On the island of Donedet, a bottle of whiskey costs $1.25. A bottle of coke costs $1.50.
To make matters worse/better, the whiskey comes in a Honolulu blue bottle. It's name is Lion Whiskey.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Chris Tomke: Friend of the Common Man.
So, on my last trip out to Angkor Wat (actually, a different temple built to watch the sunset), a different driver shows up to take me. My boy Apeu, he tells me, is busy, so he’s my guy. So be it. (This is a fairly common occurrence, I’ve gathered from eavesdropping on other conversations.) Anyway, after all is said and done, my new driver, Samo (sp.), asks what I’m doing that night. Since my bus leaves at 6:30 the next morning, I tell him I plan on laying around, maybe drinking a beer or two, and then going to sleep. He then proceeds to invite me out to drink beers with him and his fellow Tuk Tuk drivers. I am unable to refuse. I mean, I’ve been to tourist bars in tourist cities, but a chance to get real down and dirty with my new Cambodian friends? Done. (And before you accuse me of being that guy yelling about “Blah blah tourists!” and “Blah blah authentic!”, let me just say that I know exactly what the tourist bars hold in store for me. I have no idea where Samo and his friends go.
At 8:00, I’m finishing up negotiating and paying Apeu, when another, different dude rolls up and tells me Samo is busy, so he’s here to take me to the bar. I’m a bit skeptical (I mean, twice in one day, guys?), but Apeu vouches for him, so I figure he’s cool. My new friend’s name is Amon (sp.).
We hop on his bike and high-tail it away from my guesthouse to a random bar that kind of looks like a warehouse inside. Immediately upon walking up to the door, like six good-looking Cambodian women sitting at the front jump up to vie for my attention. I wave them off, as I’m not entirely sure how that whole thing works. Amon asks me if I want a girl, so I ask him. “It is nothing, man,” he says. “They sit next to you, laugh at your jokes, and drink with you.” Well, I’m not about to start buying some random Cambodian girl drinks, so once again, I wave off the signal.
We sit at a table in the bar and order our first round. At the front is a giant stage, with a revolving cast of three or four singers and two different keyboard players. They all sing different Cambodian love songs, but for all I know, it could’ve been just one long gigantic song. Did you ever see that South Park episode with Wing, the “Shitty Wok” owner’s wife? It’s pretty much like that, only with overbearing, synth-heavy keyboards. So, pretty much right up your alley, brother.
Eventually, we’re joined by So and Samo, and we proceed to knock back another seven or eight beers apiece. At one point, Amon asks me if I’d like “tootoo.” I assume he’s asking me if I want a tattoo, so naturally I decline. He shakes his head and begins making weird hand signals around his head. I still can’t follow him, so he beckons over the manager. A minute later, the same guy shows up with a huge-ass turtle in his hands. “Normally, you cannot cook tootoos in Cambodia,” Amon says. “You get in trouble with the police. But, the owner, he is good friends with the police, so we can eat tootoo, if you would like.” Flattered, but still poor, I decline.
Eventually, we ditch the first bar to hit a late-night karaoke spot. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Asian karaoke, but the party sits in a private room while drinking and singing. I assume this is because Asian cultures are always concerned with losing face, and thus don’t want to stumble onstage to belt out an awful rendition of Shania Twain or something. Pfft. Whatever, Asians.
As we enter, Amon says, “Chris, my friend. This is the freedom room. You can do whatever you want!” And immediately, four girls join the four of us in the room. I am mildly uncomfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, my girl is a cute, busty Cambodian girl. I sit and survey the situation. Are these guys about to come out with both guns blazing at the Fingerblast Corral?! If so, what the shit am I going to do?! Thankfully (or, I guess, sadly), none of the other guys are getting blown, giving/receiving rimjobs, or using inserting foreign objects into random orifices. So, I play it cool and just try to get my girl laughing and singing. Eventually, it works, but she seems genuinely confused by my behavior, as I have not spanked or fondled her in any way up to this point. However, after So and I perform a stunning rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” my girl (I still don’t know her name) develops a new strategy to win my affection: she begins hand-feeding me beef jerky (they called it something like “Creole beef,” but I fucking know beef jerky when I taste it, all right?). So, there I sit, with a busty Cambodian refilling my beer, making me drink, and shoving delicious bits of dried cow flesh into my mouth. IS THIS LOVE?!
