Thai reflexions

I am in Thailand, and this wonderful country has made me think a lot about sex. This is quite rare for me, since I am usually only thinking about how to make the world a better place for myself. Still, sometimes I get distracted. I am only human. This pious country has also made me think about religion. The Catholic one, of course, not this strange colourful stuff they worship here. It is only natural that I should end up by thinking about the two together.

The question that has been bugging me for days is this one. Did Jesus have a hard-on when he died on the cross? That happens to most people who die of asphyxiation. It would certainly explain the impressively high concentration of Marias thereabout.

Since I am attending a conference on investment issues, I have also been thinking about finance a lot. I came up with two really good investment ideas, but for some reason people didn’t really pick them up. Probably because they are terribly boring and bourgeois.

First of all, hedge funds should tap into the market of gyms in developing countries. Not only would they make us rich visitors happy, by allowing us to burn off some of the fat we accumulate in these endless conferences, but they would also get more young men into body-building, and make us more happy to pay them for sex.

Secondly, hedge funds should support investment into illegal immigration of unskilled youths towards the developed world. The returns would be very high and shareholders would not only profit from these, but also from the presence of hunky young men back at home, possibly turning into rent boys to make a living.

Oh I do love Jesus and the endless inspiration he gives me!

[and those hunky Thai boxers, who alas are not here but in Australia...]

Cucumbers

P recalls his latest meal with F, F's "friend", and an out-of-town-guest; P, curious to know where the conversation would go next, turns on his video camera…

P: So, what would you like to talk about?

[pause]

F: [giggling like a pervert in a sex toy shop] I have another question…hee, hee.

P: Another question about what, F?

F: Have you ever thought about anal penetration? [clearly unaware that he has asked us all this very question 50 times; he already knows the answer!]

P: About what?

F: [oblivious to the fact that we all heard him, as did the table behind us] Anal penetration!

F's "friend": [blushing]

P: Why would I ever think about that?

F: I mean, as an individual. You're a smart… [Editor's note: no idea what thinking about anal penetration has to do with being an individual or smart.]

P's out-of-town-guest: [earnestly] Do you recommend it to heterosexuals too?

F: I would try…because it's different.

P: What's different?

F: It's like…well, have you ever tried ice cream?

[pause]

P's out-of-town-guest: What flavour ice cream is it like?

F: Chocolate! It like you have never tasted chocolate ice cream and you eat it for the first time! [very camp] It's like, "oh my god!" But, like haven't you ever even tried with a finger up your ass? [visual simulation of what the finger might look like]

P's out-of-town-guest: You haven't done that, P?

P: No.

P's out-of-town-guest: What about a cucumber?

P: Yes.

F: [unaware of sarcasm] Oh, really!!!

P: Come on?! Everyone's tried to put a cucumber up their ass.

F: [still unaware of sarcasm] Oh no, I don't think they have!

P: [to F's "friend"] You?

[no answer...gurgling sound and change of topic]

Let them pay

Dinner over at G's, A and J are eating sausage and potatoes. F is late as usual. Arrives, sits, complains about lack of bread, then starts stuffing his face.

J.: You look smart, all suited and booted. Did you have some important meeting?
F.: No, this is how I dress every day. It's because I am becoming chubby.
J.: !??
F.: Yes. I don't attract new lovers with my body any more. So I show them I might have money, like I am a banker or something, and they hope they might get paid at the end of performing sex with me. Only then do I tell them I work for charity (I don't tell them it's posh, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference)...
A.: That's bollocks. You only pick up in saunas. And without glasses. So you can't tell how ugly they are. The suit is just to hide your fat, not to facilitate your seduction moves.
F.: Fuck off.
A.: Fat arse.
F.: Anyway, I have an important job. [turns to J.] I organise international events, you know. I will be organising one in Portugal soon. And then I have to go to China. Oh and Putin wants my help too, so I'll return to Russia too. He's such a lovely guy.
A.: Yes, just ask those who are languishing in his prisons. Lovely guy, sure. Shame you never actually met him, blagger. And don't worry about global warming, really. Why should you?
F.: That's right, why should I? [turns to G.] By the way, I just got an Iraqi speaker for my next conference. I am SOOOOOOO happy!
G.: What does he do?
F.: I don't know. He's from Iraq. That's all I need to know. I am collecting nationalities, and when they come from warzones it's even better.
A.: So people will come to this conference to hear about third sector networks and you will present them with a speaker from a country that is virtually cordoned off from the rest of the world. What use is that?
F.: You're so boooring. He's from Iraq! He'll tell stories of big muscular American soldiers raping everybody and make everyone weep! That's what people want!!
A.: You're talking like the head of Fox News Corporation...
F.: Lovely Fox News. So interesting, not like booooooring BBC or worse. They should be my media partners...! Let me see if I have their business card here... Let's see... No, nothing here... [pausing for a second, in reflection] Maybe I should go to Iraq? There are lots of soldiers there... and I know what I could do to make those big Americans horny...! I could dress in one of those Guantanamo orange suits...
A.: [leaves the room to go attempt suicide]

