December 20th, 2002


Finally, Patpong.

Had our department holiday potluck two days ago. Being known across the land as a master chef, I brought corndogs. Of course everybody laughed in ridicule, but then they lustily devoured every single one. You’ve gotta feel bad for the corndogs – nobody wants to be eaten by a hypocrite.

It’s been two weeks since I’ve been back from my vacation, so let me get that out of the way real quick …

So where were we? Ah yes, Patpong.


The hard part about finding a sex show was that there were so many of them. You get approached by pushy, soiled men carrying worn-out menus listing the kind of items you’d find at a children’s birthday party: Cake, balloons, ping-pong balls, candles, etc.

Because all the shows are basically the same, we just went with the one that offered us the best deal: A one-drink minimum for 100 baht (about $2.50), and no cover charge. At least this is what the man assured us. I pretty much figured it wouldn’t be that simple given that no financial transaction involving women and nakedness is ever simple. But if that just meant paying more, in a wonderfully cheap place like Thailand, that meant – what – an extra dollar?

So we all went inside and had a seat in the back. Surprisingly, the girls in our group wanted to sit even closer, right next to the stage. But if you think about it, it’s not all that surprising considering that all women are perverts (xtroverted will back me up on this). And bisexual.

As far as vagina circuses go, this one was pretty damn disappointing and thoroughly traumatizing. First of all, the performers were butt-ass ugly. One of them closely resembled King Louie of the Apes from “The Jungle Book.” Another looked like Mick Jagger. I spent most of the show staring intensely at my beer to avert my eyes from the she-beasts.

Performance-wise, it was okay. I was impressed with the cigarette smoking and the candle blowing. But the awe I felt was greatly diminished by the fact that both acts featured Mick Jagger. Our guess was that her vagina’s specialty was blowing and sucking air, like pelvic lungs.

The ping-pong balls were the biggest letdown for me. I pictured someone launching those across the room in rapid succession like a ball machine, while a member of the Thai Olympic table tennis team smacked them back in to reload. Instead, she merely inserted three of them into her vagina, stood over a bowl of water, and just squeezed the balls one-by-one into the bowl. A Belgian couple sitting across from us seemed enthralled by this, but those Belgians tend to be an easily excitable bunch.

After a hot candlewax dripping sequence that will forever make me shudder every time I hear Europe’s “The Final Countdown,” the real drama came.


As expected, the vagina circus tried to rip us off. After promising we’d only pay 100 baht for our drinks, they suddenly demanded 300 baht. We refused. A big argument ensued mainly between T and their head bouncer, who happened to be a tiny lady-boy. In Bangkok, you’ll see a surprisingly large number of lady-boys, mysterious creatures who take on the appearance of women, but possess the strength of men. The lady-boy bouncer didn’t seem to be all that strong, but what he/she lacked in muscle, he/she more than made up for in glaring fury.

That’s all she did, really, was just stare at you really hard and repeatedly yell “You watch show! You pay 300 baht!” While that tactic may work on Belgians, that shit didn’t intimidate us. T and another friend went to talk to the manager who agreed to not charge us, so that was that. Or so we thought.

Unbeknownst to us, the head bouncer was also the commander in chief of the evil vagina army. While we were smirking at her and drinking our beers, she exacted her revenge. It came during the bottle cap sequence. This is where all the performers come on stage with bottles and open them with their fearsome genitals. They open the bottles with such violent force that the water inside sprays the audience, like the killer whale show at Sea World.

But instead of spraying random people, they attacked just us. Damn the girls for making us sit in the front row. We were helpless against their onslaught. I mean, what are the rules of engagement when it comes to bottle cap-opening vaginas? As they repeatedly sprayed us, drenching us with water and hepatitis B, it seemed I was getting the brunt of the attack. Why me? I didn’t even do most of the arguing. It was probably because those hideous trolls saw the terror on my face. And they were right. I quickly ducked behind a pillar for protection. To this day, if I ever see another vagina twisting the cap off a bottle, I'm running for the hills.

We left five minutes later. I didn’t even get to see the dart show. But luckily I was able to survive and tell you this overly long tale.