No, it isn’t, because 2 a.m. comes around, and I’m forced to tip my girl (only fair, I suppose). Then, I jump onto the back of a motorbike with my inebriated friend to get a ride back to my guesthouse, because I am fucking responsible.
At 8:00, I’m finishing up negotiating and paying Apeu, when another, different dude rolls up and tells me Samo is busy, so he’s here to take me to the bar. I’m a bit skeptical (I mean, twice in one day, guys?), but Apeu vouches for him, so I figure he’s cool. My new friend’s name is Amon (sp.).
We hop on his bike and high-tail it away from my guesthouse to a random bar that kind of looks like a warehouse inside. Immediately upon walking up to the door, like six good-looking Cambodian women sitting at the front jump up to vie for my attention. I wave them off, as I’m not entirely sure how that whole thing works. Amon asks me if I want a girl, so I ask him. “It is nothing, man,” he says. “They sit next to you, laugh at your jokes, and drink with you.” Well, I’m not about to start buying some random Cambodian girl drinks, so once again, I wave off the signal.
We sit at a table in the bar and order our first round. At the front is a giant stage, with a revolving cast of three or four singers and two different keyboard players. They all sing different Cambodian love songs, but for all I know, it could’ve been just one long gigantic song. Did you ever see that South Park episode with Wing, the “Shitty Wok” owner’s wife? It’s pretty much like that, only with overbearing, synth-heavy keyboards. So, pretty much right up your alley, brother.
Eventually, we’re joined by So and Samo, and we proceed to knock back another seven or eight beers apiece. At one point, Amon asks me if I’d like “tootoo.” I assume he’s asking me if I want a tattoo, so naturally I decline. He shakes his head and begins making weird hand signals around his head. I still can’t follow him, so he beckons over the manager. A minute later, the same guy shows up with a huge-ass turtle in his hands. “Normally, you cannot cook tootoos in Cambodia,” Amon says. “You get in trouble with the police. But, the owner, he is good friends with the police, so we can eat tootoo, if you would like.” Flattered, but still poor, I decline.
Eventually, we ditch the first bar to hit a late-night karaoke spot. I’m not sure how familiar you are with Asian karaoke, but the party sits in a private room while drinking and singing. I assume this is because Asian cultures are always concerned with losing face, and thus don’t want to stumble onstage to belt out an awful rendition of Shania Twain or something. Pfft. Whatever, Asians.
As we enter, Amon says, “Chris, my friend. This is the freedom room. You can do whatever you want!” And immediately, four girls join the four of us in the room. I am mildly uncomfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, my girl is a cute, busty Cambodian girl. I sit and survey the situation. Are these guys about to come out with both guns blazing at the Fingerblast Corral?! If so, what the shit am I going to do?! Thankfully (or, I guess, sadly), none of the other guys are getting blown, giving/receiving rimjobs, or using inserting foreign objects into random orifices. So, I play it cool and just try to get my girl laughing and singing. Eventually, it works, but she seems genuinely confused by my behavior, as I have not spanked or fondled her in any way up to this point. However, after So and I perform a stunning rendition of Lionel Richie’s “Hello,” my girl (I still don’t know her name) develops a new strategy to win my affection: she begins hand-feeding me beef jerky (they called it something like “Creole beef,” but I fucking know beef jerky when I taste it, all right?). So, there I sit, with a busty Cambodian refilling my beer, making me drink, and shoving delicious bits of dried cow flesh into my mouth. IS THIS LOVE?!
