dancers with us is Nadine and she's all cheerleader-licious and bouncy and shit and her eyes are all wide with wonder at the strange new world she's found herself in. I notice while she's talking that she's wearing pink lip-gloss and I watch her mouth move cuz I don't really wanna hear what she's actually saying. Instead I hear my therapist's voice, "Relationships require two things: love and workability. Now you've got plenty of the first, but workability requires presence, and you're clearly not very present..."
So you wanna know what I'm doing in Bangkok, my brothers? Cuz I'll tell ya, right now I'm stripping down to my boxers cuz I don't wanna get blood on my good clothes and I'm watching as Bobby Night starts betting AGAINST me, the fucker, with a couple Aussie sailors who wanted to put money, "on da white guy."
I take off my shoes cuz the mat is muslin and you can grip it better with your toes, and besides I need my socks to wrap my hands in cuz I don't have any tape or gloves and breaking your little fingers on someone's jaw is always a real possibility and sucks just the same. I snatch the scrunchie that Nadine is using to hold her ponytail on top of her head and stick it in my mouth so my teeth don't crunch together when I get hit, and hear me when I say this bitches, I was about to get motherfucking HIT. All the while the announcer is bellowing into his Mr. Microphone, "Issa John Cwahd VawnDawm! Issa John Cwahd VawnDawm!" and I'm draggin my sorry carcass into this rickety ass street ring and thinking maybe I should have learned how to play a musical instrument. Chicks dig musicians, right, musicians and poets, guys who don't have calluses on their knuckles.
She likes musicians. Fuck I should be home.
But I aint, bitches, I'm hiding in Bangkok in a blood stained street ring in my Calvin's with whites socks wrapped around my knuckles and the taste of cheap hairspray in my mouth and I can hear Bobby Night saying to my manager, "Christ, JD, why don't you feed that guy sometimes?" The Thai cat is sitting on his wooden stool at the other end of the ring and shooting bullets out of his eyes into my shattered heart and I'm standing there looking around at the Dalhi painting I've just stumbled into and my manager JD yells over to the little old announcer guy, "Yo, Kip Chee, what're the rules in this Tarzan movie?" The old man gurgles out that he doesn't understand and JD goes, "Rules, puppy eater, rules!" When the light finally goes off on the old mans face, he starts shouting, "No wooles, twee wounds, no wooles!" There's a sign that says, "4 Hunnard Dolares for tree rounds with Thai Champion!!" and I'm thinking that I don't see no champions, just a doped up kid with too heavy gloves and too big shorts. But I aint got time to pontificate you sorry bastards cuz right about then, the bell goes off.
I used to fight this big corn fed guy back in New York named Jebidiah who would get crazy high on whatever he could find before he would climb into the ring. His ass did pretty well until he got some dusted weed that made him swing at shit that wasn't there, and the Puerto Rican guy he was up against dropped his pig fuckin ass like a bad transmission.
But the Thai cat in the ring with me was on crystal pure and true and was moving so fucking fast that all I could do was stand there and get hit. But let's be honest, child, the guy weighed like 159 pounds soakin' wet and I haven't been 159 since I fought in super light division back in college, so while I'm getting hammered by like a million shots, I know how to cover and it's only a couple minutes before he's pretty tired and I'm damn near bored. He's also wearing gloves that are way to big for his girlscout hands but he's got a proper mouthpiece and about the 9 hundredth shot I take to the button makes me wish Nadine's scrunchie was a little more sub fucking stantial cuz I hate in when I chew and my teeth don't match up.
Now I'm sure it sounds like the ugly part is well underway, kids, but it's actually just starting and I mean starting now. Starting now when the Thai cat steps back and starts kicking. The Chinese translation calls it a "slam the door" kick, while the guilos like you and me call it a "roundhouse" but either ass way it's the staple of Kickboxing and he steps back and starts sending these bastards into my ribs at about twelve zillion miles per hour and I don't fucking care how small his ass is, that shit sucks.
And it's right about now when I realize how bad this is going to get before it gets better. The Thai cat is whipping his little razor blade shins into my breadbox and it don't matter if I take it somewhere hard or soft, he's so fucking skinny that it goes right through my shit, like getting hit with a broomstick made of iron. But, c'mon now man, I didn't climb up in here to lose now did I? And I've already noticed that there are no corner-men working the stools...
