Thailand Supershow: Saturday

This one's going to be a little short, because: 1) I should've gone to bed hours ago
2) The next and last post about Bangkok is probably going to be extra long, and
3) Not a fuck lot happened on Saturday. We were going to take the bus from Pattaya to Bangkok, but first we had a couple hours to kill. We decided to take in the sights:


Like this fine establishment, the "Porn Massage" parlor.


And "MASSAGE BY Blind men". Now, unlike a lot of my Thailand photos, this one is not accompanied by wistful, unfulfilled regrets. Oh yeah. We got us some blind massages.

The place was surprisingly roomy inside, and also surprisingly cheap when compared to other, non-blind prices I had seen (but unfortunately had not experienced; being preoccupied with diversions like skydiving and mushroom shakes didn't leave a lot of time for massages). So, my first and only Thai body massage was from a Of Mice and Men-looking young man who could've been anywhere from 13 to 30. Jessie's sight-challenged masseuse was an old woman half her size, but Jessie assures me her hands were no less powerful for it. I didn't have much time to compare though, because my body was busy being destroyed by a pair of hands that apparently fucking hated me. The real bitch of it was since he was blind, he would have to ask me to put myself into the positions that would allow him to better deliver the pain.

So after we were finished being broken in twain, we hopped on the bus to Bangkok, which was something like a couple hours away.


Sure, we had a few other options besides Bangkok, but we also had a plane to catch. Mars will wait.

Bangkok was...fuck it, I don't know. It was a big city, and the week had started to wear on me, and I think Jessie too. We went to the Chatuchak Weekend Market, which is the biggest market in Thailand according to Wikipedia, and yeah it was a pretty big goddamn market. I still wasn't able to find a decent hat. Jessie was too tired to do any nightlife stuff, so we found a hotel that was a little more expensive than we wanted, but near the airport.

There's no photos of Chatuchak Market, but here's what I do have for you:


This janky Doraemon statue,


and this decidedly more awesome Batman statue.

I know, I know. "What's the deal Jamie" you're asking. "Bangkok sounds lame, surely you found something to do in one of the most notorious cities in the world right." Oh boy did I ever. My last post will be about me taking the most terrifying boat ride ever, receiving a personal itinerary from a Thai cop, and advice about Viagra from a cab driver. I also see some palaces and statues and shit, but we both know you're here for the drugs. And you should be ashamed of yourself.

Thailand Supershow: Friday

Well, my excuses for not updating are getting to be old-hat, and by that I mean comfortable and probably a little smelly. So let's not dwell, shall we? Intensives end tomorrow, and after that I can get back to a more normal schedule of moderate to severe procrastination.

Friday!

When last we left our heroes, they were back on Ko Samui, about to fly over to Pattaya so I could dive some skies. The Ko Samui airport is seriously the coolest airport in the world:

It's all open air, beautifully designed, and chock-a-block with wicker chairs. I don't even know what chock-a-block means, but this airport has it in spades.



It wasn't all wicker and rainbows, however. Once again I had to ditch all the crap I had picked up from pharmacies in Ko Pha Ngan before I went through security, so that was another couple dollars I was out. I'm thrifty, okay?!

It's just as well, though, since I definitely wanted to be sober in time for this:

Skydiving! Yup, this is the place. Where planes are boarded, and then jumped out of.

Let's observe:

Keen-eyed viewers may notice me being a total dick and flipping off the camera. That was a great idea, especially since the staff of the place later all watched the video together with me. One woman who worked there just turned to me, confusion and hurt innocence in her eyes, and simply asked: "Why?" 'Cause I'm fucking punk, that's why. Also, I am so sorry. You may also notice Nirvana in the soundtrack there, because I think I told the cameraman who put the video together that I was from Seattle. Thus, Teen Spirit.

The plane we took up was the last for the day, so after we were all on the ground they made the next part of the itinerary crystal clear:

Us bitches was to drink beers. I'm not one to argue with professionals, so I complied.


6.4% beer is damn refreshing after falling a million feet out of the sky.

Even better is 5 beers.

One of the staff was shilling a Power Balance bracelet, which you can read about on your own time. His demonstrations seemed legit, but then that's kind of the point of kinesiology tricks.

