About Time by Bangkok Bad Boy

It has been 6 long months since I stepped foot in Pattaya. I thought that this could make a terrific sentence with which to begin actually writing my first article in almost as long, until I read Stickman’s last Sunday column. Which begins “It has been 6 long months since I stepped foot in Pattaya”.

Bugger.

With the red shirt protests ensuring that I would not be able to watch Iron Man 2 in IMAX, with the army lurking around Silom and Asok, and with the fact that I had already eaten the last pie in the Big Mango Bar, coupled with the 3-day holiday weekend, it seemed a good time to get out of town.

Not only that, but my surrogate father, On Nutter was also heading to Pattaya, as were The Heckler and his motley crew. So where better to harbor oneself from the slight inconveniences of Bangkok than amidst the utter mayhem of Pattaya?

One
I got on the wankerbus at Ekamai on Friday afternoon, and three fucking hours later was finally deposited safely amongst some of the finest scumbags in Thailand. I watched Star Wars on my iPod on the bus. The original cut, natch. Han shoots first. Star Wars is ace.

I unpacked, scrubbed up, and headed to Walking Street, grabbing a cheeseburger on the way, and checked out the new Baccara on Walking Street. It was absolutely rammed, but I managed to nestle between two fat Japanese gents on a barstool by the wall. One and out. Next up, Airport club, where I ran into The Heckler and company. Once again, the bar was completely packed…

I like Airport, but they’re victims of their own success – the bar just isn’t big enough to pack all the customers in. I think half of Bangkok must have been in Pattaya at the weekend… On Nutter, it transpired, was in the all-new Iron Bar next door, which was similarly chock-a-block.

I joined The Heckler’s entourage for a swift beer down the road at some bar with ear-splitting dance music, hookahs and friendly service staff which may have been called 66 Route(?), then left the disco kiddies in there and went to meet On Nutter at the slightly less up-market Roo Bar, where he was reading the palm of an unfortunate bargirl.

We moved on to one of the Simon beer bar complexes as the Roo Bargirl wiped away her tears and contemplated her future life as a housewife in Saudi Arabia.

On Nutter has had an epiphany of late, and now speaks bargirl English on a full-time basis. It is easier than learning Thai, he says, defensively. Well – he actually says “learning Thai velly hard mak mak, me speak like this good more”. He doesn’t just do it to bargirls though. He does it to everybody.

A friendly enough, if plain (sorry dad) bargirl appeared on On Nutter’s lap within moments of us sitting down. She looked at me. “Is that your son?”

“Yes yes, him son me”, he muttered with a paternal air. On Nutter tells me that he is getting a little fed up of being referred to as everybody’s Dad. My suggestion that he hit the town with Young Penfold so as to enable bargirls to call him Grandad was not, for some reason, gratefully received though…

A few more beers there though, and I was ready to cut loose. Nobody else in the bar appealed, and the time was already somehow after midnight. A crawl through the various beer bars on my way to the hotel eventually bore fruit, with a girl who not only performed like a Henry Hoover (score!) but also kind of looked like a Henry Hoover (double score!).

Two
After another sterling vacuuming from Henry, I sent her scurrying and prepared myself for The Most Important Meal Of The Day. The only question was where I would be having it. Rosie O’Grady’s is probably my favorite option in Pattaya. I telephoned On Nutter, another fellow breakfast aficionado, but was to be disappointed.

It would, of course, be scurrilous behavior indeed for me to use this platform to accuse a friend of being parsimonious. So instead, I shall declare that On Nutter has an eye for a bargain. Which is presumably why he was staying at an affordable hotel approximately some twenty-six miles from Walking Street. He invited me to breakfast at his hotel restaurant, where a full English breakfast could be enjoyed for 99 baht. I was staying within a stone’s throw of the beach. It was a long walk.

On the way, I encountered an older, bespectacled grey-haired gentleman wearing a mauve fishnet t-shirt. flouncing along Second Road. His nipples were clearly visible through the weave. Pattaya expats are fucking mental.

