Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Rosarito, Mexico

After I got back from Southeast Asia all I wanted to do was leave again. I had the “travel bug” or whatever it is you retards call it. All I knew is that there was so much of the world that I wanted to see and I better get on that shit before I drop dead. My buddy from college, Frazier and I decided to drive down to the Baja peninsula of Mexico. We didn’t really plan anything out other than looking at a few spots that we could camp on the beach. I figured that nothing says adventure like camping on the beach in fucking Mexico. Between living in Colorado for a few years and my Southeast Asia trip I decided that staying in hotels was pretty fucking stupid if there was any way around it. Why spend the money when you can camp or sleep in the car? 
 Frazier and I headed out in my Chevy Blazer for the drive to Mexico with a bag of weed, hardly any money and no real plan. After the long ass drive from Colorado with only stopping for gas, we get to California. I’ve always had a problem with California for some reason and I never wanted to go there but we didn’t really have a choice if we wanted to get to Rosarito. I guess something about all the pretty, rich people made me fucking sick. Plus, the Braves were in San Diego in a couple of days and being from Atlanta and a huge Braves fan I had planned on swallowing my pride and hanging out in San Diego for a couple of days. So we get close to the border and the plan was to park on the US side and walk across the border and get a cab to Rosarito. Somehow we fucked that up and ended up in the line to Mexico with no chance to turn around. We knew better than to bring weed across the border and didn’t want to leave it in the car because of drug sniffing dogs but we fucked that up as well. Luckily, we just told the Mexican border agent that we fucked up and were turning around and he didn’t fuck with us.
We got off the first US exit from Mexico and found some neighborhood where we stashed our weed in the woods and headed to park at the border so we could walk across to Mexico. When we got into Mexico it was pretty surreal. We went from the beautiful, rich, asshole California to dirty, stinky Mexico in a matter a feet. We immediately got a cab and I immediately got pissed off when the driver told us it would cost dollars to get to Rosarito. In the worst Spanish possible I tried to explain that we were in Mexico and they didn’t use dollars so I was paying in pesos. I didn’t want to get ripped off but we probably did even though I refused to give him dollars.
We got to Rosarito and we needed to find a place to camp. We both had our big backpacking bags and didn’t really know what the fuck we were getting into. Rosarito seemed like a place that reminded me of Panama City, Florida or some other Spring Break destination. It was full of multi-level dance clubs on the beach and I’m pretty sure it’s where 18 year old Abercrombie faggots from San Diego went to drink. We started walking down the beach away from the clubs so we could find a spot to camp where we wouldn’t get robbed or fucked with. After about a mile it started to clear away from civilization and we reached an inlet coming into the ocean. After further examination we discovered that it wasn’t just any inlet into the ocean, it was a god damn sewage inlet into the ocean. You could see Mexican shit logs floating by into the Pacific Ocean! Who knew Mexicans actually shit logs, I get the Cambodian Piss shits just thing about Mexican food. Welcome to fucking Mexico!
We carefully jumped over the Mexican shit river and walked a few hundred yards down where we thought we were safe enough to camp. We then hauled our shit all the way back to the clubs and decided to get shit hammered. One of the clubs was nice enough to hold our bags while we drank and they had an “all you can drink special” for 20 bucks. Here we go again with these fucking Mexicans charging US dollars! Regardless, we got shit blasted in this Mexican dance club on cheap tequila and shitty beer. If you know me at all, you know I fucking hate dance clubs and don’t drink tequila. I guess there are exceptions while on vacation in god damn Mexico. After a full night of drinking, Frazier decided that he wanted to leave and go set up camp. He grabbed his pack and for some drunken reason I decided to stay behind. I told him that I would just look for the tent and meet up with him later.
After he left nothing really exciting happened and if it did, I don’t fucking remember it. At some point I got my pack and headed to find Frazier and the tent. I knew that he was at least past the shit creek so I stumbled down the beach with my big camping pack. As I approached the shit creek I walked up to the edge and threw my pack over and looked for my best crossing. I then decided that my best bet was to get a running start and jump over. I went back about 20 yards or so and drunkenly started booking it for my leap across the Mexican shit river. As I got to the edge and was about to successfully make my jump, the sand of the inlet gave away and I came crashing face first into every Mexican’s piss and shit in Rosarito, Mexico. I was covered in sewage, not just any sewage but Mexican sewage. Trying to be as racist as possible, Mexico is fucking dirty and the shit they eat down there makes you piss out of your fucking ass. The fact that earlier we saw logs floating down the river is even more disturbing. That means that what makes me piss out of my ass, their bodies are used to. Piss shit or logs, it’s still fucking shit from shitty fucking food. I did my best to drunkenly wash myself off in the ocean but remember, the god damn shit river was flowing into the ocean. What good does that really do? I made it back to the tent and went to fucking sleep covered in piss and shit from every Mexican in Rosarito, Mexico.
I woke up in the morning hungover and covered in piss and shit to the sounds of a river flowing and I opened the tent to a monster horse cock taking the biggest piss he could about 5 feet from the tent. Some fucking old Mexican thought it was a good place to gather his horses for his morning horseback rides down the beach for the gringos. Who knows, maybe we thought his horse gathering place was a good place to camp but regardless, fuck that guy. All I wanted to do at this point was to get the fuck out of there and get a shower. I explained my story to Frazier and we packed up to find a cheap hotel. Hotels may be stupid and a waste of money but if you’re covered in piss and shit from every Mexican in Rosarito, Mexico you deserve a shower no matter how many places there are to camp.
After getting a refreshing shower we walked around a bit and were walking down a side street when we saw this drunk Mexican blasting La Cucaracha music take a corner too sharp, hit a car and start speeding and swerving towards us. We jumped out of the way as this guy sped by hitting several other cars and continuing on. Welcome to god damn Mexico! This is why I didn’t want to drive my car down there.
Not much else happened on that trip. We knew it was time to get the fuck out of there so we just laid low that night and met some really ugly chick from San Diego that smoked some weed with us and told us we were crazy for camping on the beach. We got the fuck out of there the next morning and headed to the beautiful, sunny San Diego. I may be a little crazy and it was probably a stupid thing to do but normal vacations bore me. Whatever you do though, don’t tell those Mexicans down there that they all pissed and shit on me. I don’t want those fuckers to inevitably take my job AND piss and shit all over me. One or the other assholes, EQUILITY!

