While May pleasured the Taiwanese at his apartment, the old lady cooked and did the laundry for him at home, so several times a day, food and clothing must be shuttled back a forth, a task assigned to her oldest son. Three Vietnamese, then, lived only to service one Taiwanese, but of course, he tipped them well.
In May's presence, the Taiwanese boasted to me twenty years ago, "I've slept with over one hundred Vietnamese whores," so May was just one more, except that she's really a "rented girl" ["ga'i bao"], which was actually worse, for she had to be a loving whore all day long, year after year, without the time and space to regain herself. A mere whore can drop her act, go home, relax and f*ck her real choice.
Dumbshits may think a whore's main task is co*k sucking, and while that should never be discounted, it's her drama skill that's essential and most developed, for she must act sweet and inviting to all comers, no matter how repulsive she may find any banger, or how she felt at that moment.
Speaking of bangers, I've already found two places in Vung Tau that serve smashing bangers and mash, for both VBF and Offshore Bar were owned by Brits. Though those two have left, their Vietnamese cooks still know how to dish up authentic English classics. At Offshore, I just had a heartening Sunday roast, complete with roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and cauliflower cheese.
We'll get back to Suki's terrible dilemma, but I need a brief break from what is too painful a scenario. I'm typing this in Offshore. Just a moment ago, there was an eruption of English, mostly pidgin. As an old Aussie paid his tab, the barmaid rejected his money, for his 500,000 dong bill was too beat up.
"Maybe it's fake money," he laughed.
"No fake. Old. You change."
"Maybe they'll put me in the monkey cage for this!"
"Tiger cage," I corrected him, referring to the infamous prison on CÃ �n Ä �a' � �o, in the same province as Vung Tau.
"Yeah, that's right, tiger cage!" He laughed and showed me the rejected bill.
"Look at this," I said, "it's clearly fake and you've defaced Ho Chi Minh's face, too! That's an even more serious crime. You're fucked!"
"I better tear it up!"
"No, you better run to the airport," and for a second, the old dude stopped laughing, with images of Midnight Express, probably, running through his cobwebbed mind.
During the Vietnam War, the Aussies ran a prisoner of war camp in Dirt Mountain [NÃ �i Ä �a' � �t], near Vung Tau. It had a sign, "NUI DAT REST CENTRE / BED BREAKFAST / BODYGUARDS / RUNNING WATER."
Suki is also a prisoner, I'm afraid, and also of the Vietnam War, if only indirectly. I tried to intervene as delicately or forcefully as I could. Repeatedly, I talked to the old lady, May and the child's father, Quan, who was also my boss at the plastic recycling plant in Ea Kly. Whenever in Saigon, I tried to spend as much time as possible with Suki, for each second in my presence meant one less second with his psycho grandma. Lying on the hammock, she scowled while staring at FaceBook, and only lifted her head to glower at the world. Together, Suki and I escaped this madhouse to go for long walks through alleys, or spend a couple hours in a nearby amusement park or shopping mall. At home, I played toy cars with this wonderful child.
I taught Suki many new words: crab, shrimp, fish, stingray, dolphin, pig, cow, horse, deer, duck, chicken, dragon, temple, church, banana, durian, rambutan, mushroom, grape, apple, orange, red, yellow, blue, white, gray, green, purple, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, car, truck, bus, bicycle, motorbike, etc., and he loved each new word, for he was super eager to learn. With a surprisingly low voice, he would roar, "Craaaab!" and never tired at looking at crabs at any market. He was fascinated by cement mixers, and one of his first fully formed sentences was, "It spins around and around!"
In May's presence, the Taiwanese boasted to me twenty years ago, "I've slept with over one hundred Vietnamese whores," so May was just one more, except that she's really a "rented girl" ["ga'i bao"], which was actually worse, for she had to be a loving whore all day long, year after year, without the time and space to regain herself. A mere whore can drop her act, go home, relax and f*ck her real choice.
Dumbshits may think a whore's main task is co*k sucking, and while that should never be discounted, it's her drama skill that's essential and most developed, for she must act sweet and inviting to all comers, no matter how repulsive she may find any banger, or how she felt at that moment.
Speaking of bangers, I've already found two places in Vung Tau that serve smashing bangers and mash, for both VBF and Offshore Bar were owned by Brits. Though those two have left, their Vietnamese cooks still know how to dish up authentic English classics. At Offshore, I just had a heartening Sunday roast, complete with roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and cauliflower cheese.
We'll get back to Suki's terrible dilemma, but I need a brief break from what is too painful a scenario. I'm typing this in Offshore. Just a moment ago, there was an eruption of English, mostly pidgin. As an old Aussie paid his tab, the barmaid rejected his money, for his 500,000 dong bill was too beat up.
"Maybe it's fake money," he laughed.
"No fake. Old. You change."
"Maybe they'll put me in the monkey cage for this!"
"Tiger cage," I corrected him, referring to the infamous prison on CÃ �n Ä �a' � �o, in the same province as Vung Tau.
"Yeah, that's right, tiger cage!" He laughed and showed me the rejected bill.
"Look at this," I said, "it's clearly fake and you've defaced Ho Chi Minh's face, too! That's an even more serious crime. You're fucked!"
"I better tear it up!"
"No, you better run to the airport," and for a second, the old dude stopped laughing, with images of Midnight Express, probably, running through his cobwebbed mind.
During the Vietnam War, the Aussies ran a prisoner of war camp in Dirt Mountain [NÃ �i Ä �a' � �t], near Vung Tau. It had a sign, "NUI DAT REST CENTRE / BED BREAKFAST / BODYGUARDS / RUNNING WATER."
Suki is also a prisoner, I'm afraid, and also of the Vietnam War, if only indirectly. I tried to intervene as delicately or forcefully as I could. Repeatedly, I talked to the old lady, May and the child's father, Quan, who was also my boss at the plastic recycling plant in Ea Kly. Whenever in Saigon, I tried to spend as much time as possible with Suki, for each second in my presence meant one less second with his psycho grandma. Lying on the hammock, she scowled while staring at FaceBook, and only lifted her head to glower at the world. Together, Suki and I escaped this madhouse to go for long walks through alleys, or spend a couple hours in a nearby amusement park or shopping mall. At home, I played toy cars with this wonderful child.
I taught Suki many new words: crab, shrimp, fish, stingray, dolphin, pig, cow, horse, deer, duck, chicken, dragon, temple, church, banana, durian, rambutan, mushroom, grape, apple, orange, red, yellow, blue, white, gray, green, purple, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, car, truck, bus, bicycle, motorbike, etc., and he loved each new word, for he was super eager to learn. With a surprisingly low voice, he would roar, "Craaaab!" and never tired at looking at crabs at any market. He was fascinated by cement mixers, and one of his first fully formed sentences was, "It spins around and around!"
Next Page 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).
