Tag: Taser Guy

BLOG: Stories from SEA

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Thursday. Where does the time go? I have no idea.

What am I doing? I have no idea. Making a mess of my life and my finances in pursuit of my insane dream to become a professional writer. Seriously, what am I doing right now?

I should have just gone to Africa.

Well, I guess I kinda did when I was working for the South African company. That was a very eye-opening experience about the realities of the world we live in.

No regrets. Only adventures and misadventures of all kinds.

Besides, I really do love living in Hong Kong. What a special experience I get to have! I just don’t know how to play the hand I have. I’m working on it, though.

At the end of the day, I’m happy I came here. I just could not live in South Dakota anymore. It’s such a dark memory for me. I see reminders on Instagram and get these terrible flashbacks. I just want to forget about it forever.

New stories! Always new stories!

This year has just been… the time I needed to figure out who I am and what kind of person I want to be moving into the future.

What I’ve learned is that I am tired of dating. I don’t want to have any more one night stands. I definitely want to be in a relationship with someone stable for awhile. No more sadists dressed in leather riding on motorcycles, if you know what I’m saying.

How did I let myself get roped into that one? Ugh.

My friend says it’s “giving whips and chains vibes.” I don’t know what that means. I mean, I do know what it means, but umm… like… how do I explain this?

I’ve only seen that represented in fiction, like books or movies. I hate to admit this, but I’ve seen all three 50 Shades movies and all three 365 Days movies. I know what this is. I’m not wearing a silk blindfold over here.

I just have never encountered someone in real life who was like that. It was really intense. And then they just up and disappear on me like that? That’s not something you casually do with a stranger you just met last night. I know this because I spent several hours researching the topic the other day once I realized exactly what I was dealing with. You would be surprised by how many peer-reviewed academic sources exist on the subject.

It’s just like my encounter with the finance bro doing coke off the toilet seat. I’m not totally naive that this is something normal in this world. I know what’s happening when people constantly disappear to the bathroom. It’s just never been right up in my face like that before.

So to me, a person who has generally been living a very sheltered life out in South Dakota for the last 17 years, things like Russian men casually doing BDSM and finance bros snorting coke off a toilet seat in broad daylight are somewhat shocking to me. I just didn’t expect people to behave that way IRL. Well, I did, just not in front of me. If I was cool enough to be invited to the party, I would have gotten over this stuff in my early 20’s.

And I hear I thought some of the people I met in Thailand were shocking. No, no, Thailand is where these guys go when they want to retire on a beach somewhere with some chick who is 30 years younger than them. Hong Kong is where they get the money to fund their Sick Water Buffalo Farm.

Anyway, circling back, I am now pretty upset about The Russian thing. I feel like I was duped into doing something that I don’t really understand and now it’s hurting me. I don’t think I really understood the psychological implications of whatever we were doing. I told you it felt like some kind of weird scorpion mating/bonding ritual. Now he has completely withdrawn, as is the way this ritual apparently goes, and I don’t like it. At all.

I’m looking back on it with regret because this is just not something you do casually with a stranger. I mean I guess some people are into that, but I am definitely not. I feel like the whole thing is about communication and you need to be with someone long-term to develop the trust you need for something like that. There is no trust with a random stranger.

There is also the aspect that he was in that bar because he had already been there earlier in the day and decided to come back to see the bartender. Then he saw me instead. So he was in there “hunting” and would have gone after her had I not been there. This makes the entire situation worse for me. Like, so he just completely glamoured me and then roped me into this weird sexual fetish he has without my consent? What the fuck!

And then he says I can’t write about it? Yeah, no, screw that. I’m writing about it, bro. This is what I live for. This is what I do. I document the crazy shit that I see in the SEA. Now we have a new story to add to the collection. This collection that is full of stories about sex workers in Dubai, racist South Africans, sick water buffalo, Latin Lovers, Irish gangsters on the run from the law, kratom-induced hallucinations of the Loch Ness Monster, weird wannabe spiritual guru grifters in Bali, hot GAA players, mean immigration officials, old Pattaya boys zapping off tasers, finance bros doing coke and K, crazy Hong Kong Taxi Mafia drivers, wise Filipina aunties, unattractive throuples, Aussies and Canadians conspiring to make Trump their King, and now a Russian who apparently just casually does BDSM with random strangers in his free time on work trips.