No, it isn’t, because 2 a.m. comes around, and I’m forced to tip my girl (only fair, I suppose). Then, I jump onto the back of a motorbike with my inebriated friend to get a ride back to my guesthouse, because I am fucking responsible.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Beast Warrior Appeals to Children
Rodney just called me to have me relay the following story to you:
So, I was dropping Brendan off at school today and Beast Warrior came up on my iPod, leading to the following exchange.
Brendan: "I like this band. They're good. Who is this?"
Rodney: "This is Beast Warrior. It's Uncle Chris's band."
Brendan: "Really? I like them, they're good. I really like the guy that sounds like a monster."
Rodney: "That's Uncle Chris!"
Brendan: "Really? He's good. I like the other guy, too. He sounds funny."
Suck it, Sam.
So, I was dropping Brendan off at school today and Beast Warrior came up on my iPod, leading to the following exchange.
Brendan: "I like this band. They're good. Who is this?"
Rodney: "This is Beast Warrior. It's Uncle Chris's band."
Brendan: "Really? I like them, they're good. I really like the guy that sounds like a monster."
Rodney: "That's Uncle Chris!"
Brendan: "Really? He's good. I like the other guy, too. He sounds funny."
Suck it, Sam.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
The Matthew Kelly Teaching Experience
I sat in on some of Matt's classes today. The final class of the day was his M1s (6th graders, essentially). So, 12-year-old Thai kids who don't speak much English. They've been studying animals, so we decide to play Pictionary with the class, ANIMAL STYLE! Here's the blow-by-blow:
-Matt tells the students to get into groups of five. The class stares blankly at him. No one moves. Matt is forced to number the class by fives. At the end, the groups still don't end up with even numbers.
-The first couple rounds go by like a hurricane. The class doesn't seem to comprehend how to raise their hands without shouting. So, every time a student begins to draw on the white board, a wave of 12-year-old Thai screaming hits us like a goddamn Tsunami. At one point, a girl who is actually polite displays some artistic ability when she conjures up a good-looking pig. Matt and I make note of her for later.
-There's really no rhyme or reason to the point distribution system we use. When someone draws an animal, the entire class starts shouting, so Matt randomly chooses a group to give a point to. A couple students loudly yell that, "Teacher! That is not fair!" Matt responds, "No, it isn't, is it?" During the next round, when everyone screams, Matt chalks up points to all five groups, then turns around and tells the class, "Hey! Everyone gets a point. Is that fair?! No. That's Socialism. And that's what Obama wants." The class has no idea what he's talking about.
-Three students in a row shake off our signal of "lizard." Matt and I call up the talented girl. She nails it. Three turns later, we specifically call on her to come up and draw a dragon. Matt: "All right, girl, let's make this one metal."
-Matt begins referring to every boy at the board as "bro." For instance, before drawing, Matt will say "You ready to drop that beat, bro?! Let's hit it. GO!"
-As we run out of animal ideas, the two of us debate making the Thai students attempt to draw abstract concepts like "dreams," "the universe," or "immortality."
-Time runs out. We call the talented girl back to the board to close out Animal Pictionary with "unicorn." The students nail it pretty quickly. We demand she finish the drawing.
-Class dismissed. We leave with the picture of the unicorn still on the board.
-Matt tells the students to get into groups of five. The class stares blankly at him. No one moves. Matt is forced to number the class by fives. At the end, the groups still don't end up with even numbers.
-The first couple rounds go by like a hurricane. The class doesn't seem to comprehend how to raise their hands without shouting. So, every time a student begins to draw on the white board, a wave of 12-year-old Thai screaming hits us like a goddamn Tsunami. At one point, a girl who is actually polite displays some artistic ability when she conjures up a good-looking pig. Matt and I make note of her for later.
-There's really no rhyme or reason to the point distribution system we use. When someone draws an animal, the entire class starts shouting, so Matt randomly chooses a group to give a point to. A couple students loudly yell that, "Teacher! That is not fair!" Matt responds, "No, it isn't, is it?" During the next round, when everyone screams, Matt chalks up points to all five groups, then turns around and tells the class, "Hey! Everyone gets a point. Is that fair?! No. That's Socialism. And that's what Obama wants." The class has no idea what he's talking about.
