Thank You for Smoking!

Bangkok

It’s time to admit to a perversion that goes beyond my affection for the Washington State Cougars football team: I have developed a fascination with Thai women who smoke. Not all of them; just the ones who do it in a slow, sensual manner.

Unfortunately, smoking is becoming less and less popular in Thailand. The government forces tobacco companies to adorn each pack with pictures of tumors, eaten-out throats and receding, blackened gums. (The people posing for these photos look almost as miserable as WSU football fans come early November.) However, this does not seem to deter certain segments of the population. For example, I’ve never witnessed a Thai bar girl, overcome by the gruesome photos, crush out her half-smoked Menthol L & M in revulsion.

My favorite smoker can be found just down the road from my apartment, a couple blocks from the go-gos of Nana Plaza. Her working name is “Kinky Girl Cat”, a Fetish Mistress who at age thirty is still “working her way through school”. She specializes in the kind of activities that most of us would not want to know the details about, but has nonetheless become my evening nicotine-watching fix.

“Hello Cat! How are you?”

“Oh, Monte! I OK, but no customers tonight. You want spanking?”

“Ah, no thanks. But I have a present for you!”

“L & M cigarettes? Why you give me?”

“It’s because I care.”

Baffled by my generosity, she nevertheless opens the pack, pries out the first pleasure stick and prepares to light up.

“Do people smoke in your country?”

“Not many. Smoking is a dirty, filthy habit… Is your lighter working? Here, I brought one with me.”

“I not need…” A brief flash. The first, deep breath and slow exhale. “Tell me really, why people not smoke in America?”

Mesmerized by the wafting carcinogenic fumes, I’m slow to reply.

“Huh? What did you say? Oh, about smokers in America. Well, the government makes rules. For example, no smoking in public places.”

“What ‘public places’ mean?”

“Restaurants and bars. Customers must go outside and smoke twenty-five feet away.”

“How they know twenty-five feet?”

“It is where all the cigarette butts are lying on the ground. And in Seattle, if they are near running water, I think they also have to wear some kind of life jacket.”

“Life jacket?”

“Not important. Seattle wants smokers to feel bad.”

“If feel bad, tell them to come Bangkok. They can smoke no problem and I whip them good!”

And so my faith in human nature remains unshaken, knowing there are compassionate people like Mistress Cat; a kind of erotic Statue of Liberty beckoning to all nations for their poor, their perverted, their three-pack-a-day sufferers, all longing to be free.

Iranian Terrorism 101

Somewhere in Tehran, Iran

Good morning class! It is a true pleasure to see your smiling faces, eager and willing to lay down your lives for the Supreme Leader of the Iranian People. As you know, our topic this morning is the recent aborted mission in Bangkok and the lessons we can learn from it.

Let us first be sure we understand our goals: our government has decided the best way of convincing a sceptical world of our peaceful nuclear intentions is through the murder of Israeli diplomats. Why Israelis, you may ask. Well, we have to kill someone, don’t we? Might as well be the Zionists.

On to today’s main topic. The terrorist cell we had implanted in Bangkok consisted of three of our finest agents: Shish, Kebob and Morondai. I think it is fair to say the first error they made was in accidentally blowing up the house where they were making the detonation devices. Even in a self-absorbed city like Bangkok, this can — and did — attract unwanted attention.

Inexplicably rattled by the event, the trio’s mission quickly dissolved into a wild exodus from the premises. It was here that the second mistake was made. When a taxi refused to pick him up, Morondai lobbed one of his homemade bombs at it, demolishing the vehicle. While this has not met with universal condemnation — I hear a group of Westerners living in Bangkok, fed up with cab drivers not willing to take them where they wish to go, are putting together an award for him — this lacks the kind of subtlety we expect from our operatives.

Morondai’s second target — a Thai police car — was also ill-considered. However this time his aim was slightly off. Rather than connecting with the blue and white, the device rebounded off another vehicle before rolling up to his feet where it finally exploded, taking off one of his legs. (The other was later amputated at a Bangkok hospital — all praise to the Supreme Leader!).