Later we watched the skydiving scene from Fandango, which the instructors seemed to find a little too funny:



Enjoy the young Judd Nelson and unknown Kevin Costner. That kid's got a shot at the big time, I think.

When I got back to the hotel to meet up with Jessie, it was starting to get dark, which meant it was time to get a little crazy.

Fact: Crazy is one of the active ingredients in Thai Red Bull.

First stop was this giant street-side night market, where they sold anything you could want. We got some food, some fruit shakes, and took in the scenery.


Like this stand, that sold DVDs of people dying, like a horrible Southeast Asian Faces of Death collection.


Or these cages full of rabbits in tiny dresses.


Possibly less depressing than the snuff film stand, but personally I was more unsettled by the rabbits.


Too cute to be anything good. Just too damn cute.


They also had live music at the end of the street. A reggae band if memory serves, but I was already getting a little crazy on Red Bull and leftover adrenaline, so take it with a mountain of salt.

It was now time for Walking Street, proper. Notorious for being pretty much the sleaziest place in all of Thailand, and therefore the universe:

Sponsored by Samsung, your leading provider of quality electronics and nasty, nasty ping pong shows.

Here is Jessie, admiring the lights, the sounds, and the omnipresent 7-11s:


For cartoon-lovers and pedophiles everywhere, we have Doraemon Massage:

As much as I wish I had gone in, I'm also certain I would be on an unsavory list somewhere. Wait a second, Thailand doesn't have an FBI! Dammit!

Yup, it's a pretty impressive street. Maybe one of the best.

This photo was taken moments before we went to our first official Walking Street ping pong show. So without further ado, let me (finally) give you, readers of some low mind, the run-down on ping pong shows:

On the street, you'll find guys who approach you with laminated menus detailing whatever their bar offers. The menu usually has the names of about 50 different shows the girls can supposedly do, although in the 4 or so places we went we only saw a fraction of that menu, with a lot of repetition. The places say they don't have a cover, but your first drink will cost about 10 dollars over its actual price (and then subsequent drinks will be normal price). If you're lucky, the show will begin right when you get there or be already underway, but most of the time you have to sit for about 15 minutes and watch the world's least enthusiastic strippers sway listlessly to generic techno. These strippers often are wearing panties or even tops, showing just how little their heart is in it. I know everyone comes to these things to see the ping pong ladies, and it must be disheartening to know how everyone is just waiting for them to come out and doesn't care about you, but come on. A little professionalism, ladies.

Now, let's talk about some of the shows you might see the stocky, middle-aged mother types perform at these shows:

Ping Pong Show: I know what you're picturing when you hear the name, and I pictured the same thing too. A girl shooting ping pong balls out of her vagina at lightspeed, maybe actually playing a game with some brave volunteer from the audience. Sadly, it's totally wrong. What actually happens is the woman sticks one or two ping pong balls "all up ins" her, and then stands over a cup and tries to drop them in. A semi-impressive display of accuracy and muscle control, but certainly not the disgusting world-class table tennis match of my dreams. Oh, and at the end sometimes the girl will offer the ball to the audience, in case you want to put it in your mouth or something. I know this, because she mimed putting it in her mouth while looking at me, and in return I mimed a guy who wanted nothing to do with that goddamn ping pong ball.

Fish Show: The woman sucks up one or two goldfish out of a fishbowl into her lady parts, and then drops them into another bowl. Pretty standard stuff. Every time I saw it the goldfish made it out alive, and just maybe, a little happier.

Egg Show: I've seen a few things in my time, and I can honestly say, the Egg Show is something that I have seen. The aforementioned woman puts an egg inside her (in a brazen and ironic symbol of defiance against nature, I am sure), and once it is secure, she then slams her fucking pelvis as hard as she can against the floor. That thwump-thwump-thwump was the sound of angels being battered to death, and still haunts my nightmares. Afterward she would of course take the egg out to show that it was unbroken, but that was hardly the point. What she was breaking was my soul.

Flag Show: She would pull out a long string of miniature flags, like a scene in a clown porno.

