Alpha84

No. Only you.

Once upon a time, Thailand was a land of silky curves, cheeky smiles, and women so dangerously fit you’d need a seatbelt just to walk past them. Now? Forget it. The once-sleek jungle cats have been replaced by something a lot closer to water buffalo. Look, I’m not saying everyone’s gotten fat. I’m saying if this trend continues, the national flower will be a fried chicken drumstick wrapped in clingfilm. I used to see beautiful tigresses in the wild. Sleek. Fierce. Dangerous. Now I see pandas in yoga pants licking sweetened condensed milk off their fingers and calling it a personality. What happened? Was there a national campaign to eat every carb in a five-mile radius? Are they breeding in food courts now? There’s a 7-Eleven near me that’s basically turned into a snack-based mating arena. You’ve got girls triple-wielding steamed buns, cheese toasties, and that weird orange sausage thing like they’re in an apocalyptic food-eating contest. One even had two bubble teas at once. I thought she was dual-wielding insulin shots. And don’t get me started on the gym situation. I went to one last week. Empty. Dusty. One sad treadmill being used as a handbag stand. The only squats anyone’s doing lately are to reach a fallen pork rind. I haven’t slept with one in well over a year. I tried. I really did. I wore some moo-satay cologne. I smiled. I used big words like “emotional availability.” Nothing. They just looked at me like I was a spring roll they forgot to order. One even said, “No boom boom, just food food.” I wept. Now I’m stuck swiping through dating apps where the profiles read like buffet menus. “Love eating. Food is life. Big arse, big belly, big heart.” This isn’t hate. This is grief. This is mourning. I came here seeking tigresses. Dangerous creatures. Seductresses. And instead I’ve been left with middle aged aunties in crop tops chasing me with kilos of french-fries and marriage proposals. Please. If you’re out there. If there’s still one tigresses left in the jungle, send me a sign. Flash a thigh. Do a pull-up. Put down the deep fried banana. I’m begging you. Used to be, you’d walk down Sukhumvit and your neck would snap from whiplash every ten steps. Now the only thing snapping is the elastic waistband of someone’s knockoff Hello Kitty leggings. And they just sort of roll over these days. Literally. One tried to mount me. I sprained a rib escaping. I don’t know what they’re feeding them, but it clearly isn’t self-control. Sticky rice and regret? Fried chicken dipped in a gallon of honey? I saw one eat mango with coconut cream and then chase it with a plate of fried pork skin dipped in what I can only describe as industrial-grade palm oil juice. And she said, “Diet starts Monday.” Monday 2045, I assume. It’s like every food delivery app is now a co-conspirator. Who needs charm when you’ve got a motorcycle boy bringing you moo ping three times a day? Honestly, I’m not fat-shaming. I’m fat-noticing. There’s a difference. And I’d just like to lodge an official complaint with the Ministry of Aesthetics. Because this tiger’s lonely. And celibate. And no one wants to hear that from a man with a wallet full of money and no normal-sized tigresses to spend it on.

Did the paper route. Made about $15 a week. Blew most of it on pinball and pizza in a day. Came home in the winter with practically frost bitten fingers after morning delivery. Put the fingers under cold water to warm them up. Spent a whole day on Saturday assembling the Sunday paper. They were so heavy had to make two trips to deliver all on Sunday. Many people wouldn’t come to the door once a week when I would go to collect the $2.5 for a week of delivery. Eventually I forced most of those nasty ones to quit the delivery service by throwing their papers at their door from 20 feet away instead of sticking it through the slot. By the time it landed on their doorstep, it looked more like a bob smith porn mag after he had fapped all over it. My best customer was a lovely black woman. She always paid on time and was my best tipper. She got her papers first and always in pristine condition. The school of hard knocks.

Don’t cry bob. It’s not becoming.

Thrilling

Great! So the diet is working?

You’re having a bad day. Starting rubbish topics and nobody cares. AI doesn’t work. Booo Hoooo. 😂

You mean it doesn’t?

I hope not. You’d be greatly disappointed.

Food obsessed. Must be another fat farang.

Still, nobody cares.

Oh, fatty farang, you’re back? Just finished moaning about your inability to use AI, did you?

MAGA??? Make America Gay Again???

Wow, you had a whole entire paper route? Amazing. Give the plonker a round of applause, even though nobody gives a flying toss. 🤩

Useless topic. Nobody cares.