Monday, April 11, 2011

The Hot Iron Incident

           After I graduated high school in Marietta, Georgia I got an apartment with a bunch of friends that was   
a big fucking shit show in an apartment complex named Lantern Ridge. I was the only one with an apartment 
back then so everybody and their sister came over to get wasted on alcohol and every drug to known to 
man. But this story isn’t about that apartment although I did meet my roommate that I lived with across the 
street from Lantern Ridge. Kevin was a 35 year old or so black guy from North Carolina and was friends 
with the leasing agent of Lantern Ridge’s husband who came over to get fucked up with us. After the shit 
show at Lantern Ridge, Kevin and I decided to move across the street to Plantation Ridge. Kevin was a cool 
ass motherfucker who loved smoking blunts and getting fucked up with us. He also enjoyed hitting on all the 
high school girls that would come over and hang out.
          Plantation Ridge wasn't much different from my first apartment. It was still the party house but this 
time I lived with a semi-responsible adult that could pay his bills on time and not a bunch of 17 year old drop 
outs. I might have done some fucked up shit back then but I always had a job and always paid my bills. 
Finding a roommate that could do the same was and always has been a pain in my dickhole. Kevin didn’t 
mind all of the traffic in the apartment since he liked to get as fucked up as all of us but I’m sure it got to a 
point sometimes that he would get pissed. He never said anything to me but sometimes you could just tell he 
was annoyed. He also had his friends come over to hang out and this included our scumbag neighbors one of 
whom, my friends and I nicknamed Quasimoto. Don’t ask me why we called him that, we just did. He was 
just another black dude from Chicago that liked getting fucked up too. He would always just randomly show 
up and never leave.

          At the time, I was off and on with a girl we will call “Jewdi”. I'll call her Jewdi because she was and probably still is a fucking bitch and will sue my dick off if given the chance. But, back in the day we were inseparable and I loved her very much. To this day I still care for her and hope she is doing well but that fucking cunt can eat my shit. That probably doesn't make sense to most of you but when you are with someone for so long you hope they do well, just far the fuck away from me well. She was always over the apartment because she still lived with her mother who hated my fucking guts.  One day, while Kevin was at work, Jewdi and another couple was over and we got the great idea to watch a porno. Jewdi was kind of a freak like that but there was nothing sexual going on this time. The other guy was someone we went to high school with who was half a retard named Jim. He wasn't really retarded but he was dumb as a rock. He would always go up to girls and hit on them by saying “Hi, I’m Jim” and he always sounded like a retard when he did it.  The only VCR, yes I said VCR you little twerps, was in Kevin’s room and I didn't see a problem with going into his room to get our porn fix since I trusted everybody that was over.

After about a half an hour of watching porn we decided that we had enough and went back downstairs to do whatever it was we did. Everybody left and I didn’t think much of it until I get a call from Kevin the next day while I was at work. He asks me who was in his room and I told him the story. He tells me that he is missing a lot of money and I need to get everybody that was over in his room that night over to the house when I get off work. Knowing that none of the girls took the money and Jim was too much of a tard to take the money, I agreed since I didn’t take it and knew I had nothing to worry about. I had everybody meet me at Kroger where I sold fish to pay the bills and we headed back to the apartment.

When we got there it was a pretty intimidating sight with about 10-12 older black guys in the house. One of Kevin’s friends, Corey, decided to bring a backpack full of guns. We knew this because when we walked in the door he decided to unzip the bag for us to all see. I still wasn’t worried because I was convinced that none of my friends took the money and Kevin was a pretty good dude and we could talk about it and figure something out. Quasimoto, our neighbor was even there and after a little talk with everybody he decided to take control. Now, Quasimoto was just a neighbor who occasionally hung out at our house and smoked our weed and drank all of our beers. He wasn’t really friends with Kevin and he really wasn’t friends with me so I was a little taken back by him taking control. All of a sudden Quasi decides to pick up an iron that Kevin had left out when he pressed his clothes earlier. He plugged it in, heated it up and started messing with Jim by putting it close to his face, saying “We know you took the money. Just admit you took the money”. This went on for a while and it started to get serious. I could tell that Jim was uncomfortable and didn’t know what to do. I decided that enough was enough and this shit was going to end. I have always said that you can fuck with me all you want, but don’t fuck with my friends. I wish that my friends would do the same but I can only think of a couple that actually give a fuck but that’s a whole other story.

I finally told Quasi to stop and this just seemed to get him more riled up and I did too. Then, I decided to get in his face and yell “You wanna know who took the fucking money? I TOOK THE FUCKING MONEY!!!” Quasi then swings back and slaps the fuck out of me right in the face with the now fully heated up iron. I fly through the air like you would see a super hero getting his ass kicked. I seriously flew across the room a good ten feet and landed against the opposite wall of my living room floor. I was never knocked out but it took me a good couple of seconds to compose myself. My first reaction was murder but as soon as I got up I was pouring blood out of my face, lots and lots of blood. This is probably the only time in my life that I have decided to call the cops. I had a house full of older black people who were now all hyped up saying things like “He said he took the money. Nigga deserved it” and one of them had a backpack full of guns. I rushed over to the phone making the crowd of people vanish. By the time that the cops got there Quasimoto had locked himself in his apartment and he wisely wasn’t answering the cops knock at his door. Even though it was obvious he was inside since they could see him peek through the blinds, they couldn’t do anything. The dude hit me with a fucking iron that cut me all the way down to the cheek bone but they still said that they didn’t have enough probable cause to enter his house. I am no fucking lawyer but that sounds like a bucket of aids to me.

After getting some basic care from the paramedics and refusing their ridiculously overpriced ambulance ride, I was given a ride to the hospital by Jim to get stitched up. As I am getting stitches from the doctor, retard Jim is talking shit to the doctor about nonsense. I seriously don’t remember what he was saying but I do remember the doctor telling me “You know, your friend really shouldn’t be talking shit to me while I stitch you up”. No shit! I told you this kid was half retarded. I just saved this little turds ass and took a hot iron to the face for him and he is talking shit to the doctor that is stitching me up! Fucking dickhead! As I was leaving the hospital I got a call from Kevin apologizing and him telling me that he knew that I didn’t take the money and shit just got out of hand. We both agreed that it was more than likely Quasimoto that took the money. He was always just stopping over our apartment and sometimes we would forget to lock the door. I think that he came over one day and just let himself in to find nobody home and started snooping around. Since he was black himself, he already knew that black people don’t like keeping their money in banks and he hit the jackpot in Kevin’s room by checking under his mattress. Call me racist all you want, you know it’s true. Black people don’t trust banks with their money. Fact!

