Anti-Superstition Activist Gunned Down in India
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7
Two Pints and an Existential DNA Crisis: Skin Colour Don’t Lie, Mate!
I've got a story too, matey. Right then, picture the scene lads. I’m sittin’ in me Buakhao local yesterday, nice corner stool, ice cold Leo in me hand, just enjoyin’ a bit of peace and quiet after a day of scorchin’ heat, swamp arse, and baht-bus fumes. Not a care in the world, just me, the beer goin' in me gob, and a bit of ceiling-fan therapy. Then along comes this geezer, proper sweaty mess, eyes like a kicked puppy. I first clocked him as an Aussie, but nah, wasn't. Lad was from The Old Country. Suddenly the bloke just plonks himself right next to me like I'm his long-lost aunt. Next thing I know, he’s chewin’ me ear off like a starvin' rat on a block of cheddar. Bangin’ on about how he's retired RAF and how the bloody British Embassy’s just ruined his life. I’m sittin’ there noddin’ politely, thinkin’ maybe they’ve lost his passport renewal application or somethin’ normal. Nah. Turns out the tragedy of his life is that he went marchin’ in there with his Thai concubine, ready to sign the visa guarantee papers and jet off to the land of Greggs and drizzle together… only to have his plans dashed when the visa officer asks him all polite-like if he reckons he's gonna be applyin’ for a same-sex marriage visa. I nearly spat me beer out. Poor sod was gobsmacked, says it hit him like a double-decker bus with no brakes. All this time thinkin’ he was romancin’ a lady, turns out he was balls-deep in a post-op unit and never clocked it. Now he’s sittin’ there wailin’ into his pint, heartbroken, moanin’ on about broken dreams, scams, and false hopes, like I’m gonna whip out me violin and play him a sad little tune, FFS. And then came the kicker, lads. Right in the middle of his oversized meltdown he leans in, dead serious, like we’re havin’ some big philosophical debate, and asks me, “Lewie mate… be straight with me, yeah, does this make me gay then?” Like I’m fekkin bloody Professor Freud sittin’ there with a pint instead of a pipe in me hand. Right, I just stared at him, wonderin’ how I’d gone from enjoyin’ me quiet beer to bein’ dragged into a full-blown existential identity crisis. Meanwhile, I’m half smilin' like a bloke who gives a toss when all I really want is five minutes of peace to watch me footy on the telly without bein’ dragged into someone’s love-loss hormone disaster. Look mate, we aren't besties, and I came for a cold one, not a front-row seat to your gender discovery meltdown. That’s Pattaya for ya though. One minute you’re mindin’ your own, next minute you’re a therapist for some geezer who only found out what was under the hood after he'd already took it for a spin around the block and back 100 times. -
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Report Retirement Lottery: A Fresh Approach to Savings in Thailand
Lotteries are nothing more than tax on the ignorant. -
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Bombshell: Obama & Crew knew all along, Russia Russia was a hoax.
Appears I am correct. -
345
Bombshell: Obama & Crew knew all along, Russia Russia was a hoax.
Your new empty trolling post? No! Same as the previous ones! -
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