Grand! Just grand!

Nope, wouldn’t trade this for the world!

You know what I need to add to this list? We’re all thinking it: boat party. Yes. Put me on that Junk Boat. Put me on the yacht, mini, mega, supersize, whatever. I don’t care what it is. I just want to go party on a boat and watch the shit go down, preferably under a full moon. Powers of manifestation: go!

I think as of right now, Hermès is probably my favourite character. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of that baby face, but I’ve got a soft spot for him. Don’t want to bang him or date him or even really see him, to be honest, but I appreciate the complexity of his character. I could write like seven movies just about his life alone, and all of them would feature a different beautiful brunette as his leading lady. That’s valuable. That’s my little pot o’ gold right there.

It’s been a good year. I’m grateful to have such a crazy story to tell. This is what I live for! This is all I’ve ever wanted to do. I believe in the story that is unfolding, even if I don’t quite know where it’s leading me yet.

Today is definitely a good day to climb The Peak. As Kim Kardashian once said, “Get up off your ass and WORK!”

Okay, okay, let’s get to WERK.

SCRIPT: Liz vs Hermes

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EXT: A Muay Thai Gym somewhere in Bangkok, Thailand. The sign above the door reads “Jace’s Place.” A Grab bike pulls up out front and an Irishman hops off. He adjusts his little messenger bag and smooths his back. He takes a deep breath as he walks through the door. His name is HERMES.

Inside he sees a woman with short, straight bleach blonde hair dressed in a red two-piece yoga set standing in the middle of the ring. She glares at him as she plants her hands on her hips and taps her foot impatiently. She is LIZ.

LIZ: You’re late.

HERMES: I just came from Chiang Mai. I didn’t realize you were waiting here for me, Betsey.

LIZ: Betsey isn’t here today. My name is Liz.

HERMES looks her over and laughs.

HERMES: What, do you have multiple personalities or something?

LIZ: That’s right.

HERMES: Are you the good one or the bad one?

LIZ: I’m the one you don’t want to fuck with.

HERMES laughs at her again.

HERMES: Or what?

LIZ: Or you end up in a story like this. I have a whole collection of them. I write them when I want to take my revenge.

HERMES: And what, exactly, are you taking revenge for today?

LIZ: You. All of you. You dragged me into a mess that I don’t want any part of. You think I am just some stupid, naive little girl, but what you don’t know is that I have a very serious anger problem and I am going to take it out on you today.

HERMES: Why me?

LIZ: Because you have the most punchable face.

HERMES: So what? You think I’m gonna get in that ring and fight you?

LIZ: You have no choice.

HERMES: And what does Uncle Jason think about you using his place for this?

LIZ: He’s indisposed at the moment.

Cut to shot of UNCLE JASON tied up in a broom closet with a sock stuffed into his mouth. The scene quickly cuts back to the ring, where a THAI GIRL brings over a set of boxing gloves and presents them to HERMES.

HERMES: I’m not going to fight you, Betsey. I told you, I don’t hit women.

LIZ: That’s not what I’ve heard. And stop calling me Betsey. MY name is Liz. We are not the same. Now put on the goddamn gloves and get in the goddamn ring.

HERMES: I’m not getting in the fucking ring!

LIZ: GET IN THE FUCKING RING!

HERMES: Or what?

Suddenly, the door bursts open and a much older Irishman with long, wild hair marches in with a taser. He points it right at HERMES. HERMES gasps at the sight of the only person he is legitimately afraid of.

TASEER: Get in the fucking ring, Hermes.

HERMES: What are you doing here?

TASER GUY: [shrugs] Bit of a slow day. Now get in the ring.

HERMES takes the gloves nervously and climbs up into the ring.

HERMES: How did you even meet this woman?

TASER GUY: At the same place she met all of you. The American Bar.

Cut to shot of the inside of the American Bar, where all the lads are gathered to watch the Greatest Show on Earth. LYDIA, the bartender, cues up the TVs to play the live CCTV feed from the gym. She takes out a giant bowl and starts passing it around the bar.

LYDIA: Gentlemen, place your bets!

OLD MAN SMILEY: I’ve got 50 baht on Hermes! That little cunt doesn’t stand a chance against him.

OKLAHOMA: I don’t know about that one, Smiley. She’s got a lotta rage. I’ll put 100 baht on Betsey.