To be fair, breakfast wasn’t actually that bad. Not overwhelming by any stretch, but there is sometimes a vindictive pleasure in polishing off a meal before On Nutter can ask “are you going to finish that?”. Although these days, it’s more like “you not eat all, yes?”. My guts did begin grumbling shortly afterwards, but I think it was probably the cheeseburger from the night before. Definitely not the beer.

The only football match of any appeal wasn’t on until 9pm, so I wandered through town, had a foot massage and eventually retired to the Pattaya Beer Garden to drink beer and watch cheesy music videos. On Nutter joined me for dinner there, after which we hit the Simon bars again to watch Aston Villa and Man City forget how to play football.

I managed two beers – one in the first half, and one in the second, guts by now well and truly in rotary overload, and took that as a cue that I should probably retire early. I went back to the hotel, alone, and watched The Empire Strikes Back on my iPod in bed. The original cut, with the chimpanzee. Star Wars rocks.

Three
I woke up, had a nice big wank and an epic poo, and undertook the marathon stroll to the Issan suburb in which On Nutter’s hotel is located. Rather than the 99 baht bargain plate, I went for the up-market 139 baht breakfast, which has extra breakfast on it. It was good.

I almost finished it, but even On Nutter didn’t fancy polishing off the half-slice of fried bread and bacon rinds. “You same same black heart man”, he said, top-lip a-wobble, appalled by the fact that I’d scoffed the best bits.

He was heading back to Bangkok after breakfast. I was staying an extra day, so bade him farewell and had a wander around the town for a while. I wanted to watch Liverpool bravely lose to Chelsea at 8pm, but had nothing to do until then, so eventually stopped for a massage.

The massage girl was chatty, and told an amusing story about how she’d had to leave her last job because she broke an Indian customer’s pair of glasses. Apparently he’d put them on the tiled floor during the massage, then when he’s asked her to wank him off she’d accidentally trodden on them in her haste to run away… No extras for me then.

She was interested in Bangkok life, and it sounded as if she’d never been. “How much do you pay your girlfriends in Bangkok?”, she asked.

I tried to explain the concept of dating Thai girls who make their own money in decent jobs, and who don’t expect a regular stipend from their “boyfriend”, but she – like more than a few readers, no doubt – scoffed at the idea.

It does go a long way to explaining my silence online these days though. I’m afraid there’s no conspiracy. There’s no secret double life or pseudonymous website. I mean, I still occasionally barfine, as I told the massage girl, but what can i really say about that that I haven’t said already? Most of the girls I’ve dated recently have been students, office girls, hotel staff… Nobody wants to read about that, and I don’t particularly want to write about them either. Having already written about pretty much every farang-oriented bar in Bangkok, there just isn’t much left to say.

Later, I walked the entire length of Walking Street in an attempt to find a bar which was not only showing the football, but was also playing English commentary instead of music. I failed. I watched it in a nameless Walking Street beer bar, cried a bit at the end, then met up with the sorely missed Pattaya Ghost for a couple more beers. From there, I went to a nearby gogo which will remain nameless, because I’d heard the girls there were kind of dirty.

They were very dirty indeed. An elderly bearded chap was standing over the jacuzzi, red-faced and rapt, fucking the bejesus out of a portly but surprisingly happy-looking bargirl with an empty beer bottle. The presence of the bottle was not immediately apparent from my angle. It looked like Rolf Harris was fisting Bella Emberg. American readers may picture Colonel Sanders fisting Roseanne Barr instead. I’m all for a bit of mucky filth, but that was just a little too much for my delicate tastes. Check bin.

On to a couple more beer bars, more alcohol, some light sex, and a drunken stumble back to the hotel.

Four
Check-out time was 12pm. The staff were hammering on the door at 12.01pm shouting “okay mister you stay one more night”. I don’t think I’ll stay there again. Rage.

Hung-over half to death, I went for a light omelette breakfast up soi LK Metro. I managed to stuff about half of the roll of limp matter down my throat before I gagged, then crossed the street to Lolita’s where my Service Provider did much the same thing.

