Archive for December, 2010


Vintage Erotica: The Uncle’s Slipper

This evening, Jirayut Wattanasin, frontman for legendary Thai rock band Nuvo, shared a multi-part tale on his Twitter account (@khunjirayut)which had his thousands of followers glued to their computer screen. With his permission, I have translated it for the international audience to enjoy. We hope you do, as I’m sure he has many more stories to tell.


Tonight’s “Vintage Erotica” is suitable only for mature audiences. Okay, you don’t have to be mature, but you should be at least 18+.

In 1992, this was the heyday of Bangkok nightlife. Whether it was discotheques, clubs, pubs, or bars, no one was running under any restrictive laws or social order campaigns.

The police didn’t know how to stop the flow of recreational drugs coming into Thailand, and our story takes place in one notorious little pub in Silom Soi 4 called “Milk Bar.”

In that area, there were other establishments like Bar Rome which made Silom Soi 4 the party mecca back in the day. But Milk Bar was where you found all the celebrities, as all the good-looking actors and hot models would congregate here to drink, dance, and hook up.

A skinny, scruffy old man in his 50’s we called Uncle Tong was seen frequently walking up and down the street back then. People assumed he was a local shop owner or something of that order, but no one knew for sure who he was nor exactly what he was doing there every night.

One evening, one of these lovely fashion models held her birthday party at Milk Bar. And many of her beautiful model friends came to join the festivities, all dressed super sexy.

Now Milk Bar was very narrow and small, merely the size of one shophouse, and only had one small lavatory in the back for both men and women. Back then it was so free, you could smoke cigarettes inside or do whatever you wanted, and that bathroom was the site of many an illicit activity.

Sometimes three guys would go in together, or perhaps a guy and a girl, staggering out in a cloud of smoke…or bursting out with eyes wide as saucers. (Perhaps from some kind of scientific endeavor? Or maybe a sporting venture? I’ll leave it to your imagination.)

Since the bathroom was tiny and filthy, when it was a guy and a girl in there, they must have been perched on the sink or hugging the toilet in all manner of loving acrobatics.

The old Uncle was walking back and forth that evening as usual, no doubt checking out the young ladies, similar to an old fighter shadow boxing, nostalgically remembering his glory days in the ring.

Some of us theorized he was saving up mental pictures to pleasure himself to later that night, for what else can a guy in his fifties hope for?

On that evening Milk Bar was packed with hot models. Though Uncle had never actually been inside before, he decided to take the bold chance of coming in. The owner, a chubby fellow named Polla, was reluctant to make him leave, as the pub was packed and he didn’t want to cause a scene.

Uncle took a seat at the corner of the bar near the bathroom, scanning the room intently like an inspector or a landlord, and so nobody dared bother him. He took visual measurements of every model in the room, greedily engorging himself on the plentiful eye candy.

All of the sudden, he got up and marched towards the bathroom. Three guys (eyes as wide as watermelons) were just coming out as Uncle walked in, locking the door behind him.

He had cut the queue in front of a young female model waiting to use the bathroom. She figured it was one guy, so if he had to urinate she wouldn’t have to wait more than 3 minutes…or maybe 7-8 minutes at most if he had to do the other thing.

After a few minutes, she turned back to the bathroom thinking it was now free. She went to turn the doorknob, when she heard the old man say with a heavy Chinese accent, “Mee kong [somebody is in here].” Thinking nothing of it, the girl turned back to talk to her friend.

A couple minutes later, she tried the door once more, and again Uncle said, “Mee kong.” Finally, the girl couldn’t take it anymore and started banging on the door.

“How long are you going to be, old man?” she yelled, “I have to peeeeee!” The Uncle recognized from her voice that she was the beautiful young thing with a banging body. Hearing this famous model whining “I have to peeeee!” gave the old codger extra motivation to finish himself off, and soon he was erupting like a volcano of lust. And as he was reaching his climax, he moaned “Mee kong! Mee kong! Meeeeeee Koooooonnnnngggg!!!”

Another couple minutes passed. The old man finally emerged from the lavatory and walked straight out of the pub. The model was overjoyed that she would finally get to use the toilet.

As she stepped into the cramped bathroom, she slipped and almost toppled over. The bathroom floor was covered in…something slippery.


On behalf of the Vintage Erotica team, thank you for following along. You can catch us again at the Insomnia Theater. This tittilating tale was brought to you by Jo New View a.k.a Jo-Nuvo.


Blanket Solutions

Today on Twitter, a discussion spontaneously occurred when @tulip_oum posted the following:

From: @Tulip_Oum
Sent: Dec 19, 2010 2:42p

18 ChiangRai’s districts declared cold-spell disaster zone, more than 260,000 still lack of blankets and winter clothing./ @news1005fm

So I replied…

From: @JackPrinya
Sent: Dec 19, 2010 2:46p

@Tulip_Oum That’s terrible, but what happens to all the blankets that are donated in previous years? Why is there a shortage every year?