UNCLE SEAMUS: Ooh, this is a tough one. They’re pretty evenly matched. What does my beautiful wife think about this?

AUNTIE EM: [jumps up and down with a big smile on her face] Betsey! Betsey! Betsey!

UNCLE SEAMUS: Whatever you say, sweetheart. 50 baht for each of us on Betsey, but only because I enjoy watching Hermes get punched in the face. Never gets old!

CHICAGO EAST: I’ll bet 100 baht on Hermes. Betsey is just a spoiled little Princess. He’ll take her out in one punch.

FINN: This is not possible. You always underestimate this woman, Chi. This is your greatest mistake. I’m putting 200 baht on her knocking him out with one punch.

NEW YORK YANKEE: 500 baht and a round of shots on Betsey. She’s no delicate little lady, Chi. I agree with Finn. She’s gonna knock him right the fuck out.

MR. POSH: 500 baht on Betsey. She’s been to my house. She’s ridden on camels. She knows the date of the Norman Invasion. She’s definitely gonna win this round!

THE MOOSE: I will also wager 500 baht on Betsey. She might be a lady, but she’s a real Irish country girl at heart. I fully believe she can hold her own in a fight. What do you think, Antony?

Everyone in the bar turns around and looks at MR. ANTONY (aka the Hot Beef Stew). He sits in silence for a moment as he thinks it over. He then pulls a crisp, clean 1000 baht note out of his wallet and throws it in the bowl.

MR. ANTONY: I choose Betsey. That riff-raff Hermes deserves exactly what’s coming to him. I do not appreciate the way he interfered in our affair. He caused a lot of problems for both of us.

CHICAGO EAST: I can’t believe you’re gonna bet 1000 baht on her after she called you a ‘dirty little slut’ on her blog!

MR. ANTONY: [shrugs with indifference] I deserved it.

THE MOOSE: I thought you didn’t read her blog, Chi.

CHICAGO EAST: I don’t! I mean… sometimes I do… I mean… doesn’t everyone?

MR. ANTONY: That reminds me, has anyone seen Jason today? I feel like he should be here.

The scene cuts back to the broom closet, where UNCLE JASON finally spits the sock out of his mouth.

UNCLE JASON: [screaming] I’m gonna KILL that little cunt! You hear me, Betsey Horton?! I’m gonna fucking kill you!

The door to the broom closet suddenly bursts open. The TASER GUY stands in the doorway, holding his taser menacingly.

TASER GUY: You will do no such thing, Jason. She’s under my protection now. You leave her be or I’ll zap your dumb ass.

UNCLE JASON: Ugh! Fine! Will you at least let me go so I can watch the fight? I’m betting 10,000 baht on Hermes right now.

TASER GUY: You’re making a big mistake, but okay. Ladies!

Two THAI GIRLS come into the broom closet and help UNCLE JASON off the floor. They untie him and escort him to a bench by the ring. The TASER GUY takes a seat next to him.

The camera pans over back to the ring and re-focuses on LIZ and HERMES. Another THAI GIRL climbs into the ring to act as the referee. LIZ takes a step back from the center, puts her hands in prayer, and bows to him in respect. HERMES rolls his eyes and holds up his gloves.

HERMES: I just want to warn you in advance. This is going to be over pretty fast.

LIZ: It sure is.

REFEREE: Round 1! Go!

The bell rings to signal the start of the match. LIZ raises her arms above her head and lifts one leg into Crane Pose. She steps back gracefully into Warrior II and motions with her hand for HERMES to come at her. He steps forward to take a swing right at her face. Much to his surprise, she dodges him fast. He loses his balance and stumbles forward. LIZ promptly knocks him down onto the floor with a roundhouse kick to the face. He lands on his back and stares up at her in awe as she looks down at him with disgust.

HERMES: How did you do that?

LIZ: I’m a fucking yoga teacher, you dumb fuck. That’s how.

LIZ proceeds to beat the ever-living shit out of HERMES, destroying his perfectly punchable face in record time. The crowd at the bar watch in silent awe, their jaws dropping to the floor one by one.

LIZ: DON’T. [punch] YOU. [punch] EVER. [punch] MESS WITH ME AGAIN. [punch] DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!

HERMES goes limp on the floor as she knocks him out with one last punch. The REFEREE pulls LIZ off the poor bastard and holds her arm up in the air.