All good things must come to an end, but I felt that this hangover might not. I got a motorbike to Pattaya bus station, where I was faced with a horde of bastards who all wanted to get on my bus. Rage.

The time printed on my bus ticket was almost an hour away. The sun was slowly baking my head, along with the rest of Chonburi, and I was surrounded by hung-over prostitutes and farang idiots with tattoos on their tattoos. On their faces. Rage.

Almost an hour later, I was drenched in sweat, my t-shirt two tones darker than it was supposed to be, and I’d accidentally spilt my drink all over my feet – rage – but at least, sweet mercy, it was time to get on the bus.

I trudged to the gate, wiped another river of sweat from my brow, and handed the ticket inspector my bus ticket. “No”, she smiled. Rage.

This was not my bus. My bus was supposed to be here, but due to the backlog, this was actually the bus which was due 45 minutes ago. My bus would be the one after the one after the one after the next one. Double rage.

I looked at the woman. I looked at my ticket. I looked at my sodden self, and at the lowest forms of life who surrounded me. Rage overload. I felt a brief moment of overwhelming calm, as a wave of furious energy swept through my body, before a sudden outpouring of vitality – a transition to the ethereal, if you will. I actually physically exploded.

It was pretty cool, actually. It’s a good way to go. Bits of my skull actually pierced the roof of the bus station. One severed hand, curled into a fist of angst, actually punched a ladyboy in the ear. “Him boxing you”, On-Nuttered her chuckling companion. It’s contagious, I tell you.

A gout-ridden left ankle landed in the huge tureen of green curry in the corner of the station – and nobody noticed for 3 days.

Great unfurling lengths of my digestive tract impacted into the ticket inspector with such force as to knock her onto her back, blocking the walkway and causing three skinheads from Dagenham with tattoos behind their ears to miss the bus. Victory.

My cock and balls actually landed in a 345lb American’s arse-cleavage, which was slightly embarassing – particularly as he couldn’t reach around to remove them, and was left flailing for them with his right arm behind his back, turning in ever-decreasing anti-clockwise circles until he got dizzy and suddenly sat down, crushing my severed genitals like a pair of lead space-hoppers dropping onto a burrito and a brace of pickled eggs. It wasn’t pretty.

My mortal soul gagged a little, and departed the scene, swiftly ascending to Atheist Purgatory, a concept which seemed funnier when I thought of it in the pub, but which is now proving rather difficult to flesh out in any way, shape or form.

There, I watched Return of the Jedi on my ethereal iPod. The original cut, with the eyebrows. Bit of a let-down, if I’m honest.

“It was I who allowed the Alliance to know the location of the shield generator. It is quite safe from your pitiful little band. An entire legion of my best troops awaits them”, said The Emperor, shortly before said legion was defeated by a bunch of fucking teddy bears with sticks.

I mean, when the reinforcements got surrounded, why didn’t they just shoot the Ewoks? They had all the guns. Idiots.

The battery ran out at this point, and the spirit of my mortal soul thought it was about time, really. George Lucas should have quit while he was ahead. As should we all.

Still, not a bad weekend. I’ve had worse.

Editor’s note: Bangkok Bad Boy will not be writing any more articles for the foreseeable future, as he has exploded.

39 thoughts on “About Time by Bangkok Bad Boy

  1. “They were very dirty indeed. An elderly bearded chap was standing over the jacuzzi, red-faced and rapt, fucking the bejesus out of a portly but surprisingly happy-looking bargirl with an empty beer bottle. The presence of the bottle was not immediately apparent from my angle. It looked like Rolf Harris was fisting Bella Emberg. American readers may picture Colonel Sanders fisting Roseanne Barr instead. I’m all for a bit of mucky filth, but that was just a little too much for my delicate tastes. Check bin.”

    Poetry mate..pure poetry.

    Great post.

  2. I’ll make sure I go for a beer with OnNutter soon so that he can refer to me as his sickly half-brother. That should cheer him up

  3. BBB always a treat!
    I’ll be in town this August, that is if the fucking airlines get their prices back to normal! $1300.00 for LA to BKK, coach on EVA??? Fuck that…cheers!!!

