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Andy Whorehole Hits up Studio 69

Posted by Rick Salasar

AKA PB Party Hounds Bay at the Moons

Herr Partymeister finally managed to drag me out on one of his posh weekend whirlwinds of wine, women and other fun games.

A most excellent chap from Europe was having a birthday and there I was promised food, drink and women. Hot Thai women. Having met several of Lance's "Official Support Team" before, I was more than eager to make the date.

After the usual round of that great Sukhumvit back sois game, taxi-maze, and 20 minutes of one of Lance's wimin trying to guide my driver over the phone, we drove past Windsor Castle. Luckily, it turned out not to be Berkshire in England but rather one of those truly classy facades SE Asians think is da shit, yo. I was relieved to see MC Lance hanging outside the front gate of the next condo.

We finally made it up to party level where I was introduced to a nice pad with the biggest Sony LCD flat panel TV I have ever seen, an inviting spread of tasty looking Thai delicacies. And some very nice food. A fellow homie and chemical brother was busy putting the TV through its paces by guiding a nicely-rendered Playstation driving game through some dark and dangerous late-night streets. It looked remarkably like the taxi ride I had just taken.

As per usual, most partygoers quickly moved through the food, alcohol, food and CDs of pumping anthems and onto an increasingly entertaining morning. The girls were really getting into the party mood and we were having to alternate between keeping them happy on the dance floor and happy on the sumptuous designer sofas.

Most of the girls had brought wealthy young men to keep them entertained for the foreseeable future. These were some cool guys and I didn't want to "tread on any toes". I considered making my usual offer of a round of Twister and Jell-O (truly a game for all ages) but it looked unlikely that I would be getting my just desserts.

Knowing that I would be seeing more of the ladies in the future, as the first rumblings about moving onto a flash disco down the street began, I hatched a dastardly plan to head off and collect my girlfriend from her place of employment for some improvised party games of our own.

Nuff respect to my taxi driver who appeared to have been practicing hard on the big Sony and Playstation. He deftly negotiated Bangkok streets made ultra-busy by being both a cool night and the first Friday after payday.

I lucked out and arrived five minutes after drunken teens from the bar next door had held a small pitched battle in the street, culminating in someone being shot on the pavement outside. Quelle downeur. In any case, the bar area at the back is built of solid concrete (yes, I checked it carefully) and the owner invited me to stand back there. So I hunkered down underneath the rather ironic movie poster for the 1983 classic, The Outsiders, to fill sandbags and get ready to lay down a withering fire. Or just duck.

Luckily, though, Thailand, famous around the world for copying everything else, has yet to start aping the classic Compton retribution drive-by.

Outside were the usual traffic-thwarting queues of taxis this neighbourhood always has at night. Groups of gay men and women, ladyboys, thrusting young men (Thailand's answer to the UK high street) and dolled-up girls milled about while a worked-up traffic cop continually wagged his tongue, fingers, eyebrows and exasperated consternation at the taxi drivers and a few likely lads.

One chap who thought he would make like "down teh Chigwell high street" thought it unfeasably genius to smoke the front tires of his shitbox Carina away from the curb. Even in a 1992 Carina, you can do that with bald tires, it seems. A couple of senior cops on a chainsaw-powered riding lawnmower - I mean police motorcycle - were not so impressed and set off in, if not rapid pursuit, at least a good deal of buzzing and blue smoke.

The wee-hours escapade took a took a last turn into Soi Surreal when three over the top khatoey arrived at "our" bar while I was downing some pork n veggie soup delicacy outside. The most moody of the boa-flicking trio pointed at the bar's front door and remonstrated à la Diana Ross on pills about a combination of telephone and someone called "Ah". Three large gentlemen in plain clothes arrived and "took control" in what I have to say was a remarkably calm and calming manner.

Sources report Miss Moodybeeyatch had slept with a young penispuppet a few days earlier and her phone had subsequently gone missing. After a few days of walking the local street for something other than a john, la diva had ascertained the whereabouts of another young manglove who knew the suspect and should call him to request retrieval of said phone.

Whether it was set to vibrate and secreted somewhere one not ought to was not "revealed". Romany fanny is one thing but I think I'll take the cash prize today, Bob.

We reckoned now was a good time to jump in a taxi and go home, so I pointed out the brand new shocking pink Toyota taxi in front of us and we went home in the style to which we had become accustomed.

Posted Jul 02, 2005 at 10:03 PM | Permalink |