Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Kids, This Is How You Write a Poopy Pants Story

For no reason in particular other than it's been sitting in the "post when the market isn't psychotic" pile.
From Johnny Vagabond:

Three Mistakes on a Hot Day in Bangkok
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I think I’m finally adapting to the heat and humidity here. By adapting, I mean that my entire body has transformed itself into a single, massive sweat gland.

Yesterday morning, as I dressed for my visit to the Amulet Market, I made the first mistake. I’d run out of clean underwear and decided to just go commando. I do it all the time at home, right? What could possibly go wrong?

My second mistake was wearing a fancy shirt I’d purchased from REI right before I left home. It was a high-dollar, high-tech, water-resistant short sleeve with an SPF of 30 (huh?). I think it even spoke Spanish. What it did not do, alas, was ventilate. At all. Wandering about the market in 96 degree temps and 100% humidity, I felt like I was wearing a $50 garbage bag.

I was soon drenched, with sweat running down my back and soaking my pants — I looked like I’d been bobbing for apples with my ass. Eventually making my way onto the grounds of a quiet university, I found a bench in the shade, and sat awhile to cool off — setting the scene for my third mistake.

Without even thinking, I leaned to the side to sneak a fart and… well, you probably can guess where this is going. I immediately lept up from the bench — dear God, had I caught it in time? Some cautious shifting of my cheeks told me nothing — everything was soaked and slippery.

This is when I realized that no matter how you turn and twist, you really can’t see your own ass. At least I can’t (and don’t bother writing to tell me you can, hippie). I didn’t have a mirror and I sure as hell wasn’t going to put my hand down there. The only solution I could think of was to find a bathroom where I could drop my pants and assess the situation. (no pun intended)

I set off for the Banglampoo district — with its tourist-oriented restaurants — hoping to catch a tuk tuk. For the first time ever, there were no tuk tuks to be found. Not a one. Dropping my backpack as low as possible to hide my hypothetical badge of shame, I did a crazy Charlie Chaplin duck-walk for over a kilometer, my stomach protesting and my butt cheeks clenched. A sped-up video of this with a Yakety Sax soundtrack would have been a YouTube sensation....MORE