Over dinner

F, P and A in a dimly-lit room, eating pasta with shrimps. Morcheeba are playing in the background.

F.: So what's the first film you wanked to?
A.: [carries on eating]
P.: [carries on eating]
F.: Oh, boooooring! C'mon! Ok, I'll tell you. ROOTS! I LOVED WANKING TO ROOTS!!! All those BIG, muscular black men, their sweat dripping off their foreheads... Yummmmm... And I remember, there was this character, this white slavemaster, he was a bit gay, you know, and he had this lover, who also was gay, and FRENCH. They're all GAY, the French. Actually, no, they were in another film I loved wanking to when I was a kid, MANDINGO. Oh, GOD, he was SOOOOOOOO sexy! The way he took that white woman. Mmmmm...
A.: Is that why you've started downloading tons of straight porn with black guys fucking white women onto MY computer? Feeling nostalgic for those trash movies that were made to titillate the fantasies of the bored white middle-classes of the 1970s?
F.: Silly! I just like they way they treat women. Actually... the truth is...
P.: Yes?
F.: I'd like to BE one of those women! OH THE FUN I'D HAVE!!! I'd have one black man every night of the week, and then 3 or 4 at the time over the weekend!!!
A.: Yeah, you wouldn't want to over-do it, uh?
P.: Isn't that the amount of black men you spleep with weekly anyway?
F.: I wish. No, gay men are boooooooring. Women are so lucky. If only they knew the fun they could have with those LOVELY black men...!
P.: You talk like my grandmother, who came from the South, and spoke with this strong drool about those 'niiiiice black people who lived in a niiiiice little house behind ours, and always came to light the fire'!
F.: WOW!!! YOUR GRANDMOTHER HAD SLAVES?!?!?! OH MY GOD... I'M SO JEALOUS!!!!
P.: No, stupid. Slavery was abolished in the US ages before my grandmother was born.
F.: Oh. Shame.
A.: Tosser. Finish your food. This is the last time I'm cooking for you.
F.: Booooring!!!!!!

Culinary is spelled with a C

Monday mornings are never my forte. I know it'll be another 6 days before some kind man takes pity on me and buggers me senseless in some crusty backroom. All I can look forward to is the sight of those awful office girls, their fat dripping through their ridiculous outfits. And, of course, of my beloved assistant B.

To everyone else, B. is a wonderful colleague: trustworthy, intelligent, sweet, patient, efficient, enthusiastic and what not. All you'd ever want from your assistant. To me, he's the epitomy of Englishness: boring, emasculated, unimaginative, predictable, obedient, did I mention boring? I feel I am stuck in a sexless marriage with a boring woman that I cannot evade, mainly because no one else would (metaphorically) iron my shirts every day of the week, Sunday included.

So, in response to this unbearable situation, or simply to spice up my days, I like to remind B. who the boss is (that's me, just in case you were wondering...).