A couple of days later I received a call from Quasimoto in the seafood department at Kroger where I work. He had been hiding around town from the cops but said he was sorry that it happened, blah, blah, blah. He said that he wanted to work something out to where I wouldn’t press charges. Little did he know that I already told the detectives that they were on their own in prosecuting him. What the fuck were they going to do for me other than make money off of someone hitting ME in the face with an iron? Fuck those cops. If they wanted him they should have busted his fucking door down when they knew where he was. Yeah, he would have gone to jail but what does that do for me? I still have medical bills to pay and a scar on my face for the rest of my life. I didn’t give a shit then and I have no regrets today telling the cops to fuck off. I told Quasi that I wanted my medical bills paid and I think $1500 for pain and suffering for having a scar on my face for the rest of my life. He agreed to sign over the title to his piece of shit 1988 Buick La Sabre or some shit for a $500 down payment. I accepted only because I thought that I might as well get something out of this scumbag. He had his roommate bring over a bullshit bill of sale signed by some name other than Quasimoto. I knew his name back then and knew for a fact that it wasn’t his name or signature but fuck it, I had a car to rag out. Quasimoto then dipped out of town and I never heard from him again.

I drove that car around for about a week before I got drunk and decided to take it to the abandoned parking lot by my apartment and did donuts with it before it died. We then walked home and picked up a baseball bat and destroyed it before wiping all of our finger prints off of it. Who knows where Quasimoto got that car but I wasn’t going to go down for any kind of shady bullshit he was trying to pull. We left it there in the parking lot and came back the next day to find it gone. I sure haven’t missed that car but I am reminded of it every time I look at my ugly mug in the mirror each morning.

Rest in Peace Kevin! The BBQ is shittier without you here!

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


               In my hometown of Marietta, Georgia I had a couple of friends in my neighborhood that I kept in 

contact with regularly up until a few years ago. One of those friends, Mark, decided to join the Peace Corps 

and was shipped off to Samoa. After being kicked out for reasons that he can explain in his book, he was 

told that he needed to return to the United States. He basically told them that the Peace Corps can’t make 

him go home and he found a job with a local family doing some kind of shit. I would talk to him regularly 

through email and this was all fascinating to me. I had never been out of the United States except for a 5 hour 

stay in a holding cell in Canada outside of Montana.

              Mark stayed in Samoa for a few months until he got a really bad toothache where a local Samoan 

dentist tried to fix it and actually made it worse. He decided that his best bet was to leave and go to Hawaii 

where he could see a dentist that knew what the fuck was going on. He ended up staying there for a year or 

so doing what he used to do in Georgia, cleaning and setting up rich assholes aquariums. Somewhere along 

the line he decided that he didn’t want to do that shit anymore and had the travel bug. He received his TEFL 

certificate (Teaching English as a Second Language) and took off to Southeast Asia.

              At this time I was going to college in Gunnison, Colorado and was intrigued as to what the hell he 

was doing in Southeast Asia. The only thing I really knew about the area, well, was absolutely nothing. I 

knew that the Vietnamese kicked the fuck out of us in the war but he was in Thailand. After a 6 month stint in 

Thailand, he decided to get a job in Cambodia. Then i thought to myself, “Alright, now I NEED to go see 

him!” I was a punk rock kid growing up and to think that I could visit a place that the Dead Kennedys sang a 

song about was awesome to me. I started talking to him about planning a trip out there to see him. He told 

me that it would I would need to visit for at least a month to completely understand this place so foreign to 

me. Looking back at it, a month was probably all he wanted me there. He knew all of my stories and knew 

that i wasn’t the same kid I was when we grew up together. I got arrested all the time, was always in a bad 

relationship with some crazy bitches, drank too much and did entirely too many drugs.

             So it was on. I got my student loan money and booked a one month ticket to Bangkok, Thailand. 

He told me to book it to Bangkok because it would be cheaper than flying to Cambodia and he didn’t even 

know if he would still be in Cambodia by the time I got there. I prepared myself by getting a Lonely Planet, 

who my other friend I grew up with in Marietta dubbed “The Backpackers Bible”. I started reading up on 

Southeast Asia and started to think that I got myself into some shit. After reading about Pol Pot, landmines 

and hookers I knew that this was going to be an adventure to me. Growing up a suburban white in the United 

States was nothing even close to what I was reading about. We didn’t have land mines lying around in the 

woods and all of our hookers were toothless crack whores. This shit was foreign to me and it was about as 

foreign as foreign could get. If you look at a globe the United States is the complete opposite of Southeast 

Asia. I wasn’t going backpacking in Europe or some other westernized place; I was going to Southeast 

fucking Asia!

               So the time came to where it was about my time to board the plane. Mark was no longer in 

Cambodia. He had taken a job in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam, or what your father knows as Saigon. The plan 

was for me to fly into Bangkok, apply for my Vietnamese visa and then take a flight to Ho Chi Minh and 

meet up with Mark. I was told by him that it would take four to five days before I would get my visa. After 

trying like hell to get him to meet me in Bangkok with no luck, he assured me that it would be alright. His 

exact words were “I flew into Bangkok by myself and nothing bad happened”. Well, yea motherfucker, 

you’re used to this shit. I had never even been out of the States before asshole! Whatever! Let’s do this shit!

               Mark gave me a few simple instructions about traveling abroad and in Bangkok specifically. Don’t 

get robbed; don’t talk shit, if a woman automatically shows you her tits, she is a man, act like you know what 

you are doing and NO WEED IN BANGKOK! He told me that you can smoke yourself stupid in Southeast 

Asia but for some reason Bangkok was very strict about weed. Pretty simple instructions I thought. I can 

handle this.

               I get off my plane, check in through immigration and make my way to a cab. I have him take me to 

Khao San Road which was made famous in the movie The Beach and is considered the “Gateway to 

Southeast Asia”. The cab ride was some amazing shit and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face all while 

thinking that I was going to die soon. The cab driver weaved in and out of Tuk Tuks and pedestrians and we 

time. I was here, the place that I had been reading so much about in the months prior.

               I exited the cab and was immediately surrounded by little Thai fuckers offering me food, hotels, 

“boom boom” and “yum yum”. It took me a while to figure out what the last two were but I’m a smart 

motherfucker and figured it out with a little thought. I ignored all offers and continued to walk, looking for a 

place for me to sleep for the night. I eventually found a nice little hotel off the craziness of the Khao San Road 

with a restaurant below it. I checked in and made my way to the restaurant for a beer and some food.  I 

made the mistake by telling them I wanted the spiciest dish that they had and I think my butthole suffered for 

the remaining of the trip. The whole time I was sitting there I was obviously sticking out like a sore thumb and 

people kept talking to me. I eventually starting talking to some Thai’s that worked there and were just getting 

off and a couple more foreign assholes.