Razor Show: She would pull out a long string covered in razor blades, like a scene in some awful deSade adaptation that Trent Reznor rips off for a music video. I'm sure there was some sort of trick to this, like with sword swallowing, but every time I think about it too much I get a roaring nose in my ears and my nose starts bleeding.

Needle Show: Same thing as the last two, but the string is instead covered with big 'ol needles, like one would use for sewing, and not for pulling out of their snatch.

Smoking Show/Cigarette Show: Unlike the Ping Pong show, this is exactly what you think. She smokes some cigarettes with her vagina. If you're really lucky and you've been a good boy all year, she might do two cigarettes at a time.

Marker Show: The woman writes something using a marker held by superhumanly strong kegel muscles. Usually the result is something like: Welcome to (Insert Club Name Here), or Good Luck. One show we went to actually took submissions from the audience of what to write, in exchange for a generous tip. After seeing this I was determined to get what was certain to be the best birthday present ever for people back home, but none of the shows we went to later would take submissions. Sorry guys, I tried.

Balloon Show: This was everything the Ping Pong show was not. They would pass out balloons among the audience, and using a blowgun mounted where you would expect, the woman would shoot out little paper darts and try to pop the balloons. This is what I wanted from you Thailand, and I was not let down. Jessie held the balloon, and we know they used paper darts because the lady missed the first time and we examined the wasted ammunition. I would've taken it home as a souvenir, except, gross.

Banana Show: My personal favorite. The staff hands out cups among the audience, and the lady then tries to launch a full goddamn peeled banana into your cup. And yes, both me and Jessie held cups. And yes, we both did manage to catch the bananas in our cups (prison slang?), unlike the loser couple sitting next to us. I did however miss the first time, which resulted in me getting pussy-banana slime all down the front of my shirt. Ultra gross to the max. That banana I caught though, after seeing her pelvis readjust its aim like the most erotic artillery, was the best moment I had in all of Thailand. Fuck bungee jumping and skydiving, I have never wanted a t-shirt for something so bad in my entire life.

Even with all the ping pong shows in all the world, I still wish I had seen Thai Elvis.

So many regrets. So, so many regrets.

Next time (hopefully soon): Saturday, in Bangkok. One of the most insane and terrifying days I have ever had, bar none. If that's not a ringing endorsement, I don't know what is.

Edit: Sunday is actually what you're looking for. Saturday is pretty boring but hey, completionists are people too.

Thailand Supershow: Thursday

Oh man, I am sorry about that wait. Trying to pound blog posts out while teaching intensives was not the best choice. Another not-so-great choice: 9 hour workdays, and waking up at 8am 4 days a week. Thanks, job. Anyhoo, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, we can move right on to Thursday:

I wake up, proud of myself for having survived last night, ominous tarot prophecies be damned. Actually, I can give myself a pat on the back there: after Jessie went to bed, I wasn't quite tired, so I decided I would go back down to the beach for another drink, maybe another shake, and see what happened. It was when I got past the porch (and noticed that our dog had moved to another, perhaps cooler, porch) that I realized I couldn't remember the way back to the beach, and even if I was to make it there and get even more fucked up, there was no way I'd be able to make it back to the guest house. Rape-free, at least. The whole situation seemed to be exactly what that Tower card wanted, and I wasn't going to give it the satisfaction. After giving the dog another couple belly rubs, I went back into our room and retired. I am pretty sure this rare moment of lucidity is the only reason I'm not dead, in a Thai prison, or worshiped as a skinny god somewhere.

So anyways, with that crisis averted I was in good sorts on Thursday morning, which is the morning we had decided to finally ride a goddamn elephant. Taxi cabs around the islands always have a laminated tourist map in the back so passengers can just point to whatever touristy thing they want to be taken to, and we gave a truly vigorous point to that little laminated elephant picture.

At the elephant ride place:

This is their backup elephant, I guess. He was just hanging out. The elephant we took was already suited up and ready to dance:

Oh yeah. We doing this. Me and the elephant are gonna have the greatest time and we'll bond so when I'm gone and the moon is full he'll let out a soft elephant cry and his owners will shake their heads wistfully, trying to console the gentle beast, but to no avail.

