Octogenarian Threesome in Thailand

My good friend just sent me this picture from Thailand in 2004 and it instantly took me back to the time I shaved my head and almost had a threesome with a 95 year old lady.

And now I have a story that’s going to burn another hole in my head unless I share it…

Looking for a completely unfettered worldly adventure my friend Todd and I hired a guide in the city of Chang Mai to take us deep into the jungle to live with the famous Karen tribe of Northern Thailand.

If you are unfamiliar, these are the exotic tribal women you saw in National Geographic magazines when you were a kid. They were the ones with the super long necks that had been lengthened, ceremoniously, by the silver and gold rings that were put around their necks for the purpose of lengthening them.

If you are unfamiliar with my friend Todd, he had just finished starring in his own reality show that was about Los Angeles’ biggest and most directionless party dude. So, needless to say, our 5am wake-up call to catch our elephant out of town wasn’t really a wake-up call at all, because Thailand has lots of great drugs, and we never actually went to bed.

I should also mention that, at some point in the middle of that bender, I decided to shave my head bald. I thought it would be a cool travel thing to do, I had no idea that my bare head had previously been smashed in by a hammer in two different spots, and that there were now giant craters there that refracted all the suns rays directly into a pin sized hole on my cranium, just like a magnifying glass would do.

I still can’t grow hair out of those two tiny future skin cancer spots.

I also had no idea that, upon my return to Hermosa Beach California, Miss Universe, Ali Landry, would show up at my home and sit on my couch and talk to me. I had a brand new girlfriend at the time (The Bride), but we weren’t fully committed at this point, and I’m completely convinced that had I not shaved my head, I might be Mr. Ali Landry today.

Thank God that didn’t happen because The Bride is obviously the greatest woman on Earth.

At any rate, it took an entire day to get to this tribe, and it was a three legged journey. The first leg was via diesel truck that hadn’t passed a smog check since Buddha died in 480 BCE. This truck was single handedly responsible for raising the global temperature by one degree Celsius due to its filthy emissions. We spent the first 30 minutes of this ride annoying the other travelers by yelling out “Viva La Thailand!” over and over, at the top of our lungs, which made no sense and wouldn’t have been funny even if it did. Somewhere around minute thirty-one, the thick deadly fog of the diesel truck combined with the previous nights activities combined with the unpaved windy dirt path they tried to pass off as a “road” led to me projectile vomit, over and over, for about five minutes. My dear wonderful friend, whom was obviously still intoxicated, thoroughly my suffering and laughed harder than I’d ever seen him laugh before.

Half an hour later, it was he who was projectile vomiting.
Karma is a mother fucker.

Leg two of the trip was by elephant.
This wasn’t like the fun elephant ride they give you in the streets of Bangkok, this was a legit mountain climbing elephant. For as huge as this elephant was, he was surprisingly nimble, taking tight turns on skinny windy mountain paths like that dude who walked the tight rope across Niagara Falls.
Going up that mountain had to be tough, so I’m not sure why, during lunch break, while the elephant was getting a drink from a stream, Todd thought it would be a good time to approach it and pet it.
Here’s the best way I can describe to you how this turned out-
Have you seen Superman versus Batman when Superman punches Batman and Batman goes flying through a wall?
What happened was exactly like that but replace Superman’s fist with an elephant’s trunk and replace Batman with my friend Todd and replace the wall with a wooden tool shed.
It was spectacular and I’d give all my money to have it on video.

Leg three of the trip was by boat, and when I say boat what I mean is a Huckleberry Finn raft made out of a bunch of sticks and twine that was being propelled downstream by an Asian man with a longer stick.

Eventually we arrived, and our arrival was every bit as dramatic as I had hoped it would be. When we got there, it must have been bath time, and it must also have been after dinner pooping time because everyone was in the river, naked, bathing, except for the people that were down stream, naked, pooping.

It was spectacular.

We spent a solid hour in that river, tossing around naked little giggling Thai babies and splashing around (upstream from the poopers obviously). It was so raw and real and pure. It was complete unadulterated joy, and even though we couldn’t communicate with words, we bonded over laughter. I was so consumed by the moment that I didn’t realize, until afterwards, that if this exact scene had just played out in America, I would likely still be in jail today.

Throwing naked babies, whom aren’t your own, around a river that people are pooping in is highly frowned upon by Western civilization for some reason.

