I’ve improved my station in life, sort of. I’ve found a better place to write in Pakse. I type to you from inside Subinh Hotel. In a minute, the lovely waitress will bring out my $1.25 cup of cappuccino. Very affordable, though without a swan or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, in its entirety, on the froth.
I was perfectly happy writing in the heat outside Lankham Hotel, but lately, there have been so many flies, due to the just arrived monsoon. They don’t just land on you but crawl into the inside of your glass, of whatever you’re drinking. Loving equally beer, coffee and lemonade, a fly will sometimes dive right in, forcing you to fish his filthy ass out with a chopstick or spoon. If you’re really a Buddhist, you won’t even kill him. Of course, you’re expected to drink the rest. It’d be rude to complain.
Lovely waitress, I said, with the adjective describing her demeanor more than looks, though with the latter implied. Moment by moment, we grade and judge each other. Seeing me entering, this adorable waitress probably thought, There’s that ugly creep again.
Chekov, “Ivan Ivanych and Burkin were met in the house by a maidservant, a young woman so beautiful that they both stood still and looked at each other.” Two aging men, they stared at each other for confirmation of their decay and ugliness. She’s inserted into “Gooseberries” to contrast with three men way past their prime. The third is also filthy, for he hasn’t bathed in months. Beautiful, she represents the life draining out of them. Beauty is life.
Bitterly trying to recapture such life, old creeps bed young women or even children. The most voracious among them rule fools.
The current fuss over Bud Lite’s fake woman is amusing. With its fake leaders, intellectuals, journalists, doctors, professors and tough guys, etc., the US is the fakest country ever, so of course, cross dressing freaks like Bruce Jenner and Dylan Mulvaney are celebrated, but the pushback is a part of the comedy. It’s a misdirection.
Blue collared Canadians staged Freedom Convoy. American Joe Sixpacks rage at a silly sissy as they wait to vote for Trump. Nominally led by brazen idiots, both countries are in deep shit.
Jewjab genocide proceeds without fanfare. Daily, Steve Kirsch wonders why no one in power gets it. They got plenty, Steve, and they’re getting it. You’re the one not getting the obvious. Sustained mass killing on this scale isn’t due to incompetence. When will you admit it’s an unprecedented crime, Steve?
The transgender controversy is most interesting, though, if seen as the latest chapter in an ongoing war against reality. In this progressive, thus mostly Jewish-led, battle, both God and science are assailed. Against all evidence, we’re told all races are the same, and the differences between men and women are negligible. All babies are born as blank slates, with equal potentials, so even a retard is just differently abled.
As a boy, I desperately wanted to be an NBA point guard, I’m not kidding. I fancied myself the next Slick Watts. That didn’t happen not because I was born into a race not known for its height, musculature and athleticism, but because of my environment and upbringing. Had I been allowed to practice my crossover dribble, jump shot and lefthanded layup against meanassed niggas all day long, I would have been in the NBA Hall of Fame. Maybe it’s not too late.
With zero effort, I scored in the top 1% for math in my SAT. For the International Mathematical Olympiad, China has achieved the highest team score 23 times, followed by Russia (16), USA (8), Hungary (6), Romania (5), West Germany (2) and South Korea (2). Of gold medal winners, 1,295 have been male, with just 43 females. Strong American teams tend to be mostly Orientals, moreover.
Though any person’s intrinsic worth has nothing to do with his or her competence at anything, it’s also undeniable we’re not equal at anything. Sadly for most of us, this also includes looks. Though even the most beautiful will become ugly soon enough, it really sucks to be born ugly.
Thankfully, I’ve never had that trauma. I don’t just slam dunk at will over anyone, but look like a Greek god doing it. Eat that!
In 2021, I spent three months in South Africa. Though I never got beyond Cape Town, I started to learn, an appreciate, what makes South Africa special. At its best, South African culture has a distinctive boldness, humor and/or irony that extend even to its TV commercials.
In 2009, Nando’s, a chain known for its peri-peri chicken, had an advertisement with the fiery politician Julius Malema as a puppet, with President Jacob Zuma his master. Mocking Malema’s call for “change,” Nando’s has the puppet explaining that if you pay a hundred rande for a 33.95 meal at Nando’s, you’ll get 66.05 in change, so “that’s more change than you paid for the meal.” No American commercial can step on such huge toes.
