Can’t stop watching this YouTube clip.  Link below.

Drunk, broken looking homeless guy, and then all that soul and emotion, unexpected, desperate passion, he puts in that song.  The original was good stuff.  But this guy makes the lyrics mean something.  Watch him closely.

How his voice breaks at ‘I wish I was special’ and the extra rasp at ‘I’m a creep’ and the plea for a ‘brand new perfect soul’.   ‘I wish I was special.’  Not phoned in.   And then ‘whatever makes you happy’, none of the rough drunk guy sound in his voice.   He’s really telling it like you never heard it from Radiohead.  From the glazed eyes and the drank-too-often mouth twitch, whatever is in that guy is alive.  ’What the *fuck* am I doing here?!’  Raw.

A little close with the whole ‘don’t …

Yes, the expat sheeple too must be shorn.  Below, a fantastic guide to the cost of sheering for foreign nationals (not to be confused with cost of living, which is entirely different).

This goes back to the general idea of personal financial responsibility.  We have the current wonders of economic crisis and fiscal irresponsibility and big banks and corrupt politicians to debate.  I can get with that, just with anybody who doesn’t have credit card debt, a fat mortgage, making car payments, buying shit they can’t afford.  Self righteous indignation, meet blind hypocrisy.  Even living a traveling lifestyle, individual inability to live without short sighted overspending rampant.  Let’s put this in a context relevant to the vagabond and expat lifestyles – much more challenging to fund, sustainably.

This cost of living index thing (which would be awesome if reliable), with what appears …

He opens his mouth, yelling something, I’m straining over the noise to hear him clearly.  It sounds like, *beep beep beep beep*.  He’s beeping?  Why is he beeping?  I’m never coming back here.   Really.   The beeping is annoying as fuck.  And it keeps getting brighter, too.

As I roll over and open my eyes, I’m realizing the beeping coming not from someone’s mouth, but a giant Dell tablet phone thing.  It’s out of my reach too, I’m going to have to make my way over the slender girl body dressed in a tiny leopard print dress to silence it.  Silence it forever.  Fuck, who picks this alarm sound and then sleeps right through it?

The dress has slipped up her legs, past her ass.  Very, very fine ass it is.  Small, round, tan, kind of like most Thai …

The other day I mentioned the most recent crossroads.  A decision, my friends, has been made!

Buying expensive fast bike and ride off into the sunset.  I really hung on to that one, but it’s just totally silly.  A decent bike costs the equivalent of 2 to 3 years of a Thai’s salary.  I use my bike to go to girl’s houses and often it just sits outside of a nightclub till the morning.  Not safe places.  Considering that it just takes wheeling the thing onto the back of a truck, a fast bike is more of an ego trip than actually fun or practical.

Nix that one.

Next idea, Nepal.  Paragliding is amazing.  I do also have it on good authority that the place is a shit hole.   Not much in terms of local girl action at …

There are two things happening in this post.

One, every time I read G-Manifesto, I cringe uncontrollably and want to vomit.  I don’t do it often, but just the other day it was a Twitter link, well disguised, and by the time it forwarded me to his site, it was too late.  Train wreck, must be observed.

He might be a cool guy.  It’s entirely possible.  It’s the writing and advice and style that makes me ill.

Because, really.  You brag about your drug consumption and illegal lifestyle in *every* fucking post?  Meanwhile, you don’t know that we quit referring to MDMA as ‘tabs’ in what, the 80s?  Right. Also, crime is just the small business version of what any government does – but if you brag about home invasions, then you’re not cool.  Dime crime.  The kind of stuff …

There is a stash of cash in my bank account.  And my apartment lease is up.  What to do?  It’s a little bit of a cross roads.

I want to buy a fast motorbike and ride it off somewhere, direction unknown.  Maybe not quite enough of a cash stash to buy a Ducati (local prices for foreign bikes are a little intense), but at least something with excessive cc’s.  I miss riding a ducky duck, for sure.

That’s the dumbest idea, fiscally speaking, and my favorite also.

Then, there’s following through with the original plan and migrate to Nepal.  Amazing paragliding.  Himalayas.  Shit hole town possibly, probably not a stream of hotties, but work on flying skills.  Do something different.   Middle ground in some ways.

That’s what would make sense, considering the eight thousand dollars in brand new gear I lugged …

Here goes another half assed post about stuff that probably merits some more effort.  Keep in mind, most of everything you find here is just stream-of-consciousness level of quality.  I’m sucky about editing, refining, counter point-ing, whatnot, stuff and stuff.  Just like the design and typography mostly sucks balls, and I never bother to take good pictures, this thing is always hanging on by sort of a thread.

Maybe one day it’ll grow up and be worthy of sumfkin.  Eh?

So, my current mini thought on the ‘how-to’ part of the previous post, which suggested that one *should* be giving the bone to the sexy teenage pussy.

Of course there can’t be a really good how-to of something like this.  Not from me, at least.  But there are some obvious things, applicable to many other things, that I feel …

Game is an externalized method to discover yourself.  It’s indispensable to flush out personality deficiencies, neuroses, insecurities, laziness, lacking self maintenance routines (gym, apparel, etc.).  Feedback from the opposite sex is the most accurate indicator and greatest motivator to work ON YOURSELF.

To that end, I strongly suggest - if you can’t pick up teenage girls anymore, and you have lots of reasons (aka. lame excuses) for why you like ‘more mature’ girls, then … you’re getting *old*.

Getting old is one step away from being irrelevant.

The slide must be stopped, at all costs.  Over the last few months I’ve been practice banging some chicks in their early 20s, all the way down to 18, and stuff and everything that’s legal.   I had to catch myself, from my own dangerous lies to my own deluded self.  Yea, a 28 year old …

I’m not trying to set up an endless parade of chicks in my bed.  This isn’t a game about quantity.  Actually, I get a little weirded out by mself when the body-count-per-month gets too high.  Just not my thing.

What I *do* want, is an endless parade of super hot, funny, rich family girls in my bed.  Heh.

It’s the same old story of humanity.  Stuff’s just never good enough.  First I quit hanging out with bar girls.  Then I stopped with the darker skinned ones.  After that I got iffy about non-Thai chicks.  Then it turned into an age game.  And still I’m looking around, and it’s just not an endless stream of Victoria’s Secret model types.  I know.  Sounds retarded.  But how many 8′s can you bang before you get entirely bored?

There are no 9s and up …

I’ve been spending some time in the foreigner parts of town lately.  Also, with some of the younger girls still getting their player chops.  Bangkok, there’s a good reason for all those “one night in Bangkok” songs and “Bangkok has him now” quotes in movies.

I can’t quite get myself to leave this city because of that exact rawness of it.

Many Western countries are really safe.  Food safety, legal system, traffic rules.  Girls all part of a similar economic strata.  It’s really a very simple existence, in those places.  I’ve managed to drift into the underbelly there also, but it’s a smaller part of the overall picture.

Here, it’s all temptation, it’s all eat or be eaten.  At least that level is much closer than it is elsewhere.

I was talking to a roundeye with a young girl.  Same …