               The next thing I knew, no less than 2 hours after I landed in Thailand, I was at a whore house. I 

had told Mark that I didn’t think I was going to bang any hookers there and he just laughed. Yep, he was 

right and in the first few hours nonetheless! For all you women out there, you just won’t get it. Foreign 

countries and hookers go hand in hand. You can’t just go out and have a one night stand in a foreign country, 

everything, and I mean EVERYTHING costs money and all these bitches want white boyfriends. Boyfriends 

who they want to turn into husbands, not one night stands. So go fuck yourself!

               Now back to the whore house. We walk into a dirty, falling down, brick building and my new Thai 

friend starts talking to what I can only assume is a gentlemen, and all of a sudden he claps his hands twice. 

Next thing I know, no less that 20 half naked girls come out of a back room and line up. I had no fucking 

idea what I was supposed to do so the other foreign assholes picked first and took off to the back room. 

That’s right! I was the last man in line for the gang bang! Not really. I just wanted to say that. I just got last 

pick last so the hottest ones were gone. I don’t want to bore you by talking about me banging a hooker but 

this was my first time I had paid for sex. It’s not the same at all and really isn’t that enjoyable but it certainly 

wouldn’t be my last time banging a hooker. Hell, I still bang hookers to this day. Sometimes you’re drunk 

and just want to get a nut and not have to deal with all the bullshit you women make us go through to get in 

your pants.

               After our whore house trip we go back to the hotel and drink until the sun comes up with my new 

Thai and foreign friends. I get a good couple of hours of sleep (I could have slept all day but I wasn’t going 

to waste it), did some sightseeing and then met up with my new Thai friend who worked at the hotel. I ended 

up getting hammered exchanging stories with this guy and his friends and then it came. My new Thai friend 

had some weed and wanted to smoke a joint. At first I was hesitant because of what Mark told me but I 

thought “Hey, this is a nice guy and it not like I buying weed from him, I’m smoking HIS joint WITH him”. 

So what the fuck; I smoked a joint with him and his friends, went to bed and nothing out of the ordinary 


               Next day consisted of more sightseeing and then meeting back up with my new Thai best friend. 

We started drinking and then ended up at a ping pong show. For those that do not know what I am getting at 

I will explain. Outside of the Khao San Road there is an area of town called Patpong which is the red light 

district. A ping pong show is like nothing you will ever see in your life. You basically go into a strip club and 

these hookers show you their “talents” with their bodies. That’s right! These hookers shoot ping pong balls 

out of their vaginas, shoot darts out of their vaginas and even smoke cigarettes out of their vaginas. It is a 

glorious experience and I walked away with utmost respect for the human vagina.

               We get back to the hotel after the greatest night of my life for more drinking and smoking this 

dude’s weed and then it came. He pulled me to the side and told me some bullshit about how his dealer was 

coming to collect the money for the weed and he didn’t have it. I thought that he was going to ask me for 

money but, no. He wanted me to hold on to the weed so his dealer wouldn’t take it. I was having no part of 

it because of Mark and I’s prior conversation but, being the dumbshit American that I am, finally took it so 

he would shit the fuck up. I went back to my room, smoked a joint and started thinking. I didn’t like the 

situation and I needed to get the fuck out of this hotel! I packed up my shit in the middle of the night when I 

knew everybody was in bed, left the key at the desk and got the fuck out of there.

               I walked down to the more crowded Khao San Road, found a hotel and just sat wide awake in 

bed when I started to get the munchies. I remembered that there was a 7 11 directly across from my new 

hotel. I made to conscience decision to take the weed out of my pocket before I left and went to the 7 11 no 

more than 50 feet from my hotel. As I am almost across the street, two cops on the same motorbike stop 

and start saying a bunch of shit in Thai to me. I don’t understand Thai but they started to pat me down and 

kept saying “Marijuan” over and over and over and over again. I played stupid and they reluctantly let me go. 

I got some snacks and headed back to my hotel for a sleepless night wondering what the fuck I was doing. I 

was warned and still defied my good friends’ orders. The kid has done this before. He knew what he was 

talking about and I was a fucking idiot.

               I devised a plan, if you call it that, to get this weed back to my supposed friend. I should have just 

flushed it but, like I said, I’m a fucking idiot. I stuffed it in my sock and made my way through the crowded 

Khao San Road back to my original hotel. I found my Thai friend who seemed very concerned about me 

because I checked out and all my stuff was gone. I pulled him to the side, pulled the weed out of my sock 

and told him to fuck off and I never wanted to see him again. The look on his face was priceless and as soon 

as I saw it I knew what was up. He was working for the cops and wanted me to get busted. If I got busted I 

would have bribed the cops and he would have got a cut. I know what was up now but I guess you have to 

learn the hard way, right? I took off never to see that fucking snitch again but I wasn’t done with the cops 


               I spent my last remaining day and night in Bangkok hanging out with an English guy that I met that 

day, before I was to receive my visa in the morning and fly to Bangkok. We drank a bunch of beers and 

hung out on Khao San Road while Thai street vendors called us George Bush and Tony Blair not so 

respectfully. I actually have audio that I recorded with a pocket recorder with some of our conversations we 

had with Thai people that night. At this point I thought that all was well and I was in the clear. I made 

arrangements to meet my English friend, whose name escapes me, in the afternoon for a beer before my flight 

to Vietnam left in the late afternoon. I went back to my hotel and got some much need rest.

               I woke up and had a few hours to kill before I met the Englishman and decided to head to a Thai 

boxing gym that I had seen earlier in my sightseeing. As I am walking there I have to go through this dirty ass 

alley. There are bums sleeping on the side, trash everywhere, a big fucking shithole alley. As I am walking, I 

am smoking a cigarette and when I was finished I flicked it in the dirty alley. The next thing I know 2 cops on 

one motorbike stop me and tell me that I was littering. I tell them that I was sorry and picked up my cigarette 

butt thinking this would solve the problem. Nope! They inform me that littering is a 2000 baht fine, which I 

think; at the time was around $125-150 US dollars. At this point I am done with the fucking cops in 

Bangkok. I’ll just pay the fine, get the fuck out of there and never see them again. Problem was that I only 

had travelers checks on me. I inform them of this and they tell me to get on the motorbike. So there I am on a 

motorbike, a fucking scooter as we call them, sitting bitch between two Thai police officers heading to a Thai 

check cashing store. I go up to the window, hand them the travelers check and they ask for my passport. “I 

don’t have my passport”. “We cannot cash a travelers check without your passport, sir”. I try to explain to 

them that I had a “fine” to pay to the police and they didn’t care. “No passport, no cash traveler check”. So I 

hop back on my bitch seat between two Thai officers and we headed to the next check cashing place, then 

the next one, then the next one, NOBODY would cash a travelers check without my passport and I’m 

starting to think that I’m going to jail for fucking littering in Thailand. The cops ask me where I am staying and 

I lie and say Patpong. Hey, that’s the only other part of town that I knew at the time. I guess they didn’t want 

to drive all the way there so they reluctantly let me go. You could tell that they were fucking pissed but they 

eventually let me go. I snuck into the crowd of the Khao San Road and made it to my hotel, making sure that 

I wasn’t being followed and hid like a bitch until I got a cab to the airport. If you’re reading this Englishman, 

now you know why I never showed up to the bar for drinks before I left town.