So towards the end of "wound won" I step back and flick a little jab right at his brainpan to see what's up and his head snaps back like the Hulk just right crossed his ass. And the messed up thing, man? The messed up thing was that I didn't even HIT him. I didn't even hit him to snap his head back like that; he snapped it back to avoid getting hit. Now I've seen this shit before, my brothers and it's the worst tell tale sign of all and I saw it, and he knew that I saw it. And when the bell rang to end the round and he went to his stool, we looked at each other as if for the first time: I had seen him bail from a snapped jab, and that only meant one thing.
He was scared.
Terrified, in fact. But the question of what, remained. He couldn't be afraid of me. I was way more muscley than him but that means ass in the ring and besides, he hadn't seen me DO anything yet; so if not me, than what? And that's when it starts to get to the part I mentioned about "worse before better," my children, because here is when it came to me that there was no winning this shit, and I mean NO winning. One of us was desperately fighting for his paycheck up here, or his food, or his life for that matter, but whatever the case, that someone wasn't me, I was here sightseeing for fuck's sake. Now, don't get me wrong, bitches, I wasn't worried about losing, let's get it straight right now, I never fucking lose and wasn't about to start. But generally the consequences of winning involve some battered bones and wounded egos and occasionally you have to watch some poor bastard that you just monkey-stomped ice his dislocated jawbone while his girlfriend sobs, but whatever man, no one MADE them get in the ring, right? But this was different, and I knew I didn't have the heart for it.
Turns out I had something far worse.
As I sit down on my stool, I look down at JD and he's laughing cuz so far it's a fucking carnival, right, two guys pounding each other, or in this case, one crazed Asian meth-head pounding an American muscle-head and let's be honest, that's good fucking theatre. JD mistakes the freaked fucking look on my face for something it aint and says, "Don't worry, Twink, no one really though you were gonna win. We're just surprised you're gonna lose in such a spectacular fashion." And while I hear Bobby Night making plans for all the dope he's gonna buy with his winnings, Nadine and the rest of the herd of dancers are "oh my God"-ing themselves to death, "look at all the bloooooood!" I wipe some from my lip, it aint even that much.
Right before the round two bell goes off, I'm swimming in the screams of the crowd that has gathered and wondering how often someone actually lasts for more than a round up here cuz most of the fighters I know wouldn't. Not that they couldn't, but it's just not worth it. No matter what, you're gonna be bitched for like four days and swollen and shit and I got heartaches to mend before I can worry about my goddamn knees, ya know?
JD reaches up and taps my bare foot and says, "Hey, Jackie Chan, remember that there's no rules up there. Can't you just turn invisible, or throw fire or teleport or something?" And then he laughs like a psycho at the Coliseum about to watch some Christians get lunched by a grizzly, "remember, NO RULES!"
I'm way ahead of ya, JD. Way.
As the second bell goes off, the Thai cat launches in all fired up, all fucked up, all frenetic and hungry. And now I got some acting to do, right bitches? It's the only kind of acting I's ever good at, not like the "pretend you care" look that Maxim magazine keeps telling me I gotta master, or the "try to be interested in her life" vibe I'm supposed to give off to make things work out with her. Somehow I missed those days in "guy school" and my therapist never misses an opportunity to remind me. But fool a young fighter into thinking that he's got the upper hand? I can do that shit so well that the whole audience thought it was so.
I stumble all weary and forlorn to the center of the ring and cover up while he goes to work on my shit. Thing is, the Thai cat is starting to lose it a little, shit wasn't supposed to go down this way; the big ass American should have hit the floor by now, right? So he's pounding away so frantic that his desperation is as thick in the air as the bloodlust of the screeching whores.
I wonder for a second what's gonna happen to this cat if he loses. Does he lose his job? A little cash? Does his trainer beat his ass and humiliate him for losing to a pale ass foreigner in his skivvies and send him back to work making Nikes? I sneak a look over at the old man announcer and see on his face a mixture of anger, surprise and disbelief. Shit was definitely not supposed to pan out this way. And then I sit back and wait for it.
Check it: when a guy is pounding away on you so crazy hard that he forgets you might hit back, that you might actually be an inheritor to a Lamma system, that maybe you actually were trained by a National Living Treasure of China and might have been on the Olympic team if you could've stopped drinking, when he forgets THAT, well then, his ass is cooked; he just don't know it yet.
So I wait.
And then it comes, kids, just like it always does, so predictable that I'm disappointed. His head gets so hot, his heart pounding so hard, his punches and kicks so sloppy, that he doesn't even know what happened until his knees hit the mat. There's an audible gasp as he realizes he's on the ground, that he's just been swept; that, "wait a motherfucking minute, half a second ago I was handing out some whoop ass and now I'm on my knees in front of a big, pissed white boy."
