Getting Robbed In Pattaya

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How to do it Roy-style!

Pattaya crash-helmetless

PATTAYA : Well, Andrew wanted to go for a pee and Bamboo Disco off Walking Street, Pattaya's most famous red-lit, asked him for ten baht even before he’d crossed the threshold, and that was just one robbery, but it’s Roy’s loss of ‘phone and money that needs centre-staging. I left him drunk in Soi Buakhao, another famous road in Pattaya, and he went on to the Piss Stop Bar and got drunker. He decided to walk the five kilometers home and was passing a closed bar called Pattaya Delirium, when a ladyboy and a lady asked for his company. He bought them bottles of beer from 7-Eleven. They talked and they drank. They needed further bottles but he saw and felt them taking money from his trouser-pocket.

Many bar games in Pattaya!

      “Give it back,” he remonstrated. They did. He bought them more beer. Suddenly, he looked up from the darkened porch where they were drinking and saw dawn on the horizon. “Me go,” he muttered, checking his money. He got out on to Soi Buakhao again and saw the long walk ahead when a lady on a motorbike offered him a lift. “Thought she was a motorbike taxi.” As he got on to go home she asked him to make love to her using the four-letter word. “You f… me, yes, no?” “How much?” “Seven hundred baht.” “OK. Your place or mine?” “Yours, teerak.”* He and she got there, and he told me he made love twice, despite ten large beers and sixty-nine years of age. After snoozing he said he would go to the ATM for the dosh. It was now nine in the morning. “Come,” he said. “No,” she replied,  “do hair,” holding up a comb, Roy’s. He saw her sitting on her motorbike at the corner of the road near his room when he was returning home. She was waiting for him and for the seven hundred baht. “Me go,” after receiving, she said. Roy walked the short distance. His front door was open. His piggy bank had no coins. His wallet was empty. His ‘phone had gone. She had replaced a ‘phone number of an agogo dancer which he had written on a piece of paper with hers.

      “Me own faul’,” says Roy. “Shouldn’of go’ drunk.”

      “How did you do at school?” I ask Roy.

      “I liked football so I didn’t learned much.” He then adds, “But me mental ‘rithmaytic’s good.”

      “What’s thirteen + twelve + thirteen?”

      “Thir’y-eigh’,” he answers, grinning.

*darling

 Two Roy missed!

 

 

 

                                                                     

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