               I’m sure you know by now that this had nothing to do with littering in a shit stained alley. These cops either knew what was going on or they were the same cops that stopped me outside of the 7 11. I have no idea, all those Thai fuckers look exactly the same to me but I assume they were the same ones working with my Thai friend. When I got to Vietnam and told Mark all he could do was say that I was a dumbass and laugh.   Bottom line is that if you ever go to Bangkok, DON’T SMOKE FUCKING WEED! You have been warned twice now. 

This guy on the Khao San Road has no fucking legs!

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Haldol Part 1: The Retard Drug

              Just like every other summer Saturday in Gunnison, Colorado during my college years, I woke up and got some buddies together to go down to the river to go fishing. It was about 11 in the afternoon and I made the wise decision to hit up the liquor store beforehand to pick up a handle of Jack Daniels and some PBR. We made it to our favorite fishing spot before noon and sat to wait for the fish to bite while we consistently had a beer in our hand and passed the handle of whiskey around while talking about bullshit. Fishing and drinking have always been one of my favorite escapes from reality. I could just sit back and enjoy the fresh mountain air and scenery while everybody else in the world worried about their fucked up problems. When I have a fishing rod and an alcoholic beverage in my hand, nothing can bother me. All of my problems go away and the whole world can kiss my fucking ass.
               On this day the fish were actually biting and we were having a good day. One after another we landed rainbow and brown trout. My dog, Whiskey, was also having a great day running around in the woods and splashing around in the river as we reeled in fish to the shore. He loves playing with the fish as they flap around on the ground but his real treat is when we get home and cook them up and he gets a delicious trout dinner. The day went as normal as any day of fishing on the Gunnison River could go. We fished for a good 4 hours before we headed back to my house to enjoy our catch and some more delicious adult beverages.
               If you haven’t noticed by now I have a severe problem with drinking. Once I start I just keep going and going and going. I can handle a night out of drinking but when I start the day drinking is when I start running into problems. Once I start in the afternoon, I do not stop until bedtime which is usually after 2 or 3 am. When I get wasted I have no filter and will say whatever is on my mind to whomever. It does not matter to me if it’s my mom or a 350 pound bouncer. For some reason I think that everybody around me is my friend and understands me. Well, this isn’t the case and when people get pissed off at me I’ve been known to throw a drunken punch at people no matter what the consequences are. I know I have a problem and I don’t really give a fuck what people think about me. I have come to accept the fact that I am an alcoholic and do stupid shit all the time. You either think I’m fucking hilarious and love me or you think I’m the biggest dickhead alive and hate me. Even my good friends think I am a dickhead but they are still me friends for a reason. I wake up, apologize and we laugh and talk about my ridiculous actions from the night before. It adds a little excitement to our otherwise boring lives.
               With that being said, we cooked up our delicious fish from earlier in the day and drank ourselves stupid at my house. In our drunken stupor we decided to hit up the downtown Gunnison bars. We headed out on our bikes and probably hit up just about all of the four bars in downtown Gunnison. This could have been because we got kicked out of them for being too drunk or just because we were getting bored easily. I suspect that we were just getting bored at the places that we were because just about every bartender knew me in Gunnison and they were all pretty fair to me as I was to them. I’m only a dickhead to people that deserve it and piss me off. Well, usually anyway.
               On this particular night I would have kicked us all out. I can only imagine how ridiculous all of us were acting as we were drinking like 400 pound offensive linemen in a frat house, whiskey drinking competition. Somehow though, we never got kicked out of anywhere that I know of and ended up closing down the bar. Oddly enough, we ended up at Timbers which is what I like the call the jock bar in Gunnison. This is where all the assholes in town go to drink and pick up skanky bitches. Needless to say, I don’t fucking like this place. I much prefer the cocaine bar called the ‘Mo where you can punch the bartender in the face and come in the next night and apologize and start drinking again.
From what I’m told we left the bar as they were closing down and hopped on our bikes for the little more than a mile ride to my house. I say from “what I’m told” because I don’t remember and I have no fucking clue how my friends remembered either. My friend Frazier was ahead of me on the bike and as we were about a block and a half from the bar he looks back and sees me lying out on the sidewalk, wrecked on the side of Highway 50. As he turned around to make sure I was alright, he says that I was knocked out cold making strange wheezing sounds while foaming at the mouth. Some other concerned citizen stopped and called an ambulance while Frazier frantically tried to wake me up to get the fuck out of there before we were surrounded by cops and paramedics. Unluckily, I did not wake up until I was strapped down in a gurney in the ambulance.
               If you know me at all, you know that I fucking hate hospitals and think our healthcare system isn’t about healthcare at all. It’s all about money and its fucking bullshit. I know how much a one mile trip in an ambulance costs and I refuse to pay for that shit. I always refuse medical treatment unless I know for a fact that I need it. Being in the drunken state that I was in, instead of asking politely to let me go I flipped the fuck out and told them to let me the fuck out of the ambulance. When they didn’t comply I went bat shit crazy on these assholes. When you put me in a situation that I have no control over, I will do whatever it takes to piss you the fuck off.  I will spit in your face, talk about your mother and children, WHATEVER it takes to piss you off. Because, hey, your pissing me off by not letting me go so why should I respect you in the least bit? Don’t give me this shit about them being authority figures or whatever it is you are thinking. These are assholes trying to make money and make your life difficult. I was now awake which means I am fine so let me the fuck go.