  4. “We moved on to one of the Simon beer bar complexes as the Roo Bargirl wiped away her tears and contemplated her future life as a housewife in Saudi Arabia.”
    Fucking hell! He does have the power!. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Actually I laughed out loud. And smirked to myself for ages. Tee hee

  5. BBB-Thank you for a most amusing read. I enjoyed the Bar girl pidgin English interludes. And it is charming to see you have a good relationship with your father. RE: The dirty girls bar………there are so many but I think I know the one you mean.
    RE Breakfast places: there are so many. Only one, a pub on Soi Buakao disappoints…but I can’t remember its name. But in general food is good in Pattaya.

    But this time my leave was during Songkran so not only did I not go to Pats but avoided Bangkok and Thailand in general until I was sure it was all over. Thanks again for an uplifting read.

  6. Some of the worst bargirl English is to be heard on the retard bus to Pattaya. I had to endure some dull cunt from Yorkshire, brutalising the English language on my last trip there, for the thick end of 2 hours

    Just a few of his gems from the top of my head –

    “I put bag you here. Under seat no safe. Here much more better”

    “Your sister call to me, but I no answer. I was busy with many thing. You think she angry me?”

    Anyone ferang speaking bargirl English, should have their tongue ripped out of their heads, and get a good kick in the balls for good measure. Hopefully justice was served, and the said Yorkshireman is lying dead in a gutter somewhere

  7. Just noticed how heavily BBB is leaning on the comedy routines of OnNutter for his posts – bar slang, polishing off food, he’s my ‘dad’, palm reading etc – I hope he’s on a percentage….
    If not, I should like to assume the position of ON’s agent.
    If any readers out there would like to submit a funny post but need a bit of fill, ‘my boy’ is available at a very reasonable rate.

  8. I can remember the first time we met – bbb and I. We had traded emails for a few weeks. Discussing the merits of revealing our true identities versus remaining hidden behind our virtual cloaks. We finally decided to meet up. Question was where?

    So we decided silom road. A pub. Some random afternoon.

    I spotted him – in the corner with his english breakfast, a beer and a ciggie. Figured it had to be him. We hit it off and been regular pals ever since then but then I was banished from the internet world and now – well, he blew himself up.

    bbb – RIP

    fuck…

  9. Brilliant Post my friend. Such a treat. Seems pretty kicking for low season down in Patts. Haven’t been to the new Baccara, same format as the one on Soi Cowboy? Sounds like you had a pretty crappy time, were there any highlights? Hopefully the BBB Ghost can at least respond to Comments before descending, I mean, ascending to Heaven.

  10. is pattaya actually like that? the money i would pay to watch colonel sanders fist roseanne barr.

    bargirl english has always amazed me. i always thought that if tarzan and corky from life goes on had a bastard child that bargirl english would be it’s first language.

  11. Reminds me of John, from Darlington and his charming wife Toy who I had the pleasure of sitting next to on the Thai airways flight from London. After 2 months living in Pattaya with Toy, John had lost his ability to speak anything but bargirl English. I think his thoughts (limited though they undoubtedly were) were only in bargirl English. He introduced me to Toy who looked more like an ex-hooker than I have ever seen, tattoos on her neck and her hands, bleach blond hair and a massive tattoo covering her significant stretch marks “This wife me, toy. She take care me everything….” and so on. As the flight progressed he got steadily more drunk and insisted on telling the air hostesses how much in love he was “we have love jing jing too much”. The really annoying thing being he had her named tattooed on his arm (visible due to his sleeveless shirt which hardly flattered his post retirement pop-belly overly tanned walnut like arms). It read Dtoy in Thai script. The air-hostess kept repeating to him, her name is dtoy, not toy, to which he replied yes, toy name her. It was a classy flight….i kinda took to John in the end, even though he was escorted off the flight by the time we landed