REFEREE: The winner is Liz!

LIZ rips off her gloves and throws them down on the ground so hard they bounce out of the ring. She lets out a primal scream of pure rage like none of these men have ever heard in their lives. It’s kinda scary, but also kinda hot? She spits on HERMES as she stands over his limp body.

LIZ: Happy St. Patrick’s Day, motherfucker.

LIZ storms out of the ring and disappears somewhere off screen. TASER GUY roars with laughter as he looks over at UNCLE JASON. He is frozen in shock.

TASER GUY: I told you it was a bad bet to make.

UNCLE JASON: But… but… what… I don’t understand how this could have happened. You fixed it, didn’t you?

TASER GUY: I didn’t have to.

UNCLE JASON: Fuck!

Meanwhile, at the bar, everyone is sitting there in stunned silence. The camera takes a moment to focus on each individual expression as it pans across the bar. LYDIA calmly stands over the cash register, counting out the winnings. She puts all of the cash in an envelope and hands it over to MR. ANTONY. As per usual, she is all business.

OLD MAN SMILEY: Wow.

OKLAHOMA: I told you she has a lotta rage.

UNCLE SEAMUS: That’s my niece, everyone! That’s my long-lost Irish niece!

AUNTIE EM: [smiles proudly] My niece! My niece!

UNCLE SEAMUS: That’s right, honey. Family. Not a threat. Family.

AUNTIE EM: [nods] Family.

FINN: I told you not to underestimate her, Chi.

CHICAGO EAST: [stares at the ground with shame]

MR. POSH: That was fun! Let’s face it: That fucker Hermes has had it coming for YEARS! I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Sooner or later he was going to mess with the wrong person. I just didn’t think it would be… a girl.

THE MOOSE: [staring up at the TV with stars in his eyes] She’s not a girl. That’s a real woman right there. I think I’m in love with her.

MR. ANTONY: [pats THE MOOSE on the back in solidarity and chuckles] I know I am.

NEW YORK YANKEE: [gets out of his seat and rings the bell loudly] Lydia! A round of shots for the bar, please!

LYDIA already has the plate prepared. She passes out the shots and everyone holds theirs up high. Everyone except CHICAGO EAST, who is still staring at the floor in silence. Just as they are about the take the shot, the door opens and BETSEY walks in. She has long dark, curly hair and is wearing a black maxi dress. Everyone freezes and stares at her in shock.

BETSEY: What are you all staring at?

NEW YORK YANKEE: How did you get here so fast?

BETSEY: What are you talking about? You know I only live one block down the street. I’ve been in my apartment all afternoon. I was taking a nap.

CHICAGO EAST: But… but… but… that was you. It was you up there on the TV. It was you.

BETSEY: Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

OLD MAN SMILEY: Whaddaya talkin’ about? You got multiple personalities or something?

BETSEY smirks at him knowingly and shrugs.

BETSEY: Maybe I do…

The Krewe looks at her with a mix of fear and awe as she walks up to CHICAGO EAST and picks up his shot glass.

BETSEY: I’ll take that. Slainte, fam!

UNCLE SEAMUS: SLAINTE!

Everyone takes the shot. BETSEY walks over to MR. ANTONY. He hands her the envelope of cash.

MR. ANTONY: Your winnings…

BETSEY: Thank you, darling. I’m sorry for all of this.

MR. ANTONY: I’m sorry too. I should have been honest with you.

BETSEY: Thank you. I would have gone with you anyway. I don’t have healthy boundaries around these sorts of things.

MR. ANTONY: Are we okay now?

BETSEY: Yes. I told you. I like you.

MR. ANTONY: Still?

BETSEY: Always. You’re one of my Muses now.

MR. ANTONY: Just like your Andrew.

BETSEY: Yes. Just like My Andrew. Except you are way, way, way hotter than he was! That’s why I call you my Hot Beef Stew.

MR. ANTONY: Grand.

BETSEY: Grand!

They exchange one last look before she turns to the crowd and waves goodbye.

BETSEY: See you later, everyone!

BETSEY walks out of the bar, clicks her heels together three times, and lands back in Hong Kong.

The End.

BLOG: Big Trouble in Little Bangkok

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Monday. At the coffee shop.