               When I got to the hospital they had called a police officer in to protect the hospital staff from my spitting and verbal assaults. This didn’t help matters much because at first sight of the cop I thought I was going to jail. When I go to jail I do the same thing and rip the cop involved a new asshole. At some point my anger turned into sadness and I started crying and whining like a fucking pussy about how I didn’t want to go to jail, my life sucks, blah, blah, blah. I guess after being arrested as much as I have, I decided that enough was enough. Going to jail sucks and at that point of my life I thought I was over all of that shit in my life so I was a sad motherfucker. Sometime during my drunken, pussy cries about not wanting to go to jail my buddies Frazier and Cody showed up to the hospital to check on me. I guess the hospital staff and police officer talked to them about trying to get me to calm down. They tried their best to get me to stop being a pussy and crying but I wasn’t having it. I was balling my eyes out and whining like a bitch about how I didn’t want to go to jail and shit. My friends kept telling me that I wasn’t going to go to jail if I calmed down but I didn’t believe them at all. I’ve been around long enough to know that cops will use words to get something they want and then stab you in the back and send you to the clink. So that shit certainly wasn’t working for them but at some point I woke up from a deep sleep. My friends were gone and there was nobody in my hospital room. Finally a nurse came in to check on me and saw that I had sobered up and calmed down. She asked the police officer, whom I am certain was questioning his career path at this point, to remove my hand cuffs. I bet that’s how this dude envisioned his Saturday night, watching over the biggest drunk asshole he has probable ever seen.  
               So the handcuffs are off and the doctor comes in to check on me. I’m still not really cooperating but I know that there is only one way to get out of this, just suck it up and do what they ask. I answer questions as vaguely as possible while still giving an impression that I am cooperating. He tells me that he is keeping me overnight and I plead with him to let me go because I have a dog at home by himself which was a lie. It isn’t working and he leaves the room. So I am sitting there watching the time pass when I get the urge for a cigarette. I am no longer restrained to the bed so I just get up in my hospital gown and search my room for my cigarettes. I found them in my jean pockets where the rest of my property was and make my way to sneak a cigarette outside. As I am about halfway through with my cigarette the doctor comes out all pissed off yelling “you CAN NOT leave! You need to get back in the room RIGHT NOW!” I really wasn’t trying to leave and kindly explain to him that I just wanted a cigarette and would be right in. He tells me to hurry up and get back inside ASAP. At this point, I realize that there is nothing stopping me from leaving so when the door shuts I take the fuck off down the road barefooted, in my hospital gown running in 20 degree (nighttime Gunnison summer temperature) weather to my house about 2 miles away. The whole time I am sprinting I am thinking that any second that a cop is going to pull up and throw me in the car for a trip back to the hospital and I am going to get an escape charge and be in a shit ton of trouble. For some reason, probably because they had enough of me, it never happened and I made it home to sleep in my own bed.
               The next day I felt like shit! My muscles were tense and all I wanted to do was sleep. I just figured that I was severely hung-over but it really was a different feeling than that. I just wrote it off as a hangover though and slept the day and night away.
               The day after that was even worse so I decided that the best thing to do was to smoke a bowl. This was not a good idea at all as it made my muscles even tighter. I kept trying to fight the muscle tension off until there was nothing I could do. My neck was creaking to the side and my arms were forcing my wrist to my chest in what I can only describe as retard mode. I had no control over these movements and started to get really scared. I thought that I had maybe hit my head hard enough to knock some shit loose up there and I was going to be stuck in retard mode for the rest of my life. I kept fighting and fighting to get back to normal to no avail. This was serious and I had no choice but to go back to the hospital that I had successfully escaped 2 days earlier.
               I woke my roommate up who was just as scared as me and he dropped me off at the hospital. I was seen right away because I looked like a fucking retard with my arms to my chest and my head creaked to the side. The same fucking doctor walks in and doesn’t seem too concerned at all. I told him I was sorry but he needed to fucking fix me because I thought I was stuck like this forever. All he told me was “Son, you were out of control the other night so we had to shoot you up with some drugs to calm you down. You are having an allergic reaction to those drugs but we will get you some Benadryl and get you all fixed up”. “WHAT IN THE FUCK DID YOU GIVE ME???” I angrily ask. “Haldol, an anti-psychotic drug”. The only thing I am thinking is that he needs to fucking get me out of retard mode and it was only after that I realized how fucked up this was. He gave me 2 IV’s of Benadryl and I slowing began to have control of my body again. I picked up my property that I had left behind after my escape and got the fuck out of there. I was fucking angry but just happy to not be stuck in retard mode for the rest of my life. That shit scared the fuck out of me but this wouldn’t be the last time that I have been given this incredibly immoral and should-be illegal drug.
               For years I got collection calls trying to collect on this $8,000+ hospital bill. I wasn’t going to pay those assholes anyway but i certainly wasn’t going to pay them after they purposely poisoned me. Only in America can someone that you are supposed to trust with your life, kidnap you, poison you and then send you an $8000+ bill.
To make it perfectly clear, I did not have an allergic reaction to Haldol but these are symptoms for everyone. It is given to people in the prison system who act out and schizophrenics. 