When I swept his legs, I caught his right wrist and trapped it between my ear and shoulder and locked that shit in. The Thai cat's a striker, Muey Thai guys always are. Sometimes with Muey Thai, just like Taekwondo, they learn a little Hapkido, which amounts to some simple joint locks. But either way, he looks up and we make eye contact, and he knows EXACTLY what's about to happen to him. I shoot a glance over to JD, he aint laughing now, he coughs out, "Holy Christ, did you see that shit?"
My eyes flick back to the Thai cat and he looks a little confused, like, "who the fuck are you and what happened to the guy whose ass I was just kicking?" For a second while we're looking at each other, I don't wanna do it. That's how old I am bitches, that's how old and how soft and how tired. But then the training kicks back in, and I step back slightly to separate the joint a little, and then I press.
You'd think that after a certain number of dislocations, a guy might get used to the sound, ya know? That maybe the wet pop of the joint capsule rupturing might not be so nails on a chalkboard, might not make the hair on the back of your neck go up and your scrotum lift up into your belly. If you thought such a thing, you'd be mistaken; and for a second, when the Thai cat yelps like a walked on dog something tells me to stop with the elbow.
I don't listen to it.
I step back and as I pivot, I kick the wooden stool up into my hands. Usually a corner man would have pulled the stools out of the ring, but remember, my children, that we're in the middle of Dante's fucking Inferno all up in here and they're aint nobody to stop me from spinning back around and swinging that stool like I'm the Babe out gunning for the last row of the bleachers.
His lights pretty much go out like someone flipped a switch, "click." Although it don't sound like that.
You ever been in the ring or on the field when a crowd literally, "goes wild?" Well it don't really sound like the loud hiss of a homerun, it's more like the "kabooom!" of a ballistic missile launch, like all the oxygen gets sucked out of the air and replaced with grenades. The old man is in the ring and pointing at me and screaming so fucking fast that I feel like I'm dodging bullets. People are shrieking and stomping and I watch as Nadine gets pulled to the ground by a giant Thai queen in a blond wig and clear heels and JD can't figure out if the rule about "guys can't hit chicks" applies to dudes in skirts and corsets.
In the ring, the Thai cat is writhing around on his back and he's going into shock and clutching his arm which is still bending the wrong way and the old man seems content to scream at me instead of helping his fighter. I walk over to where Bobby Night is fighting with the Aussie sailors over a fistful of cash about who cheated and who gets paid, and after I bend over them in a quick motion they're all screaming at me and trying to climb up into the ring, fucking parasites.
I turn my ass to Bobby Night and walk back over to the Thai cat who now has a couple groupies wailing away and the old man standing over him trying to look important. As I approach, the cat tries feebly to push himself away from me with his legs, but I've been there before and I know what he's feeling and he aint going far. Someone has pulled his gloves off and I try to tell him it's okay but, you know, it's not.
So I calm the old man and kneel next to the Thai cat and show him the cash I just snatched from Bobby Night. The Thai cat's eyes go clear for a second and before the old man sees that I have anything I press it into the Thai cat's hand, the hand on the backward bending elbow. And in the moment that his face goes all stunned and nervous I jerk the arm down, and set the elbow back in place. For a second his face goes all spastic twisted and then relaxes when he sees that it's over and all he does is look down at the wad of bills in his hand, his backward elbow gone and forgotten, and then he stuffs the bills in his elastics
And she's always telling me how selfish I am.
As I pick my chipped bones up and grab my clothes, I see that JD is now comfortably past the "guys can't hit drag queens" part, has crossed nimbly through the "guys shouldn't kick transvestites in the tits" part and is now well onto the "is it okay to bang Nadine?" part.
I climb out of the ring and past Bobby Night and the Aussies, thinking that it sounds like a cover band in Vegas; Bobby Night and the Aussies, and as they grab at me looking for their bank, I point at the sign and say, "I won, fuckers, someone owes us 4 hundred," and I point to the old man. They get the picture, and storm off after the old fucker, no longer my problem.
So what am I doing in Bangkok, you bloodhungry bastards? Well right now I'm clutching my shoes in my hands and trying to keep from bleeding all over my clothes as I walk in my shorts to a payphone at the bank on the corner. And as I'm dialing down the center, I'm trying to do the math, "if it's 4 am here, then it's like 10 am next Thursday back home..." When there she is, click, "Hello."
"Hey."
"Hey. Are you downstairs?"
"Um, no."
And then the Pause, you know the Pause.
"Did you go to Thailand?"
"Sortof"
"Uh huh. Fuck you, Zach" Click.
