July 28th, 2006, 06:40
Sundown in Sunee - Part 3
"How is Georgy these days?" I asked.
"As a matter of fact, I'm expecting him any moment, he's in Pattaya tonight so he should be along soon", he burped, wiping special sauce from his two day beard with the back of his hand. "I heard he ran into a bit of trouble in Sydney though. Some drag queen got into his cab and y'know Georgy, never being short of a word told the bitch she was supposed to shave her legs before she put her pantyhose on not after and and she was a disgrace to drag queens everywhere..you know what he's like. Well, the drag called him a fat old cunt* and to shut his fucking mouth. Georgy, well oiled as usual and really pissed off by now, king hit the poor bitch and threw her out into Darlinghurst Road,
leaving her to the traffic. Unfortunately for Georgy, the drag was an undercover vice cop, so now he's lost his fucking job, got no money, apart from the disability benefit from Social Welfare which he's being getting on the sly for years, so he thought he might get a spot at Tiffany's doing the chicken dance for the tourists. I put it to him that I didn't think it was a good idea especially with the paranoia about bird flu and he said what the fuck would I know and he'd already been offered a job as a model for KFC."
*pidgin english for preppy
to be continued.......
Joy Beenyarse came through the door and slumped down on his soapbox.
"What's the matter with you?" said Muttly. "Why won't people listen to me?" trilled Joy.Only today, I was down at the beach trying to tell anyone who would listen that it's Jomtien, not Jompthien, and who gave a rat's arse - not a single one of those predatory scum. Those perverts in their ridiculous looking speedos and false tans surrounded by nubile young men should be run out of town and let decent thai families and impressionable chinese tourists take over."
"Perhaps it's your approach" I ventured.
"Whaddya mean, my approach" his voice becoming hysterical. "I tell'em what's good for them and what do they do? Fucking well ignore me, that's what" he screeched, lurching off to the paperless toilet.
Bad hair day, I thought, as I passed the half-way mark on the Johnny Walker bottle.
Ty Quiller paused at the entrance, polishing his white vinyl genuine imitation hush puppies on the back of his trousers. The savant of all things cultural and political in Thailand and elsewhere, and a mine of useless information, Ty slapped a wayward mosquito and delicately swigged from an open bottle of unwooded chardonnay."Where's Georgy?" warbled Ty, speaking very deliberately in that down home, folksy accent of his, trying to disguise that it was not the first bottle of chardonnay that evening.
Before we could answer, a voice bellowed from the soi outside: "Fuck off, you fucking queer, whaddya think I am, a fucking woolly moof or something. There's nothing worse than a cock in a fucking frock"
Georgy had arrived.
to be continued......
"How is Georgy these days?" I asked.
"As a matter of fact, I'm expecting him any moment, he's in Pattaya tonight so he should be along soon", he burped, wiping special sauce from his two day beard with the back of his hand. "I heard he ran into a bit of trouble in Sydney though. Some drag queen got into his cab and y'know Georgy, never being short of a word told the bitch she was supposed to shave her legs before she put her pantyhose on not after and and she was a disgrace to drag queens everywhere..you know what he's like. Well, the drag called him a fat old cunt* and to shut his fucking mouth. Georgy, well oiled as usual and really pissed off by now, king hit the poor bitch and threw her out into Darlinghurst Road,
leaving her to the traffic. Unfortunately for Georgy, the drag was an undercover vice cop, so now he's lost his fucking job, got no money, apart from the disability benefit from Social Welfare which he's being getting on the sly for years, so he thought he might get a spot at Tiffany's doing the chicken dance for the tourists. I put it to him that I didn't think it was a good idea especially with the paranoia about bird flu and he said what the fuck would I know and he'd already been offered a job as a model for KFC."
*pidgin english for preppy
to be continued.......
Joy Beenyarse came through the door and slumped down on his soapbox.
"What's the matter with you?" said Muttly. "Why won't people listen to me?" trilled Joy.Only today, I was down at the beach trying to tell anyone who would listen that it's Jomtien, not Jompthien, and who gave a rat's arse - not a single one of those predatory scum. Those perverts in their ridiculous looking speedos and false tans surrounded by nubile young men should be run out of town and let decent thai families and impressionable chinese tourists take over."
"Perhaps it's your approach" I ventured.
"Whaddya mean, my approach" his voice becoming hysterical. "I tell'em what's good for them and what do they do? Fucking well ignore me, that's what" he screeched, lurching off to the paperless toilet.
Bad hair day, I thought, as I passed the half-way mark on the Johnny Walker bottle.
Ty Quiller paused at the entrance, polishing his white vinyl genuine imitation hush puppies on the back of his trousers. The savant of all things cultural and political in Thailand and elsewhere, and a mine of useless information, Ty slapped a wayward mosquito and delicately swigged from an open bottle of unwooded chardonnay."Where's Georgy?" warbled Ty, speaking very deliberately in that down home, folksy accent of his, trying to disguise that it was not the first bottle of chardonnay that evening.
Before we could answer, a voice bellowed from the soi outside: "Fuck off, you fucking queer, whaddya think I am, a fucking woolly moof or something. There's nothing worse than a cock in a fucking frock"
Georgy had arrived.
to be continued......