And a few people responded that the donated blankets and clothing were being sold, to which I proposed:

From: @JackPrinya
Sent: Dec 19, 2010 3:15p

@f_dinkum @freakingcat @Tulip_Oum Maybe some1 should collect donated blankets at end of cold season? Clean and bring them back as needed?

And Dave posed an excellent question:

From: @daveoli
Sent: Dec 19, 2010 3:38p

@JackPrinya just a curiosity, but wonder what the carbon footprint would be to retrieve/clean/store vs making a new blanket?

My guess is reusing old blankets would have less of an environmental impact than making new ones every year.

For new blankets, you have to harvest the raw materials, spin it into yarn, dye and weave it, then transport to storage before distributing it to each village.

Recycled blankets go through the same process once, then collected, cleaned, disinfected and mended, stored, before distribution again.

I think it would likely save money as well, from what seems to have become a de facto blanket racket.

What do you think?


Help Me Tony Robbins, You’re My Only Hope

I always have very vivid dreams, but most of the time they slip from my memory like fogged breath on a mirror as soon as I wake up. But last night’s was so strange, it stayed with me until now, almost 18 hours later.

I don’t recall the entire dream, just the end. Out of nowhere, I saw Tony Robbins. Now it wasn’t like the time I saw Shu Qi in real life, where I just didn’t know what to say. I just went right up to him and shook his hand and started asking him for free life coaching advice.

Now I’m sure this happens to the real Tony Robbins all the time, and I assume he’s probably not disinclined to dropping gratis crumbs of wisdom for the unwashed, undermotivated masses. At any rate, my Inception Tony Robbins was a very gracious and nice guy, who shook my hand and listened intently with a smile when I told him I could use some help putting my life in order.

He said “Of course, buddy. The first thing you need to do is get off that unicorn.”

And lo and behold, I was thoughtlessly sitting astride an actual unicorn. Sheepishly, I dismounted more embarrassed by my rudeness than in any way fazed by the fact that a unicorn existed. I was tingling in anticipation for the answers that would lead me to success and riches.

Suddenly, the grating, mocking melody of my BlackBerry alarm
clock yanked me out of my dream. I quickly pressed Dismiss and tried to return to sleep. But the tidal wave of consciousness had crushed my delicate sand castle dream, thereby killing Inception Tony Robbins.

And what makes this even more lamentable was that today is a holiday (Constitution Day. Woot!) so I was in no real rush to wake up.

What else was Dream Tony Robbins going to tell me? I probably would have forgotten it all anyway. But I did catch a faint echo as I was being wrenched into reality.

“All the answers you need are in my book. Order it todayyyyyy!”


I got the BlackBerry Broadcast Blues

This is a message I have received repeatedly on BlackBerry Messenger over the past few days:

“‎​This is the real broadcast from Blackberry© All rights reserved.
Broadcast this message to every single contact on your BBM© to reset your display picture, sorry for any inconvenience.
‎​This message is to inform all of our users, that our servers have recently been really full, so we are asking for your help to fix this problem. We need our active users to re-send this message to everyone on your contact list in order to confirm our active users that use BlackBerry Messenger, if you do not send this message to all your BlackBerry Messenger contacts then your account will remain inactive with the consequence of losing all your contacts
Symbol will automatic update in your  ,when you broadcast this message. Your blackberry will be updated within 24 hours it will have a new lay out and a new color for chat.
‎​Dear Blackberry users, We are going to do a update for bbm from 11pm till 5am this to day. You if you don’t send this to all your contacts your update will be cancelled and you would not be alowed to chat with your contacts as you have the old version”

I find it very disappointing that people are still falling for this sort of chain mail douchebaggery. I understand it’s a lot of “better safe than sorry” but c’mon, these assholes misspelled “allowed.” It’s not just annoying, it clogs bandwidth better served watching stupid people fall on YouTube.

If there is a hell, I like to imagine people that repeatedly forward these types of messages (along with earlier incarnations in emails, MSN chats, and good old fashioned letters) are forever strapped naked to a rack, being force fed all manner of garbage, like a goose being fattened for its precious liver, with all their excrements running down a trough into the mouths of the people who started writing them in the first place.

But if you are still not convinced, that’s fine. Please forward this post, because if you do, I will give you $100 for every new reader you send my way. It’s no joke. Me and Steve Jobs have been beta testing this system to track people through forwarded emails and he’s funding it himself. You can then use your winnings to buy as much foie gras as your heart desires.