And so I sit my naked ass down on the gritty sidewalk next to the condoms and dime bags and watch across the street at people pawing each other and fighting over money and I start to pull my shit together. I'm done, right? I mean, I'm done. And even though I'm stuck here for another four days, I'm already leaving, ya know? In my head I'm already on my way out the door, like all my shit is finished over here and now I just got to catch a flight four days away. And I grin like an idiot cuz I know she'll be there at the airport to pick me up and sew up anything that's falling off and at least once on the drive she'll push the hair back out of my eyes like she does. So what am I doing in Bangkok, brothers? Cuz I'll tell you, right now, even though it's four days out, what am I doing?
I'm going home.
User Reviews
Submitted by Chroniclysm (user info) at 2008-08-24 03:36:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Every time.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2008-08-24 03:27:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by orph (user info) at 2008-05-09 11:02:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Brilliant
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2007-03-09 16:04:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by hot_pocket (user info) at 2007-01-07 11:58:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by cshape (user info) at 2007-01-07 10:05:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Yup, best writer on uber.
Submitted by PommyTom (user info) at 2006-12-18 00:45:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Love it. Can picture it easily.
Submitted by Snare (user info) at 2006-12-17 23:40:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Do a GST return and process a couple of item proformas?
Not when there's vintage Bickerstaff I haven't taken in yet.
My brother's a truck driver. Thinks the internet is a roading system. One of my Xmas present to him this year is going to be printing off all your stuff, binding it, and giving it to him to enjoy.
Cos I know that he, too, will think this rocks.
Submitted by Ragman (user info) at 2006-10-15 22:24:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fucking excellent....
Submitted by Maltese (user info) at 2006-10-15 22:00:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
You have the grammar etiquette of a 16-year-old girl using AIM.
I don't know what the hell everyone sees in you.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-06-10 23:24:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ANYTHING by Bickerstaff is fucking awesome.
Now whom do suppose 'somebody else' is?
Submitted by maiorano84 (user info) at 2006-06-10 23:17:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I remember reading this back in the day. It's still one of my favorites.
Submitted by DavyJones (user info) at 2006-06-10 22:32:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I less than three Bickerstaff.
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2006-06-10 22:21:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
My only problem with this was that the character changed from Bobby Knight, like the basketball coach, to Bobby Night, without a K.
You wrote this so well I had to argue with myself over whether or not you did that on purpose.
Submitted by EchoBoxing (user info) at 2006-03-22 21:21:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
damn
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-13 00:08:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2005-03-04 10:53:27 (#)
Ranking: 2
Read it in installments, but it wasn't too large to read in full.
Submitted by phuzzygish (user info) at 2006-02-08 08:33:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by zoobie2000 (user info) at 2006-02-08 07:48:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i really like this story
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2006-01-21 05:38:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by belowground (user info) at 2006-01-21 04:47:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I reallu dig the portrayal of the Thai red light district. Imagery is great. Has a very film noir type of feel to it.
This would make a fucking solid graphic novel.
Keep it up, man.
Submitted by Calios (user info) at 2006-01-21 04:13:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
wow.
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-09-26 12:59:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Still brilliant on the re-read.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-06-24 18:30:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Kamargo (user info) at 2004-12-09 18:46:58 (#)
Ranking: 2
Why did I gave you a +2 brother? Do you want to know?
Well, because this kicked ass, and by that, I mean non-Thai meth head ass
Submitted by gina (user info) at 2005-05-31 19:56:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
creepy how much you sound like circe...
Submitted by awj002 (user info) at 2005-05-26 23:11:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
good times, but your overactive tendency to write "my brothers" made me hear the narrator as the protagonist from A Clockwork Orange. And nothing can beat A Clockwork Orange, o my brothers.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-04-14 10:17:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by HellHound (user info) at 2005-04-13 07:17:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Great story.
Submitted by WhoLetYouIn (user info) at 2005-04-13 07:15:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was great. I'm late because of this.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2005-04-13 06:47:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-02-16 09:21:00 (#)
Ranking: 1
i have given everything else a plus two, but I am having trouble believing this is true.
==================================
A story is a story dickcheese
Submitted by Spam (user info) at 2005-04-13 06:32:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fuck me that was long.
and I was captivated throughout.
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2005-03-24 11:42:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fucking awesome
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2005-03-04 10:53:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Read it in installments, but it wasn't too large to read in full.
Submitted by Cisco (user info) at 2005-03-02 15:51:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Amazing.
Submitted by Jungle_Jimanee (user info) at 2005-02-16 12:50:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2005-02-16 09:21:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
i have given everything else a plus two, but I am having trouble believing this is true.