B.: Yum...! (he murmurs, opening a lunch box)
Me: What's THAT?!?! (recoiling in horror)
B.: That... what?
Me: THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!!!!!!! (pointing in disgust at the contents of the aforementioned lunch box)
B.: Do you mean the baked beans?
Me: NO! I MEAN THAT HORRID RED VOMIT IN YOUR LUNCH BOX!!!!!!!
B.: It's not vomit! These are baked beans. They're good for you!
Me: Good my ASS! Listen to me, boy. I come from a CULTURE with THOUSANDS OF YEARS of culinary history. You come from one that barely knows the difference between parsley and chicken. Don't think for a moment that YOU can tell ME what is GOOD!!!!!
B.: But...
Me: SHUT UP! The point is that what you are about to eat is SHIT!!! Would you feed SHIT to your brain, eh? Would you?
B.: ...
Me: I'll tell you! NO! You wouldn't! So why would you feed shit to your body instead, eh? Eh?

I am particularly proud of the last argument, which really made me feel quite smug. I usually use it with Italians, but the other way round, telling them to stop feeding shit to their brains, the way they would never feed shit to their bodies. Anyway, in the end B. was adamant he'd eat his beans, so I made him leave the room and return only when they'd no longer offend my eyesight.

Lesson for you plebs: If you want the message to reach its audience, make sure it is culturally sensitive!

At the Airport

I arrived at the airport well-before the flight. One entire hour, minute less, minute more. With all this ridiculous hoo-ha about security in airports, they expect us to arrive 3 hours before departure. Like I have this kind of time to spare, honestly! What do they expect.

So I turn up at the Kenya Airways check-in, sweating lightly.

- Good afternoon, sir! Where will you be travelling today sir?
- To Nairobi.
- You mean on the 8:45 leaving in 40 minutes, sir? (ok, not quite one hour beforehand, but still...!)
- That's right. Hurry up because I don't want to miss it.
- I am sorry sir, but check-in is closed for this flight. You should have arrived 3 hour...
- WHAT!!?!?!
- I am saying, sir...
- I DON'T GIVE A F*** WHAT YOU ARE SAYING. GET ME ON THIS FLIGHT NOW!!!
- But sir, I really...
- I AM AN IMPORTANT... VERY IMPORTANT DELEGATE TO THE WORLD SOCIAL FORUM? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS?!?!? DO YOU KNOW YOUR COUNTRY IS HOSTING IT AND BECAUSE OF YOU I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO TAKE PART IN THIS HUGELY IMPORTANT EVENT?!?!? OF WHICH I AM POSSIBLY THE MOST IMPORTANT UK REPRESENTATIVE?!?!?!
- I am sorry sir, but airport regulations...
- I REALLY DON'T GIVE A F*** ABOUT AIRPORT REGULATIONS!! THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME WITH BRITISH AIRWAYS!! FOR ONCE THAT I TRUST AND GIVE MY MONEY TO AN AFRICAN AIRLINE, THIS IS HOW YOU PAY ME BACK!?!?!?!
- Sir, I am not in a position...
- ARE YOU GOING TO LET ME ON BOARD OR NOT!??!?!?!?
- I am sorry sir... but...
- FINE! LET ME TELL YOU, I'LL MAKE SURE NO UK ORGANISATION, EVER, EVER AGAIN, BOOKS WITH KENYA AIRWAYS. I'LL CALL *** WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR ARRANGING TRAVEL FOR ALL THE UK CHARITIES AND NGOS, AND MAKE SURE YOU ARE OFF THEIR LISTS. YOU BETTER START LOOKING FOR ANOTHER JOB, MY FRIEND. AND IF AFRICA REMAINS UNDERDEVELOPED, YOU ONLY HAVE YOURSELVES TO BLAME!!!

I know, perhaps the last line was a bit out of context. But guess what? They didn't make me pay a penny to reschedule the flight to the following day!

Lesson for you plebs: Provided you are loud enough, and pretend to be important enough, sooner or later no security rule will apply to you! Fabulous!

On 9/11

Over dinner, 2 days ago, with P and A:

P: So what did you feel when those planes flew into the World Trade Center?
Me: Nothing. Nothing at all.
P: ...!
Me: Well, actually, I went to download some porn with some Arab guys in it and wanked.
P: ...!!!
Me: WHAT!?!?
P: You're a monster!!!
Me: WHY!!??! Tell me, for example: do you ever desire to possess your girlfriend in an unnatural manner?
P: ??
A: He means bugger her.
P: Oh... well, no, not really... why?
Me: See? You don't want to penetrate her from behind. I didn’t feel a thing on 9/11. Same thing.