  12. If Old Nutter is keen on a bargain , The Cool Room , just down from Tops (same side)
    full English Breakfast all day 50 b then cross the road Paddy’s bar , beer 45b . Good sub

  13. so who will cover WW during his upcountry/out of phone/internet service adventure? Last year was epic and I’m sure we all were hoping for a repeat!..
    but if your blown up your blown up? and that’s that?
    RIP

  14. Jesus ,what a load of crap,reading all the above is kind of depressing,cheap hotels,ugly stupid old punters chasing even more stupid bar girls,and to top it off travelling home on a bus full of similar wankers.wow ,impressive-not.maybe you guys just dont know how to meet a decent lady here with brains and a good body,which is 1000x better than chasing bar girls that have been used and abused by similar shamefull people like you.to make it worse you go home and tell other people these great stories and more idiots come here-chasing the dream.
    sad really,there is more to life in thailand than that.

  15. BBB

    A great pleasure to read your drivel again

    I think Atheist Purgatory is a concept which could be developed

    Do you think that at some point the Pattaya expats may take offense to these characterizations? You may bring down the wrath of thousands of ignorant slugs, and that can’t be good

  16. Jesus – BBB is some good shit but that bassyfarang. that story is killing me – no wonder why the air hostesses think most of the farang are losers. It makes total sense given what they see all the time.

    u described it so well…

  17. Girlfriend: “You want eye in your drink”
    Me “Why the fuck do I want your eye in my drink?”
    Girlfriend: “Solly I meant eyes do you want eyes in your drink?”

  18. Cheers folks. Still lurking about down here in Atheist Purgatory. No pies here, as far as I can make out.

    A few responses, since I’ve got nothing better to do:

    @ssB: Ah, we hardly knew ya! It wasn’t a breakfast though. It was a pie. Pretty sure about that.

    @pmmp: Baccara Pattaya is a similar setup, downstairs looks up through a glass ceiling to upstairs. Was rammed though, and the real talent (the showgirls) were not on stage during my brief visit, so can’t really compare. Apparently the stage-side seats are actually recliners, so that you can look up without straining your neck. I had to sit on a barstool though, it was packed.

    @UCW: Sorry, I should have provided a Mexican alternative. Was struggling to think of an elderly Mexican with misguided facial hair, or a fat lady one. Hmmm, just for you:

    Addendum: Mexican readers may picture any male Mexican over the age of 35 fisting any female Mexican instead.

    @bassyfarang: Brilliant, and I don’t doubt it’s true either!

    @”mat”: I love you too. If you’d actually read the article, you’d notice that you’re actually making many of the same points I did.

    @Professor: I too thought it could be developed – until I sat down to do so.

    Bit dull down here. Might write my own eulogy while I’m waiting for the pie van. At least they’ve got internet.

  19. Great post as always BBB. You are the master in my eyes. Your words never fail to amuse. I beg to differ with your view nobody wants to hear about your adventures with regular girls away from the p4p scene. Do tell. If you care to share, I for one,care to hear. Thanks and keep up the great work.

  20. Mango Blog Heaven.
    The bar with Tubby and Roseanne – my guess is Club B….sche? I always drop there for one only, I’m too easily shocked to stay longer, but theres usually some filthy act taking place….

    @Mat – that’s exactly what I thought when I read Nabakov and Dickens

  21. Mat, Please tell us what is more important in Thailand. Is it the flora and fauna or do the temples turn you on? Guess you got burned by a few “bar girls”, and now all you want is conversation. Remember if miss goody two shoes balls you, there is someone else before you and after you.

  22. UnCochinoWetback: this gringo has to agree; Col. Sanders fist-fucking Rosanne Barr and I’m whipping out my cell cam and buying a round for the house. Corso Gold, of course.

    Sorry I just missed you in Pats, 3B. And now you’re in parts, yeah? Where did your much used pelvic bone end up impaled? Or has it been bronzed and memorialized in the Punters Hall of Fame on the site of the old Lucy’s Tiger Den?

    Semi-retirement might suit you for now, but we need these fun reads to continue.