The closest picture i could find of "retard mode". You PC faggots can go fuck yourself!


Wednesday, February 9, 2011

The "Toughest" Guy in Gunnison

The town I went to school in Colorado was very small. There were only 5000 people there and 2500 of those were college students. It is just a small little cowboy town in the middle of fucking nowhere and cold as fucking balls. There are not many places to hang out at night and you run into the same people a lot. When it came to bars you had your choice of hippy bar, hippy bar, redneck bar, or cocaine bar. Naturally, I hung out at the cocaine bar because I fucking hate hippies and rednecks. At least I could control if I wanted to do cocaine or not and could do my own thing without having to sit next to a dirty hippy or cowboy that wanted to kill me.
This place was called the Alamo but if you were a cool Gunny dude you would just call it the Mo. Every week they would have a dollar well drink night. I would just call it whiskey night because I normally don’t drink that other crap. This would attract all the hippies, rednecks and shit bags from around town. I went cause I get drunk for 10 bucks and forget about how fucking cold it was outside.
On this particular night the Mo was fucking packed. It is usually pretty crowded but this night there were too many god damn people there. I was sitting with some friends at the end of a booth in a chair and needed to go to the bathroom. I told the dudes that I had to go take a piss and to watch my seat. When I came back from the bathroom my fucking chair was gone. I asked them where my chair was and my roommate at the time, Tanke said “We were just talking about that. Some dude in a cowboy hat just came up and tried to take it and I told him that someone was sitting there. He said that he was sitting here now and took off.”
Now I am not a big guy at all but you are not gonna just take my fucking chair like that. Win or lose that situation is a fucking fight unless you are a big pussy. So I had Tanke point him out for me and politely walked over and informed this fucking cowboy that he was sitting in my fucking chair. He then told me that he had already told my friend that he was sitting there now. Arguing ensued for a while until he finally got up to get in my face to tell me that “it wasn’t worth putting me in the hospital”. Little did this guy know that I don’t go to the fucking hospital unless I am shot or unconscious and have no say in the matter. I have never been knocked out in a fight and this stupid ass wasn’t going to be my first. As he was telling me this my buddy snagged the chair. Perfect. Problem fucking solved dickhead. Sit on the fucking floor.
So the night goes on and we are pounding some whiskey drinks down. Close to the end of the night we see our cowboy friend pointing at us, looking all tough and stuff. He finally comes over and gets in my face and says “Do you know who I am?” Clueless to who this guy was, I mean, I could have been talking to Garth Brookes or some shit, I asked him who he was. He then informed me that he was the “toughest” guy in Gunnison. I fell on the fucking floor I was laughing so hard. Even if this guy is the “toughest” guy in Gunnison he shouldn’t be so proud that he has to tell people about it. I spent the next few minutes trying to get more information about this “toughest” guy in Gunnison business. How did he get that title? Who had it before him? Is there some kind of yearly completion for this “toughest” guy in Gunnison?
He then decided to punch, not me, the one who was talking all the shit, but my buddy behind me in the face and then it was on. I saw it coming and was on him before he made contact with my buddy. We tussled around for a while and I beat the fucking piss out of this “toughest” guy in Gunnison. You know what that makes me? Yep. That makes me the fucking “toughest” guy in Gunnison. If anybody out there wants to take this nationwide or worldwide then bring it on. I am the “toughest” guy in Gunnison and I will fuck you up.

Cambodian Piss Shits

Cambodia is a dirty place. It is also supposedly very dangerous so I talked Mark into coming to Phnom Phenh with me on my way back to Bangkok. Mark had lived there for about a year or so and absolutely hates this place. I had been fascinated with this place every since I planned my trip to South East Asia because this was originally where Mark was living and originally where I would spend the most time in.
When we got there I thought it wasn’t even Phnom Penh. This is supposed to be the capital of a fucking country but it looked like some third tier American town. They had one main road that was paved that went though the city. All of the side roads and shit were all dirt. The people built Ankor Wat thousands of fucking years ago and they can’t pave the fucking roads. The people looked different. Their skin was darker than the Vietnamese and they looked fucking angry. Shit. I would be angry too if a dictator killed off a third of the population and left all the dumb people. Mark informed me that anybody older than him and I (born 1979 and 1978) lived through Pol Pot. I always knew Pol Pot was a crazy motherfucker but I mainly knew about him from the Dead Kennedys song.
But like I said earlier the place is fucking dirty. People piss and shit in plain view by the side of the road and because the roads are not paved there is a lot of dust because it is hot as balls. When there is dust and you are outside, you breathe in the dust. The best way to look at it is you are breathing in a bunch of Cambodian piss and shit. Your food has peoples piss and shit on it. You brush your teeth in peoples piss and shit. Not just peoples piss and shit, angry fucking Cambodians piss and shit.
Because of this, you are always sick. There is always something that is fucked up with your body. Most of the time it is a god damn horrible case of diarrhea, diarrhea that fucking kills your butt and your toilet. This is where I came up with the term “Cambodian Piss Shits”.
I spent four days in Phenom Penh with Mark getting offered every drug on the planet and even a chance to blow up a cow in the land of starving children with a rocket launcher. That’s right. I could have blown up a cow with a rocket launcher if I really wanted to. I am a scumbag but not that big of a scumbag. Cambodians are scummy little fuckers. They will pinch the shit out of their kids as you walk by them to make them cry and then ask for money. Scum fucking bags!
The first night there we went to a restaurant which was basically the equivalent of an Applebee’s in the States. It was just a middle class family restaurant. All of a sudden, a guy start going fucking batshit crazy on his wife or girlfriend. He starts smashing all the plates, glasses and other dishes that were on his table on the floor. When he ran out of shit to smash on his table he decided to start smashing shit from other peoples tables. Mark told me not to make eye contact with the guy because he would direct his anger towards us, the white people, but it was almost impossible. This shit was better than Jerry Fucking Springer and I had a front row seat! After someone got his wife out of there and he finally calmed down, the waiter came up to him and not only didn’t kick him out but he asked him if he wanted another beer! Fucking Cambodians! After four days in Phenom Penh eating Happy Pizza’s (pizza with weed and mushrooms as a topping) I said my goodbyes to Mark and got on a boat to Siem Reap, home of Ankor Wat.
The beginning of this boat ride was pretty normal. Nice, working boat and all that shit. But, then about half way through the trip we tied up to another boat, grabbed our bags and changed boats. This boat fucking sucked my balls. It looked like it shouldn’t have even still been floating and had this little ass motor on it. But that wasn’t the main problem. The main problem was the water level. I don’t think any boat should have been on this lake or river or whatever the fuck it was. The dude driving the boat had it floored to the max and even though it was small motor, we were hauling ass. When you are running aground and hauling balls you get whip lash like a motherfucker and sometimes you feel like you are going to die. Fucking Cambodians!
So I get to Siam Reap in one piece and set it up with my motorbike driver when we were going to head out to the temples. I woke up the next day and hopped on the back of dudes motorbike to see a billion of all these old temples and shit, the most famous being Angkor Wat. We were supposed to get to Angkor Wat to see the sunrise but the god damn sun never came out. Only my luck would allow the weather to be overcast with no fucking sun when I was to see one of the coolest parts of the trip. So we went off to all the other temples in the area and would come back later. Don’t get me wrong, these temples are cool and shit but they all look the same.
My motorbike driver would drop me off and allow me to explore these old fuckers for as long as I wanted. I would always find strange hidden rooms to hide in and smoke a joint. When we went back to Angkor Wat I saw this steep, scary looking staircase that looked to go no-where. I decided that it would be best if I climbed that motherfucker to see where it went. I also thought it was a great place to smoke at.  When I got the top of this thing it was just another Buddha, praying, temple deal. But it was a good place to relax for a minute. Or so I thought.
I started feeling like I had Metallica in my fucking stomach. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe right, I wanted to fucking die and there was no way I was making my way down those fucking stairs and finding a bathroom that probably doesn’t even exist. So I told Buddha that I didn’t believe in him in the first place, dropped my pants and Cambodian Piss Shit all over one of the seven wonders of the world. I made it back to Bangkok for my flight back home without any supernatural Buddha revenge on me.
The is the dickhead that saw the whole thing, Thanks for the toilet paper!