This entire mission was, frankly, an embarrassment to all involved. In the words of a Western commentator, it makes us look like a bunch of bomb-throwing Keystone Kops, whatever that means. But we will not be deterred! As I speak, Shish and Kebab are at work developing a way to cripple the Thai sex tourism industry via exploding silicon implants, while the wheelchair-bound Morondai is now employed as a Hazardous Materials Coordinator with DHL (a freight forwarding company). Even if he continues to accidently dismember himself, there’s at least a chance he will take a fellow employee or two with him.

The infidels will yet feel our righteous wrath (or at least aggravating misdeliveries)! Class dismissed.

Skirmish With a Ladyboy

Bangkok

First, some background. The term “ladyboy” refers to men in this country who dress up as women. This condition — if that is the proper word — is largely accepted by Thai society. Ladyboys can be found working in all kinds of jobs such as the cosmetics section in drugstores or even as bank tellers. Admittedly these occupations pale in comparison to the United States, where a cross-dressing man can become head of the FBI, but they suffice.

Like all things in life, there are both good and bad permutations of the species. The latter can be found in the area around the go-gos and bars of Nana Plaza in the post-midnight hours, aggressively soliciting unwary tourists. They must do good business as any given night will see well over a dozen lined up along Soi 4, checking their makeup and chatting with their friends.

My issue with them is their boldness. When passing by on my way home, a few of the bolder ones will sometimes grasp my arm and when I say (in Thai) no thanks, they won’t let go, even going so far as to intensify the encounter. In the past month, I’ve had my left nipple twisted (ouch!) and my crotch grabbed. Though the standard advice is go out of your way to avoid these night creatures, I decided I wasn’t going to cede the street to them. If my wishes would not be respected, then I would escalate. It is not just my distaste at being touched; some of the ladyboys are pickpockets and use the close contact to try and lift a fellow’s wallet. This had happened to a tourist staying at my hotel/apartment complex few days earlier.

To dissuade my would-be muggers, I decided to employ my folded, compact umbrella. If they were going to ignore my protests, I could use it as a club to swat at their hands. This tactic got its first trial a few nights ago. While talking with a couple of streetwalkers (women), a ladyboy strolled up and took hold of my arm. When I declined the offer and he began to press in, I swung and knocked his hands away. Unfortunately, this had the exact opposite effect of what I’d intended. Before I knew it, he was screaming and swinging his purse at me. I responded with another swipe that connected solidly to the head, but this seemed only to further enrage him. Startled, I retreated across the street where I stumbled and fell. As I lay there, a lady’s high-heeled shoe landed next to me. It seemed my assailant was going to attack with his entire wardrobe.

Scrambling to my feet, I retrieved my weapon I had dropped and continued to back up. Reaching the other side of the street, we squared off again and I landed a third umbrella blow, this one around his ear which had to hurt, but didn’t slow him down one bit. Who would have thought an effeminate guy in makeup and a dress could absorb this kind of punishment?

That last blow had bent the shaft of my impromptu club, rendering it useless. So I initiated Plan B: run for it! The ladyboy followed in hot pursuit, throwing his high heels at me, then pausing to pick them up for another toss. This reloading allowed me to open up some distance between us. Finally, about a block from my apartment, a motorcycle taxi driver who had witnessed the scene drove up to inform me that my assailant had given up the chase. I was hugely relieved as I did not want him to discover where I lived. It was scary, how furious he had gotten.

Being a red-blooded American, my inclination is to now begin toting a baseball bat. But besides looking silly (and just asking for trouble), this kind of weapon could easily inflict serious damage; injuries that the Thai police might frown upon. Their sympathies in a conflict of this nature are always going to be with their fellow Thais, meaning that even if I (in my view) justifiably defend myself, I could wind up in jail.

There is absolutely no point in doing anything deliberately foolish in a foreign country. So, I am going to begin curtailing my explorations of the seamy Bangkok nightlife. I have nothing against ladyboys or the transgendered; I simply do not want another altercation.