    Nurseron: No shit on the LA/BKK run. There’s always Chan Dhara on Larchmont….

  23. It’s a sad moment for all of us who have followed BBB’s mythic spiritual quest; from the day he first stepped off the plane as a downy-cheeked youngster, his eyes bright with hope, through the fat ginger pisshead years of Cowboy, pestering tourists for the price of a ticket home, then a brief period as buff hi-so playboy, with quality fabrics and uni-girlfriend flicking through style magazines and sucking iced lattés in Emporium, to this: a scattered debris of body parts in a Pattya bus station.

    I suggest a memorial service, for all those he owed money/beers/food. We could charter a couple of buses or three and get down there to salvage his body parts for a beach barbeque. His left buttock alone would fill enough burgers for a busload of happy mourners.

  24. A BBB Memorial Party. Hmmm, sounds like a great idea. The next party up is a DocBond special on June 12th. Maybe we can ice the remaining body parts until the good Doctor arrives, or we can use the mango kitchen fridge so people can taste a little BBB essence with every bite of their food? We’ll have to do something. Pants, you laying claiming to any specific body parts?

  25. Hmm … I think I’d go for a delicate little morsel, rather than the fat belly steaks that will nourish the masses. Something you could fricassee with some fava beans and a fine Chianti.Something with no real muscle content. If we think of his body as an abattoir (pretty easy to do) – I’ll have the veal.

  26. A BBB BBQ Memorial beer bust wake at Mango sounds appropriate. Party favors should include tiny, one portion tubes of KY Jelly. On Nutter can deliver the eulogy in pidgin Thai: “Here lie mak mak farang small piece no good. Now no live but spirit stil big big butterfly man. We drink now.”

  27. BBB always turns his back to the camera – reminiscent (if you are an aged codger like me) of the time Paul McCartney did just that and started a rumour that he was dead. Maybe, like Macca, BBB will come back to life but start writing increasingly rubbish stuff until he becomes a national embarrassment, the scribes version of playing Live or Let Die to fireworks at the Superbowl, Red Square or to any other gullible nations who haven’t quite grasped how rubbish he has become.
    Very happy to hold a wake on 12th June provided it’s the sort of wake where topless women jiggle their baps in your face.

  28. Some great writing – laughed out loud a couple of times.
    Bar girl English when talking to a BG – rage.
    Bar girl English between westerners – double rage !!!

  29. @Hunch644: Wrong bar, but similar setup – and similar reaction!

    @Pants: Ginger? You what? Have you been licking the eels again? Tsk tsk.

    @doctorbond: To be fair, Macca has earned the right to pen a few stinkers!

    @Ingo: Only a couple of times? Pssh.

    Got to dash, the pies are here. Unfortunately they’re those pork ones with the jelly in. Rubbish…

  30. The dirty girls go go bar your elliptically refer to is The Windmill I presume. On the small soi that connects Soi Diamond to Second road. The nearby Heavens Above, upstairs on SD is one of my favourite GoGos in Pattaya.

  31. For breakfast in Pattaya- The Sportsmen- Soi 13 and the best Sunday Roasts or the nearby LeK Hotel _ All you can eat Breakfast buffet 150 baht and all you can eat dinners for 200 baht. All near TQ2 an all day Go Go with ST room etc. Near the 5 star bar for a sea view drink near an excellent Indian Curry house.

  32. Personally, I think the “mauve fishnet t-shirt” looks pretty good, especially when my nipples peek through…

  33. Just got back from patts..walked past baccara over several nights several times..never saw a soul in there, empty all the way, looked a tiny place too, unless i missed the boat, and there’s a heaving mass of flesh out back somewhere.

    btw don’t ever pay the 200bht to get into play club, next door to airport..never even bothered finishing my drink. Should have jarred a service girl on my way out, on a point of principle.

    There certainly is a lot of poorly attired vermin in patts, but i bumped into a few comical characters too. Drinking thai whisky from 6pm to noon the next day with them was perhaps misguided…glad its not really whisky.

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