So, that whole elephant cry thing actually came true. Although instead it was more of an elephant scream, and it was because the owner was hitting it in the head with this fun number:

Every time the elephant would stop to eat some grass, or to freak out at a passing car, the owner would just wail on its skull with that wicked-looking hammer/velociraptor claw tool.

Oh yeah, and we passed the rare and mythical Elephant Shityard:


And some wild cock. Cocks.


It wasn't all dung-fields and elephant-abusing though. We had some good views:




Back at the camp (about half an hour short of our promised hour ride, I am almost positive) we stopped for some pictures. Here we are astride our noble companion:


And another (with our tour guide trying his damndest to lean out of the way):


And another, now that the elephant is tired of posing:


Now that we could cross "Ride the fuck out of an elephant" off our to-do lists, we still had some time to kill before catching the ferry back to Ko Samui. There was a waterfall on the taxi's tourist map, why not check that out?

After about 80 billion hours of walking through stifling hot jungle, we reach where the waterfall is supposed to be. There's some sort of guesthouse built in the area, and a foreigner hanging out asks us if we're here to see the waterfall. We give the affirmative, he takes a sip of his drink, chuckles, and points us to this:


No, that's no trick of scale or proportion, dear reader. Here I am, standing next to the mighty waterfall in all its thunderous glory:

Fuck you, Nature. Seriously. Fuck. You. Also, a special fuck you to the cab driver who picked us up and confided that "the waterfall might have dried up a little this time of year". Fuck you and everything you stand for.

We did, however, successfully relax on the beach.


Or at least, Jessie did.


Meanwhile, I had to "use the facilities" something fierce, and apparently there were no bathrooms anywhere around the beach, Thailand, or the world. I finally found the back of a restaurant I could use (and by that I mean the bathroom in the back, I didn't shit in an alley or something) and bought a beer. After all that hard work it was time again to visit a pharmacy, since I had to throw away everything before our plane flight to Ko Samui, and I didn't have the foresight to realize I would have to throw away everything again tomorrow before the flight to Pattaya.

By this point, I was getting tired of valium (zing! 'cause, it makes you tired? no?) and ineffectual ritalin and was wracking my brains for something new to try that I could conceivably get without a prescription. My conversations with pharmacists became a lot more like this:

Me: Can I get something for, I dunno, pain relief? Like, bad pain?
Pharmacist: What kind of pain?
Me: Fuck, I dunno. Back pain? That's the worst, right?
Pharmacist: Here be drugs.

When I finally got back to Jessie at the beach, I was too worn out to rent a jetski, and just swam around for awhile till we had to catch the ferry to Ko Samui. My memory of our night in Ko Samui is a little fuzzy, but I'm pretty sure we just went to a ping pong show or two and drank a bunch. However, I will wait for the post about Friday in Pattaya before I give the skinny on ping pong shows, because Pattaya is infamously sleazy, and also because I have to wake up super early to teach tomorrow. See, we all suffer.

Thailand Supershow: Wednesday

Alright, Wednesday! Now we're talking! We're finally saying goodbye to Phuket and catching a plane to Ko Samui (because fuck taking an 8 hour bus ride and then a 4 hour ferry), and then the boat to Ko Pha Ngan. But first, bungee jumping!

After checking out and making our guest house cook us breakfast extra late, I asked the front desk about where to bungee jump. She informs me that there are two places: one run by New Zealanders that is in Patong Beach, 60 meters high, and uninsured, and another run by Australians that is outside Patong Beach, 50 meters high, and fully insured. Looks like we're going with the Kiwis.

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures of the jump (although Jessie might), so instead here a photo of the handsome laminated certificate I received:


And a t-shirt that is two sizes too big:

Anyways, the jump itself was pretty cool. Basically they take you to the top of a crane and you jump over a large pool/lake deal. 60 meters doesn't seem too high until you realize you've been in that crane elevator 2 minutes and you're still not at the top. My favorite part was when right before I was about to jump, the guy asks if I mind getting a little wet, I jump, and find out that you actually hit the water and get submerged for a few seconds on that first drop. It was a good 10 or 15 minutes before I realized afterward that my face was covered in snot. Then on to Ko Samui!