Submitted by ElroyQPaisley (user info) at 2005-01-21 11:56:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good shit. Especially the descriptions of Thailand, where I've spent alot of time (obviously so have you). You also have a great ease with 'your voice' and how it weaves through your narrative. Also, thanks for not posting some derivative schlock about your childhood.
Submitted by Phallic_Cymbals (user info) at 2004-12-27 10:00:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Jesus.
Fuck.
These ratings can't say it, man. Your stories fuckin floor me. Out of breath and shit.
Submitted by NoahsArk (user info) at 2004-12-22 23:02:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2004-12-22 21:29:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I love you. Completely sanely and from a distance.
...bear my children?
Submitted by houseman (user info) at 2004-12-22 15:45:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think you should kick MrPresidents ass.
Submitted by engine13 (user info) at 2004-12-22 14:39:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow. Just. Wow.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2004-12-18 16:11:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (user info) at 2004-12-08 21:12:49 (#)
Ranking: 2
Regardless of what the hell anyone else says - as far as I am concerned your writing style suits your content and that kicks ass.
Keep it right the hell up.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Says it all.
-Dave
Submitted by big_wigger (user info) at 2004-12-18 11:55:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
you should write a screenplay...this is vivid shit
Submitted by funkchomper (user info) at 2004-12-11 20:09:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You are an amazing storyteller... that sucked me in so far I could smell Thailand.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2004-12-11 19:47:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Forgot I read this earlier, but this is not something I can read or re-read and not comment...
Still fucking brilliant.
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2004-12-11 19:19:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I forgot I was reading an Uberpost. That was wholly brilliant.
I can't overstate how awesome I think you are; this was one of the most touching, funny, impressive things I've read on this site yet.
Well done, and thank you.
Submitted by GodLovesALittleLovin (user info) at 2004-12-11 13:33:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was really fucking long but i'll be damned if I read the whole thing. You understand the hugeness of what just happened? Good post.
Submitted by Lost_Gator_Fan (user info) at 2004-12-09 19:57:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Unusually great post
LGF
Submitted by Kamargo (user info) at 2004-12-09 18:46:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Why did I gave you a +2 brother? Do you want to know?
Well, because this kicked ass, and by that, I mean non-Thai meth head ass
Submitted by mrwolf (user info) at 2004-12-09 08:41:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I hated reading something this long, but the story the style and the characters were just awesome. I read right through. I'd love to hear more of this stuff
Submitted by toothfish___ (user info) at 2004-12-09 07:56:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Awko (user info) at 2004-12-09 07:25:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Valacosa (user info) at 2004-12-09 06:51:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent read.
Submitted by DeathJester (user info) at 2004-12-09 05:49:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fantastic.
Submitted by Shizae (user info) at 2004-12-09 01:01:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by creep_firebombing (user info) at 2004-12-09 00:23:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
"if it's 4 am here, then it's like 10 am next Thursday back home..."
Nicely done. I think this was fucking genius.
Submitted by sublime (user info) at 2004-12-08 23:48:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
awesome.
Submitted by cuberat (user info) at 2004-12-08 23:19:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Kickass story.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2004-12-08 21:50:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Mr President is a fucking whore.
So is the MrPresident on Uber...
Has he given a +anything EVAR?
Submitted by mikethescottish (user info) at 2004-12-08 21:50:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Once I got used to your style, this was quite a good story, which held my interest. +2 it is.
Submitted by DanielH (user info) at 2004-12-08 21:43:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
On a "No wooles" visceral level, one of the best posts I've yet read on this site.
(Read twice, about to go thrice.)
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2004-12-08 21:25:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (user info) at 2004-12-08 21:12:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Regardless of what the hell anyone else says - as far as I am concerned your writing style suits your content and that kicks ass.
Keep it right the hell up.
Submitted by kai070169 (user info) at 2004-12-08 21:11:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Go read "private dancer by Stephen Leather http://www.stephenleather.com/unpub.html
I love the land of smiles. Nana Plaza rocks. Had sex on Skytrain yet?
www.defendo.com <--- don't leave home without it.
Excellent writing, awesome post, thanks!
Submitted by spedmonkey (user info) at 2004-12-08 20:58:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Good story, but I didn't like the writing style. Seemed kinda like you were trying to imitate A Clockwork Orange or something like that.
Submitted by MrPresident (user info) at 2004-12-08 20:52:34 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
Submitted by MickGinny (user info) at 2004-12-08 20:49:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
i am aprehensive about reading this. however, i will give it a +2 for this: Submitted by Isaac Bickerstaff