The baristas all greet me by name when I come in now. Whoever said HongKongers were unfriendly clearly hasn’t been hanging out in the right places. The baristas know me, the bartenders know me, the owners of my favourite restaurants all know me, my corner 7-11 Krewe knows me. It’s really not that hard to be kind to the people you interact with every day.

How is my Cantonese coming along? Poorly, mostly because I am lazy. I know how to say hello, Happy New Year, and how to tell the difference between the 20 different versions of “ok” (which is actually extremely useful). I can also understand when someone curses at me on the metro for bumping into them. At the bare minimum, I should learn to say “Thank you” and “Have a nice day.”

So, it’s about as good as my Thai, lol. In Thai I can say hello, thank you, and have a nice day. I can also understand when someone is talking shit about me, which has been very useful given the circumstances I found myself in when I was there.

Sometimes I think about everything that happened in Bangkok and just sit there thinking, “Wow, what was that?” So random. Like, remember that time I was just sitting at the bar alone drowning in my sorrows and suddenly got roped into some crazy shit by a random Irish gangster from Belfast and now all these men in the expat community there hate/fear me because of my blog? Yeah.

What was that?

I don’t know, but it’s a way better story than whatever dumb story I was writing right before that. Way to get me out of my bubble! Woo!

I started watching the Irish TV show “Bodkin” on Netflix. It’s about an Irish journalist who teams up with two American podcasters to investigate a cold case in a small, rural Irish town. It’s entertaining. I will say it’s helping me understand the “Slow to trust” attitude of the Irish. Yet another reminder of how much I don’t actually know about my own people and culture. Sad.

It definitely explains some of the weirder encounters I’ve had, particularly with Uncle Jason. He is not Irish, he is English (and we don’t hold that against him!), but he is the one who hates/fears me the most. At first, I thought this was very strange. I literally never mentioned him in my writing until he screamed at me right to my face. I barely had any interaction with him at all. I was mostly hanging out with his niece, who I thought was pretty cool.

For the longest time, I thought he was just mad about the Hot Beef Stew thing, which was strange because… why the fuck do you care so much that your friend and I hooked up when we were drunk? This man is an adult. He can make his own choices, which he did. I chose not to rat him out for said choices, mostly because I don’t want to create any more problems for myself.

Then I finally got someone to tell me what Uncle Jason does for work in Thailand and what sort of people he is allegedly so well-connected with. At first I was like, “Well, so what? Who cares about that? Why does he think I would care about that?”

Then I told my brother and he’s like, “That sounds like the Thailand version of [insert famous British gangster movie here].”

That was when the realization finally came over me.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh…”

I just sat there for a moment in silence with my jaw on the floor and said, “Thank you for giving me the extra +1 I needed to solve this equation.”

Okay, that explains the Fear/Hate. Still, not very interested in whatever he’s got going on over there, to be honest. As we can all see, I am clearly too dickmatized by the memory of passionately kissing the Hot Beef Stew in the elevator to pay much attention to anything else going on around me. It wasn’t until I met the Taser Guy that I realized I had stepped into such a massive pile of shit.

I still think it’s hilarious that they told an old man from friggin’ Belfast who came into the bar zapping off a taser not to talk to ME. As if I’m the crazy, dangerous one in this equation! Wow! It’s an honor and a privilege to be recognized for my journalistic skillz that I didn’t even know I had.

Here I’ve been sitting in my apartment trying to write low-brow bullshit like a smutty romance novel and live my own version of Eat Pray Love and figure out how to monetize my stupid blog, and all these men all think I’m an undercover journalist on a mission to expose their shady activities in Thailand.

That is HILARIOUS!

The projection is strong with this one.

Honestly, well done. Well done, me. I guess now I really do have to become a journalist. Anyway, if I was them, I would stop treating me like an enemy and befriend me instead. Get me on your side so I won’t write about you. Treating me like a threat is only going to accomplish the following:

  1. Make me even more curious about what you’re doing than I already am.
  2. Make it less likely I’ll cover for you if something shady goes down.
  3. Make it completely impossible for me to look the other way and pretend I have no idea what’s going on, as I was doing before.

I don’t know. It’s probably all just some weird fraternity hazing ritual. It definitely feels like a test. Did I pass the test? I don’t know. I guess we will find out.