As for lite beer, consider this 2014 commercial from Castle, the leading South African brand. People are shown instantly disappearing from unwelcome situations, into much cooler and sexier environments.
An ugly black woman come on to two stylish black men with a wink, air kiss and biting motion. A white couple is aghast at a dancing white fool in peach-colored shorts. A young, muscular black man finds himself in a tiny pool across a leering white creep with a paunch, gold chain and hairy back.
Zoomed out of there, the black guy finds himself flanked by two white babes. The white couple and stylish black guys are plopped into joyous parties with gorgeous people.
As with nearly all beer commercials, it’s stupid, if not crass, but this Castle ad doesn’t shy away from some awkward truths, from how most white guys can’t dance worth shit, to the high desirability of white women.
About this, Cynthia Connaway has the best commentary. After my 1/24/23 article about Pattaya, Thailand, where I joked about opening strip bars featuring American chicks, Connaway said there was no need for these valued commodities to go anywhere. If you have the goods, folks will flock to your door to get them, even if they have to roll you in flour:
Oh, they’re here in the Great State of Texas, all right! And their numbers are growing! They don’t have to fly all the way to Thailand to keep Top Ramen in the pantry! No, siree! Don’t ask me HOW these demanding, loud-mouthed, entitled, middle-aged, “tatted,” 300 lb., trailer-dwelling gringas manage to pull it off, but—boy-howdy—they somehow DO! Maybe it’s a combination of factors: Texas is a huge international gateway for—well—for whoever the hell FEELS LIKE coming to the U.S., (although I do marvel at just how many newcomers haven’t gotten the memo that the U.S. is a “has-been” empire; one they may want to steer clear of, lest they find themselves unable to cross the border in the opposite direction trying to GTFO if the SHTF here. Wouldn't THAT be ironic?) So, there's a potentially vast client base of sorts—albeit a largely destitute one posing “mucho peligro” health risks—but HEY!—Where there are solo, swingin’ ding-dongs, there’s a way...! ...Especially if Ms. Gringa ThunderLard of border dive town—say, Laredo—is facing yet another three weeks before Uncle Sam squats to “reload” her zero-balance SNAP & TANF debit cards. She’s LEARNED how to get CREATIVE in these hyperinflationary, economically-hopeless times when she has run out of gas—and places to hide—her “check-engine-light special” from El Repo Man, the fridge is down to expired mustard and fossilized, leftover Taco Bell, and she’s long since traded the toiletries and free bus vouchers the food bank gave her with her neighbor for a couple weak Vicodin tablets. (Took the edge off the afternoon her mobile phone service was cut off for non-payment, y’know...) Again, I don't know how she pulls it off—especially when you consider most of the female, Latina persuasion is feminine, attractive, and often even athletic (before they inevitably explode with diabetes in their late 20’s)—but ThunderLard draws a veritable stampede of “Sanchos” taking numbers to roll her in flour! And, believe you me, ol’ Gringa ThunderLard knows how to turn, “¡Sí, señor!” into a stocked fridge, phone service reconnection, or a car note payment, honey! Thailand? Nah! She's gotten GOOD at hawking her wares at Skeeter-Bob’s local pool hall, the truck stop motel, and the Home Depot parking lot. She’s even picked up some conversational Haitian Creole, French Congolese, and Somali... Win-win, right? Right here in the good, ol’ Yoo Ess of A...
In the has-been empire, there’s hope, then, even for sumo-sized gringas. With no overhead, they can welcome waves of wretched and unwashed ding dongs. God helps those who help themselves. With such a can-do attitude, they’ll have classic Wonder Bread, Spam and Coke in the cupboard. With no electricity, the fridge is useless.
Again, it’s way past my lunch time. After some more Beerlao, I’ll look at the menu, again. The illustrative photos are not too accurate, I’ve found out, but the chef is a conscientious young man. Even when he gives you something completely wrong, it’s done in the right way.
These days, attention and care have become so rare, be grateful whenever you can find them.
1 comment:
LD, finally find out Steve Kirsch is a fakery-bakery? What took you so long?
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