-Three students in a row shake off our signal of "lizard." Matt and I call up the talented girl. She nails it. Three turns later, we specifically call on her to come up and draw a dragon. Matt: "All right, girl, let's make this one metal."
-Matt begins referring to every boy at the board as "bro." For instance, before drawing, Matt will say "You ready to drop that beat, bro?! Let's hit it. GO!"
-As we run out of animal ideas, the two of us debate making the Thai students attempt to draw abstract concepts like "dreams," "the universe," or "immortality."
-Time runs out. We call the talented girl back to the board to close out Animal Pictionary with "unicorn." The students nail it pretty quickly. We demand she finish the drawing.
-Class dismissed. We leave with the picture of the unicorn still on the board.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Part II
Hey bud,
So I just got home with a 12-pack of Budweiser. Moser and Brandon are picking me up at 9:30 p.m. for that Career Builder party. Keehner and Hoelscher are here, and Keehner said I should time stamp my beers. Let's do this (note: I drank two beers at work before this).
Beer No. 1 (5:53 p.m.): I'm listening to Red Wings over Baron. Keehner and E-Hoel do not know it.
Beer No. 2 (6:00 p.m.): I'm doing a lot less writing since I have Keehner and E-Hoel to talk to. I still love you though, bud. Fuck everyone who says differently, because Michael Bolton is the greatest god damned singer of all-time.
Beer No. 3 (6:13 p.m.): I'm disappointed with myself. I'm talking with Hutch a lot, though. I cannot wait for her wedding on Labor Day. I'm pretty much guaranteeing that I am going to have the best time of my life. Elizabeth just asked me to play something upbeat. 3 Inches of Blood it is.
Beer No. 4 (6:30 p.m.): We're listening to songs from The Little Mermaid. I would have finished my beer sooner, but Keehner and I had to set up a basketball shooting arcade game in our apartment. Hutch and I have concluded that if we had been raised in the same city, we would have been BEST BUDS. Sebastien was a real grouch, but he had Ariel's best interests at heart.
Beer No. 5 (6:45 p.m.): Get some? I need to watch Cool Runnings right now.
Beer No. 6 (7:07 p.m.): Disney Scene It has stolen the show. Also, Keehner might be a savant.
I can't focus on this anymore. I love you.
So I just got home with a 12-pack of Budweiser. Moser and Brandon are picking me up at 9:30 p.m. for that Career Builder party. Keehner and Hoelscher are here, and Keehner said I should time stamp my beers. Let's do this (note: I drank two beers at work before this).
Beer No. 1 (5:53 p.m.): I'm listening to Red Wings over Baron. Keehner and E-Hoel do not know it.
Beer No. 2 (6:00 p.m.): I'm doing a lot less writing since I have Keehner and E-Hoel to talk to. I still love you though, bud. Fuck everyone who says differently, because Michael Bolton is the greatest god damned singer of all-time.
Beer No. 3 (6:13 p.m.): I'm disappointed with myself. I'm talking with Hutch a lot, though. I cannot wait for her wedding on Labor Day. I'm pretty much guaranteeing that I am going to have the best time of my life. Elizabeth just asked me to play something upbeat. 3 Inches of Blood it is.
Beer No. 4 (6:30 p.m.): We're listening to songs from The Little Mermaid. I would have finished my beer sooner, but Keehner and I had to set up a basketball shooting arcade game in our apartment. Hutch and I have concluded that if we had been raised in the same city, we would have been BEST BUDS. Sebastien was a real grouch, but he had Ariel's best interests at heart.
Beer No. 5 (6:45 p.m.): Get some? I need to watch Cool Runnings right now.
Beer No. 6 (7:07 p.m.): Disney Scene It has stolen the show. Also, Keehner might be a savant.