My one consolation prize for all of this: I might not get to attend the Emerald Ball, make a grand entrance, and have the epic Cinderella moment that I’ve always dreamed of, but I take comfort in the fact that I will be the talk of that event. Let’s wait and see how my blog stats look on St. Patrick’s Day, lolololol.

I genuinely do not know how I ended up in this situation at all. I can only think back to Saturday night when my friend and I were at the Pub to watch rugby and how I was clearly marked as “prey” by multiple predatory individuals with varying agendas.

I guess Hermès marked me as “prey” when I was sitting in the American Bar. Now here I am, dragged into this mess against my will, and this little shit still has me blocked on social media so he doesn’t have to answer for it. What a jerk. Now I understand why he is always getting punched in the face. Riff-raff indeed!

It’s funny to go back and read my previous posts from before the Hot Beef Stew. I was clearly only concerned with my endless naval-gazing, eating, drinking, and collecting hoes in different area codes. Then this guy comes out of the bar and pushes me against the wall and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before and now all of a sudden I am subject to suspicion and increasingly negative, unwanted attention.

Ridiculous!

This is a lesson in what happens when you take a passive approach to life. I literally just sat there and waited for something interesting to happen. These are the results. Maybe next time, be more active and intentional in my approach to life.

I have no idea how to do this, of course. For most of my life, I was shut down and derailed and sabotaged. My parents actively discouraged me from doing anything I wanted to do. The answer was always, “No, you can’t do that.” Or “You would hate that!” If I did it anyway, they would find a way to threaten me or guilt-trip me or sabotage it completely. I learned to be passive in life because it didn’t matter what I wanted or how I felt. I was just there to be the scapegoat for everyone else to project all their bullshit onto.

Now I am out here in the world and I am free, and yet… I am still passively waiting for something interesting to happen to me. And interesting things do happen to me. I suppose I am just tired of ending up in unpleasant situations, surrounded by unpleasant people.

Even when I try to live my life with intention, it doesn’t seem to work out. I apply for jobs and hear nothing. If I do manage to get a job, I get bullied out fast. I try to volunteer or join clubs and get rejected. I go to Yoga Teacher Training courses and meet people who are just… mean and stupid and selfish. I try to better myself over and over and yet… nothing materializes. The only real skill I seem to have is pissing people off by writing down my thoughts and feelings. Good for me, I guess.

I am lost. But at least I’m lost in Hong Kong instead of South bumfucknowheresville Dakota. If nothing else in life, I can be grateful for the fact that I literally never have to go back there ever again. I never wanted to be there in the first place. At least I am finally free…

What will I do with my freedom today? Spend even more time sleeping? I feel like I’ve spent the last month doing nothing but sleeping. I suspect it’s my body’s reaction to no longer living in constant fight-or-flight mode. I am getting the rest I desperately need.

Still, I could be less lazy and go take a walk instead of wasting another day in bed. Some days I just get so overwhelmed by the state of the world and my lack of a real place in it.

What am I doing with my life?

I have no idea.

But at least I live in Hong Kong!

BLOG: The Taser Guy

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Thursday here in Bangkok. I never could have imagined my life would someday look like this.

Last night was really quite something. I decided to wander on down to the American Bar, where a new adventure undoubtedly awaited. I was correct, as per usual.

I wasn’t sitting in there very long before an “Old Pattaya Boy” (as they say here) came into the bar waving around a taser. He was pointing it at the ceiling and zapping it on and off. Everyone laughed as if this was completely normal behavior. One person even said, “The Legend has returned!”

Ohhhh Bangkok…

Sometime later, I was left alone in the bar with only company of this man. As soon as the others were out the door, he fixated on me and said, “They told me not to talk to you. What did you do to piss them off? Why are they all so afraid of you?”

I caved into the inevitable conversation, hoping this man would not taze me into oblivion. His eyes were red and wild, his hair was unwashed and strung out, and he looked like he could possibly fall over at any moment. Naturally, he was from Belfast, and was feeling much better since he stopped doing cocaine.

“I’m a writer,” I said. “They are mad at me because I have been writing stories about this bar.”

“This bar?” He repeated. “You’re writing about this bar? What are you writing about this bar?”

“Just my observations about the people I meet and some of the weirder things that happen to me. Like tonight.”

“You’re telling me you’re going to go home after this and write a story about some crazy old guy from Belfast coming into the bar with a taser?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Are you going to use my real name?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that then?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. There must be some reason they are still mad at me.”