The only photo of that journey is this sign in the bathroom:

I'm not one to judge, but I think a toilet that cannot flush toilet paper is, well, not the best. Anyways, the airport at Ko Samui is amazing, but more on that tomorrow. Next, we took the ferry to Ko Pha Ngan, checked into our guest house (that cost a bit more than we would've liked, but it was near the beach and you know what I don't have to explain myself to you! you're not my mom!) and after a little while of fucking around in an internet cafe it was night.

Nighttime on the beach. Here, we have the infamous Magic Mountain:

But we will come back to you. First we needed food. Look at this starving face:

Heartbreaking.

Jessie agrees that food is in order:


So does her new Totoro bag:

You always know best, Totoro.

The restaurant we were sitting at also had a full bar and bucket drink selection.

Bucket drinks are exactly what they sound like (and very similar to those I have had at Bar Guess in previous blog posts, but at a third of the price): a bucket full of cheap, strong liquor and a mixer like Red Bull or something equally heinous.

After eating, it was finally time to check out Magic Mountain. Can you guess what they're known for?


That's right: Meth-I mean, Mushroom shakes!

Totoro looks excited, even if Jessie is unimpressed.


The place was unsurprisingly very mellow and ambient inside:


After 2 shakes at 15 dollars a pop, I've taken about all the hallucinogenics my wallet can handle. While the shakes actually tasted pretty decent, unfortunately I didn't experience any hallucinations, just a decent head high. Certainly not a high worth 30 bucks.

Walking back to the beach, we pass an old guy doing tarot card readings on a blanket in the sand. I've never done a tarot reading before, but then I've never paid 30 bucks for a decent buzz before. We were breaking some barriers tonight.

I sit down and do the reading, trying my hardest not to fall over or laugh uncontrollably or vomit or something as the shrooms start to kick in a little more. The cards tell the man that I am good with money, I will live a long time, and I am incredibly trustworthy and honest. So far so true. Finally he looks at my future, and my last card is The Tower. I don't know how much you know about Tarot, but I know enough to know that's pretty much the worst thing that can happen in a Tarot reading. Even the old guy has trouble soft-pedaling it, and tells me to "Be careful in the future when you, uh, do, hm, anything". You got it, Oh Wise Sage. Jessie then gets her Tarot read, which was far more positive than mine, and we head off down the beach to places where I can no doubt be healthy and honest and possibly fraught with disaster.

What to do, what to do? Oh, I guess we could get wasted on one of those buckets. Man Totoro, you crazy. You crazy, man. But yeah let's do that. Along the beach were about a dozen of these stalls selling nothing but bucket drinks:


Now, you may think Thailand's canny tourist marketing has noticed that foreigners like Swearing (a lot), but I prefer to imagine that there's one bucket drink salesman with Tourette's, and the rest of these stalls like to show solidarity. Filthy, profane solidarity. We decide to go to the JAMIE stall, because, come on. If you would like to find it yourself, it is located conveniently between the ROMEO FUCK MY PUSSY SEX BUCKET stall and the EVERYBODY FUCKING BUCKET JOHNNY BOY CLUB stall.


We order a vodka and Red Bull bucket for about 3 bucks, and split it between us. The guy then starts giving us homemade necklaces and rings, and informs us that if we buy 4 more buckets, we'll get one free. Excuse me, Mr. JAMIE ROCKSTAR Fucking Strong BoomBoom BUCKET, but do I look like some kind of rampant alcoholic to you?! Wait, fuck.

At least I was the prettiest alcoholic at the I DON'T GIVE A FUCK I JUST WANT TO FUCK ball.

Between the bucket and the mushrooms hitting their peak, I was in a pretty good state when the fire dancer guys came out:





They did some pretty neat stuff like throwing their fire dealies around the beach to each other and (usually) catching them.

Alas, eventually we had to retire to our guesthouse, but first Who's a good dog?! Yes you are! Yes you are!

This lovable scamp started following us around, and camped out on our porch while we lay wasted in a hammock.

Goodbye forever, Adopted Dog In Ko Pha Ngan. We had some good times together.

Tomorrow: We ride an elephant, see the world's most disappointing waterfall, and I'll finally give the dirt on ping pong shows! Probably the post you don't want your grandparents to read.