I can't focus on this anymore. I love you.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Secret Recipe
Brother:
I need your Honolulu Blue Kool-Aid recipe for the Superbowl party this weekend. Give it to me.
Sincerely,
Dave
I need your Honolulu Blue Kool-Aid recipe for the Superbowl party this weekend. Give it to me.
Sincerely,
Dave
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The "Butt Gun" and other Thai advancements
A wiseman once said "Hot dog technology in Thailand is light years ahead of other countries."
That man was correct. But, he neglected to mention that the Thais also cook fried chicken and donuts better than we do. They're beating us at our own game, America!
If you walk down any street in Bangkok, you can purchase any variety of foods. Fried chicken, hot dogs, rotis (delicious crepe-style dishes), various soups and rice dishes, pizza, or whatever your heart desires. While the selections vary, all food is accompanied by some sort of delicious chili sauce, which unites this cornucopia of flavor in one regard: All of it will make you shit.
Living in Bangkok, especially as I do, is an invitation for a Texas Hat Trick on a daily basis. Shitting becomes like brushing your teeth (for responsible people): you do it after every meal, in addition to after waking up and before going to bed. With all this time spent in the bathroom, you'd think my anus would just be a devastated crimson wasteland, right? WRONG. Thankfully, my bathroom comes equipped with the Butt Gun, the most miraculous invention since the Slap Chop.
The Butt Gun is a spray hose, exactly like one you'd find on your average kitchen sink. However, this hose is located directly next to the toilet. Once you've released a stream of piping hot liquid death from your nether regions (for the third time that day), do you really want to scrape open your fun-hole with fistfuls of white cotton sandpaper? Of course you don't. Enter the Butt Gun. Now, instead of taking a scorched-earth policy with your puckered dumper, you can spray a refreshing jet of cool water all over your still-burning hindparts. Remember that commercial where the people get hit with things, only those things turn to water upon hitting the peoples' faces? It's a lot like that, only instead of a refreshing shave, it's an ocean of calm for your tortured shitter. You can leave the bathroom without worrying whether your bloody butthole is staining your freshly laundered underwear. In fact, you can leave the bathroom without worrying about anything! With the Butt Gun, there's a spring in your step and peace in your pants.
That man was correct. But, he neglected to mention that the Thais also cook fried chicken and donuts better than we do. They're beating us at our own game, America!
If you walk down any street in Bangkok, you can purchase any variety of foods. Fried chicken, hot dogs, rotis (delicious crepe-style dishes), various soups and rice dishes, pizza, or whatever your heart desires. While the selections vary, all food is accompanied by some sort of delicious chili sauce, which unites this cornucopia of flavor in one regard: All of it will make you shit.
Living in Bangkok, especially as I do, is an invitation for a Texas Hat Trick on a daily basis. Shitting becomes like brushing your teeth (for responsible people): you do it after every meal, in addition to after waking up and before going to bed. With all this time spent in the bathroom, you'd think my anus would just be a devastated crimson wasteland, right? WRONG. Thankfully, my bathroom comes equipped with the Butt Gun, the most miraculous invention since the Slap Chop.
The Butt Gun is a spray hose, exactly like one you'd find on your average kitchen sink. However, this hose is located directly next to the toilet. Once you've released a stream of piping hot liquid death from your nether regions (for the third time that day), do you really want to scrape open your fun-hole with fistfuls of white cotton sandpaper? Of course you don't. Enter the Butt Gun. Now, instead of taking a scorched-earth policy with your puckered dumper, you can spray a refreshing jet of cool water all over your still-burning hindparts. Remember that commercial where the people get hit with things, only those things turn to water upon hitting the peoples' faces? It's a lot like that, only instead of a refreshing shave, it's an ocean of calm for your tortured shitter. You can leave the bathroom without worrying whether your bloody butthole is staining your freshly laundered underwear. In fact, you can leave the bathroom without worrying about anything! With the Butt Gun, there's a spring in your step and peace in your pants.
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