Pulci Gorgon

..mp4

edit : I had no time to add my comment last night( too tired). It is becoming increasingly apparent that media coverage and informal reports from this resort focus far more on alcohol-fuelled altercations and general disorder than on any meaningful commentary about new nightlife venues or worthwhile experiences. When the dominant narrative revolves around police struggling to contain the chaos, rather than highlighting what once drew visitors in the first place, one begins to question the overall appeal of such destinations. Personally, I find myself far less inclined to be drawn to places where disruption seems to have overtaken discovery.

I've often wondered who these new posters might be — perhaps just guys whose first posts don't appeal to me, or people who feel uneasy posting as newcomers on a forum. How many unremarkable new BMs do we have to go through before a genuinely original one appears, with fresh stories and photos, and eventually becomes a new mate ?

Excellent !

It’s a pleasure to read you again. I had been wondering why your trip report seemed to end without a conclusion or a final post about your last destination. I hope you’ll find some time after your trip to share more details about your adventures in Luzon and Angeles City, so we can get a better sense of what one can do in those places. Regarding femboys pretending to be GGs, it happened to me a few times. Each time I posed the question in a neutral way as to whether they were GGs or ladyboys, I messed it up. A girl doesn't like being outed and GGs don't like to be compared with ladyboys. I remember when I made it right in Cambodia. Although I was convinced one of the girls was a ladyboy, I just pretended I believed her. i went for a massage and found out ... the three girls were actually ladyboys. I'm surprised you didn't have a trick of the same kind up your sleeve to clear this up in a smooth way.

It is rather curious. I recounted a story set in an entirely fictional town, in an utterly improbable location — and yet, the text appears to have been altered by an unseen hand. Below is a print preview of the original version, exactly as I had written it before posting.

A farang is in a Thai hospital bed wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth. "Nurse," he mumbles "are my testicles black ?" The nurse lift his gown, hold his penis in one hand and his testicles in the other. She takes a close look and says, "there is nothing wrong with them sir." The man pulls off his oxygen mask, smiles, and says very slowly, "thanks for that ... it was lovely, but listen very, very carefully : "Are-my-test-re-sults-back ?"

A Smoggy Tale from the Old Country Let me tell you a story. It happened last century, somewhere in the UK. Doesn’t matter exactly where — just picture a cold, grey place where people only smiled when someone else slipped on the ice. The rich had electricity, of course. They paid through the nose for coal imported from god knows where. Everyone else had to wait for whatever scraps the miners could drag up from the pits. And when there wasn’t enough coal, the power went out. Again. There was fog all the time — thick, dirty fog, mixed with chimney smoke and factory filth. People called it “smog.” Some called it foke. And in one very retarded town, they called it phoque. Don’t ask. I told you they're retarded. No internet back then, obviously — this was last century, no power, no computer, no network. So men gathered in clubs. Strange places where nothing good ever happened. You know the type: grim wallpaper, warm gin, and colder glances. One such club was called LBP. No one knew what it meant, and no one dared to ask. The place was full of dull men pretending to be clever, sipping lukewarm tea and asking each other things like, “Are we gay?” for no reason anyone understood. They had guards, too. Not to protect the place — just to kick people out. If you spoke too loud, or wore the wrong coat, or blinked at the wrong moment, someone would snitch you, and you’d be out on the pavement. No trial. No explanation. Just gone. One of the club’s most unpleasant guards was a former corrupt policeman who dreamed of palm trees and tacos. He eventually made it to the U.S. and got himself a job in a supermarket, so everyone called him Piggy Wiggly. Ex-cop, full-time hater of everything. Ugly inside and out. He ended up bagging groceries in the States, but back then he acted like he ran the country. Now here’s where it gets good. One day, there’s another blackout. Big one — something like Spain last week. No power in the whole area. And at the hospital, three women go into labour at the exact same time. Chaos. Candles. Midwives running into walls. No one knows which baby came from which mother. So they call the fathers. First guy is black. (His wife too.) Second is Piggy Wiggly. Third is a man Piggy had kicked out of LBP the week before. No reason, someone had snitched him, then Piggy didn’t like his face. Piggy steps up. The nurses show him three babies — two white, one black. He points to the black baby right away and says, “That one’s mine.” The nurses stare. One of them actually laughs, thinking it’s a joke. But Piggy doesn’t smile. “Sir, that’s clearly not—” “I said that one’s mine.” They try to talk him out of it. They even bring in a psychologist. She asks why he’s so sure about this baby. He looks her straight in the eye and says: “Because I’d rather raise a black baby than risk ending up with the kid of that guy I kicked out of LBP last week.” All characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This little story actually happened in AC and was faithfully reported by someone from that town whose name I won’t reveal — let's just say it starts with an S and ends with an E. One evening, a punter was partying with a fistful of local ladyboys around the hotel pool. (The story doesn’t say exactly who the tourist was — S...e who was partying with them didn’t tell.) Here’s how a bit of the conversation went with one of his new conquests: Him: "You're stunning... you have the most gorgeous body." Her (smiling): "Salamat, I know, aking mahal. It's because I spend a lot of time swimming in the pool." Him: "Well, honey, you might want to spend even more time with your head underwater."

The last time I was in Bangkok, I had seen quite a few ladyboys in massage shops on Sukhumvit between soi 3 and soi 7.

If you do like her, you've got to offer her Chanel N° 19.

I heard about his passing this evening, between reading Rom's trip report. Pope Francis – Jorge Bergoglio – passed away this morning. I’m not very religious, but it still hit me. He was a standout personality among the popes, and I admired his way of speaking bluntly. There will be plenty of commentary in the newspapers if you want to know more about him. I’m not sure how non-Catholics are reacting to this. I feel sad for him.

Respect for religion? You? Please. The only miracle is that the bigots from you-know-where haven’t tried to exorcise you yet.