Vietnamese Mafia

I was sitting around Mark’s apartment in Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam smoking on a quarter ounce bag of marijuana stems that we had purchased for 2 dollars and some change earlier in the day from some cops sitting around playing poker. I then decided that I wanted to go down south and see the Mekong Delta. Mark told me some shit about these local guys he knew that could take me down on a motorbike. We went to this bar where they supposedly hung out at all time and looked at pictures of all the different trips they had taken. I really didn’t give a shit about the other places, I wanted to go to this Mekong Delta that I had heard about on these war channels. But these dudes weren’t just some dudes with a motorbike, they did this shit for a living. They probably saved every fucking penny they had and bought a fucking motorbike and said “I’m gonna use this fucking motorbike to take people to the Mekong Delta and shit”.
Everywhere you go in Vietnam there is some little Vietnamese fucker yelling at you about his motorbike and how he wants to take you somewhere. That’s how you get around out there. You just acknowledge someone who is sitting in front of a motorbike, screaming at you, hop on the back with him and tell him where you are going. Most of the time you don’t know where you are going, you just give him and address and he says some crazy shit in Vietnamese and takes off. You just hope the guy knows where the hell he is going. Then you give him a dong or two and he stays where he dropped you off, screaming about his motorbike to people walking by.
These guys in the bar were classy. They had a bar that you could find them in most of the time. They had a fucking book with pictures and shit. They didn’t scream at you about their stupid motorbike. This is how I wanted to see the Mekong Delta, not some crazy tourist bus down there.
So we set the details and all that good stuff. Of course Mark had to work and couldn’t get away for the weekend but he probably needed a break from my ass anyway. So I went with his Canadian roommate Gill. No, not like the fish gill. Gill. As in Gill, I’m Canadian and spell Jill, Gill. So we ventured out of Ho Chi Minh City heading to this Mekong Delta place.
Let me tell you, riding on the back of a fucking motorbike hugged up with some dude for a full day is not fun. Your legs above your knees get sunburned as shit and well, your hugged up with a dude all day so you don’t fall off. These crazy fucking busses and semi trucks get right on your ass and blow their god damn horns, scaring the fucking piss out of you. It is a god damn adventure and it is exactly what I needed.
On the way there, we stop at all these hole in the wall restaurants and get pressured into buying coconut drinks and weird fucking snacks. Not a problem. That’s just how shit works over there. They do these trips all the time and build relationships with these people on the way and probably get some kind of cut from them. But I don’t want to drink a fucking coconut, I want to drink a beer. I’m in Vietnam and I’m going to the jungle in the Mekong Delta. Fuck your stupid coconut.
We get to this snake farm place that was a part of the trip. I wasn’t really sure how a snake farm in Vietnam really would work. I was thinking from the way everything else was run over there that there would just be this field of spitting cobras that you ran around getting chased by cobras. Nope. I was pretty disappointed. I could taken one of those Leonardo DiCaprio shots of snake blood that he took in the movie The Beach but I was a fucking pussy and didn’t do it. I regret not doing that shit now but fuck it.
So we finally get in the jungle of the Mekong Delta. We are stopped at one of those restaurants and they ask us if we wanna stay in a hotel or with a family in the jungle. Fuck a god damn hotel. I wanna stay with a family in the jungle. We then get back onto the road and pull off on this little dirt single track path into the god damn jungle. Deeper and deeper we go for about a half an hour until we reach this little house in the middle of fucking nowhere. Dirt floors and all that shit. It had a little barn and looked to be surrounded by a swamp. I’m talking shit brown toilet water after a night of whiskey drinking. Little did I know that I would be getting my dinner out of that shit.
We are all greeted by the family and friends of the household. They were all nice and there were about 10 or so people there. One of the ladies of the house all offered us beers and the fun began. They had many questions for us and we hand many questions for them. We sat around a table drinking beers while the women cooked the dinner. They brought out some fertilized duck eggs as an appetizer and I decided that I wanted to eat the little baby duck in the egg. It was such a cute baby duck, with his cute little baby duck beak and shit. So I decided to eat that baby fucking duck. He was cuter than he was delicious. Kind of tasted like an oyster. But it wasn’t an oyster it was a baby fucking duck. I ended up puking all over the dinner table.
After everybody got a good laugh making fun of me, one of the older guys starts talking about how the Vietnamese Mafia is coming onto his land and stealing his oranges and he is losing money, blah, blah, blah. I didn’t think much of the story other than that sucks and shit. We continue drinking beer, Vietnamese whiskey and telling stories until dinner.
The ladies bring out this huge dinner for us and we eat the shit out of it. As we are wrapping up dinner and the ladies are clearing the table, this little Vietnamese bastard jumps out of the jungle screaming something in Vietnamese. Everybody at the table gets up from the table and start grabbing weapons from the house. Machetes, sticks, rocks and other shit they had collected over time. So, naturally, since everybody else is running into the jungle I decide that I better follow them cause something is going on and I have no clue what it is.
So we are trekking through thick Vietnamese jungle, through knee deep shit swamps and nasty brush. The little Vietnamese kid that had originally bolted out of the jungle starting this whole mess hands me a stick. Not a log but a pussy little fucking stick! I finally get my motorbike driver to tell me what the hell is going on and he tells me that the Vietnamese Mafia is in this guys field and we are going to fuck him up. In my drunken stupor I decide that this is an awesome idea and no Vietnamese Mafia steals oranges from this family. So I am fucking ready. I got my fucking stick and we are gonna fuck these bitches up.
The farther and farther we went into the jungle the more I was thinking to myself about how bad of an idea this was. Surely, the Vietnamese Mafia had more than a fucking stick but who knows. This is Vietnam after all. So I decided to use the little bit of common sense that I had left in my mind and decided to go back to the house. Oh yea. What the fuck happened to Gill?
I found Gill hiding in the pig barn by the house. I figured that would be a safe place for us to lay low until this Vietnamese Mafia business went away. Your mom wasn’t lying when she told you that you needed to clean your room because it looked like a pig sty. Pigs are god damn nasty and those things are not very nice.  The cops came and never found any Vietnamese Mafia with oranges. The night ended with Gill making out with my motorbike driver while I lay in bed next to them. I slept outside near the pig barn in a hammock. To this day I don’t know if this was part of the trip and it was all an act or not but that was the best god damn motorbike trip that I have ever been on. I ended up giving the family some money for their hospitality and a story that will always be with me.