Over the next couple days, we learned some amazing things. We learned how the tribe farmed rice from the rice terraces that went on for as far as the eye could see. You’d think that with all that rice that they’d be incredibly wealthy, but they weren’t. In fact, they were the exact opposite of wealthy. I mean, wealthy people do not poop in the same river that they bathe in and drink from. Obviously, somewhere in the capitalism process of rice farming, production, and sales, these people were getting screwed.

I also learned that a few times per year a man will come to the tribe from the city, and offer work to some of the young girls. The families are paid for their daughters and their daughters disappear into the city in hopes of a better life.

I learned from my guide that these are the girls that end up being the bar girls that learn to shoot ping pong balls out of their wahoos in Bangkok and Phuket.
It’s tragic and it hurt me to my very core.
Before I left Thailand I kind of adopted one. I set up a PO box for her and sent her $100 per month for a couple years. Eventually, I stopped sending money. I still sometimes wonder what happened to her. I still sometimes feel guilty about the decision to stop sending money.

At any rate, this is a comedy story, so let’s get back to the funny.
I also learned how they grow poppies and turn it into opium.
I also learned how they smoke the opium.

Malcom Gladwell says you need 10,000 hours of experience to become an expert in anything. Well, I was only there for about a week, but however many hours are in a week is how many hours of practice I got in, and Malcom Gladwell is a liar because I totally became an opium smoking expert.

My opium smoking expertise led to the night that a young, attractive girl from the tribe walked into our little opium den and asked (through the translator) who would like a two girl massage.

Now, to set this scene correctly, I need to tell you that I broke my neck in 1998. By this time (2004), I’d already had two major neck surgeries. I lived with chronic pain daily (still do), and one thing that seemed to help it was becoming a masterful opium smoker in Thailand. Another thing that seemed to help it was two girl Thai massages.

So, when this young attractive girl came into our opium den and offered a two girl Thai massage, my hand shot up before the translator even finished translating. It was almost an involuntary reaction, like the way your stomach digests food. You don’t think about it digesting food, you don’t concentrate on making that food digest, the stomach just does it. That’s what happened here with my hand. It was disconnected from my brain. It was on auto-pilot, and it wanted me to get that massage.

And who am I to argue with an arm that is capable of its own independent thought?

Walking into the massage area, I imagined two beautiful tribal girls working out all my kinks and sending me into a world of bliss as I smoked my opium pipe.

What I got was much different. In walked two frail octogenarians that looked like they could barely lift an opium pipe. These two old ladies “massaged” me for an hour, and I put “massage” in quotes not because there was funny business going on (even though there was), but because what they did can’t possibly qualify as massage. All they basically did was lay their limp wrinkly old hands on me and then slosh them around in tiny little circles for a few minutes, and then they’d move on to a new spot for more hand sloshing and flopping. If I were 1,000 years old and my skin were paper mache, I still wouldn’t have felt it.

To top off this nightmarish massage, at the conclusion, they asked me if I wanted a “full release.” However, they couldn’t actually ask me that because we didn’t speak the same language, so they had to ask the translator who then had to ask me.

As if that wasn’t embarrasing enough, one of the old ladies gave me a toothless smile and then made the universal dick sucking hand motion and face, and I almost threw up.
I didn’t want to be rude, but no. Just nope.

In conclusion, Thailand is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been, and I learned more there in a month about my “privilege” than I’ve learned from years of social justice warriors yelling about it on the internet.
If you are born in America, you are privileged. It’s that simple.
I learned recently that an income of $35,000 per year puts you in the top 1% of the world population. That is how ridiculously poor the rest of the world is. $35,000 here barely puts you above our poverty line.
If you are born in America, you are privileged, and if you’ve never been to a third world country, you should go immediately. And don’t go to a 3rd world country and stay at some fancy resort, drinking drinks with umbrellas in them, laying your fat ass in the cabana all day and never leaving the resort except for your one hour “adventure tour.” Stay in a hostel in the heart of the city. Shit in a hole in the ground and wipe yourself with your hand. Eat rice and beans every meal for a week. I promise you, after that, you’ll stop whining about the terrible service you’re getting from your cell phone company.
You were born in America, you won the fucking lottery. You will never have to sell your daughter to a brothel or have to witness your grandmother offering blow jobs to bald tourists. You’re life may not be perfect, but it’s pretty fucking great.
We all need a little perspective.
I came home from Thailand with typhoid fever, as well as a new appreciation for the spoiled life I was living and I’ve tried to travel as much as possible, since then, to keep reminding myself of how blessed I am.

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