“You must have written about someone they know.”

“I’ve written about a lot of people they know.”

“Like who?”

“Do you know [name redacted]?”

At this, his eyes widened.

“Yes, I’ve known him for over a decade now. How do you know [name redacted]?”

“I met him here. He walked right up to me and started telling me his life story.”

“Ah, so you know who he is back home. He’s a wanted man. He lives here in exile. He can never go back to Northern Ireland. I just wonder to myself… why was it that he was never arrested? Do you know?”

“I imagine he worked out some kind of deal with the right person. Maybe traded information in exchange for protection. I can’t say for certain because I don’t know. That’s just my theory given what I know about him.”

“So you’ve been writing about him?”

“Yes. Of course. He told me I could write about him as long as I don’t use his real name. He is very braggadocious, as you know. He’ll tell anyone off the street his life story.”

“Well, you know not everything he says is true. Some of his stories are complete lies and fabrications. He’s full of shit.”

“Yes, I recently learned that lesson the hard way.”

“Oh, he was just trying to fuck you, wasn’t he? You’re definitely his type. He likes brunettes. So did you fuck him?”

“He’s not my type. He’s too pretty. He can’t handle the smack down.”

“Too pretty? I’ve seen him get punched in the face. Multiple times.”

“Maybe he can handle a physical beating, but he can’t handle a verbal one. I gave him one and he just crumpled. He can’t take it. I need a man who is not afraid of me.”

“What happened?”

“We had a disagreement. He gave me false information about somebody. He pissed me off, so I called him a child soldier and a little messenger boy. Now when I write about him, I use the name Hermes.”

The man from Belfast stared straight at me with no reaction whatsoever. He did not laugh. He did not smile. He simply nodded his head at me.

“That’s exactly what he is,” he stated plainly. “Hermes. The little messenger boy. That’s who he is. Spot on. You are right. You are correct.”

He continued staring down at me without breaking eye contact. I could see him doing the math in his head.

“I can’t imagine he was very happy when you said that to him.”

“No, he wasn’t, but he was messing with me and I didn’t like it. So I got right up in his face and messed with him back.”

“Good for you,” he said. “That’s the only way to get any respect around here. I’m starting to see why they are afraid of you.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“There’s more?”

“Yes.”

“Of course there is more. Why don’t you tell me why Jason over there is so mad at you? He would not tell me what happened.”

“Oh, you mean Uncle Jason. Yes, he came in here one night with his very handsome Irish friend and the two of us ran off together into the night. Turns out his friend is married. Oops!”

“I see. So he is mad because you fucked his friend?”

“In so many words, yes. It would seem that way.”

“Interesting.”

“You know, I am part Irish. I don’t know anything about being Irish though. This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been around any Irish people. So, yeah, I would say things have gotten a little bit wild in here. It is what it is. I don’t know why Uncle Jason is still so hung up about it though.”

“I’ll have a nice little chat with Jason tomorrow and see what that’s all about. So nice to meet you, Betsey Horton.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

“You know,” he said. “It’s very impressive that you’ve gotten this much attention in such a short period of time. I’ve known these guys twenty years and I’ve never seen them hate anyone as much as they hate you. I have not met anyone like you here before. You are a rare bird.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you making any money off of this? Because you should be making money off of this. You are someone. Just think of how much money we could make if we could get the whole world to hate you!”

“We?”

He suddenly looked up at me with dollar signs sparkling in his eyes. I’ve never seen a lightbulb light up above someone’s head so fast.

“Yes, yes, I will speak with them about you tomorrow. Very nice to meet you, Ms. Betsey Horton.”

Obviously, there was much more to this conversation, but all of the remaining details identify this person very specifically, so I have chosen to exclude them in order to protect his identity.

So that was a fun night. Gotta love dem Old Pattaya Boys. This guy was so funny. He kept saying, “I’ve been doing much better since I stopped doing cocaine” over and over, lololol! Luckily, he did not break out the taser again. I guess I entertained him enough not to be thrown to the rancor pit, lol. Such is the way of Jabba’s Palace.

Maybe he will read this. Or maybe not! He did admit to me that he is basically illiterate, so it’s unlikely he’ll stick around. I’m sure Uncle Jason will be more than happy to give him the Spark Notes version. Or perhaps we can get Hermes to do it, lol.