Not knowing a language has its upsides.

Nothing worse than a know it all who speaks the local lingo.

We hate and we hate them again.

They are the usually the biggest asswipes.

I’m talking from experience.

The less I know what the locals are saying about me, the happier I become.

The linguists who speak the local language always have a jaunty tilt to their attitude when they are speaking the local language. And if we  don’t speak it, we are the deaf dumb and blind.

How can we experience what they experience without knowing what the fuck is going on?

I knew the junky that was following me wasn’t happy to see me and make small conversation.

He had tattoos around his neck.

I made the mistake of asking him where the barber shop was.

He knew. Of course he fucking knew.

He talked about ‘happy’.  A happy phone. Did I have one of them? And if I didn’t, money would do just fine. He mentioned about eating.

I was only doing my civic duty. Even without access to the local language, I wasn’t going to give him some money so he could top up on his Shabu habit across the river.

I call it tough love.

He eventually gave up the chase.

‘Fucking cunt, man I wish I speak English, and then I really could have fleeced him.’

I was keeping an eye on him. When he didn’t get what he wanted, I was expecting a knife to appear.

The last thing I wanted was a knife in my kidneys.

See, I don’t speak the local language but I can still read the situation.

This really irates the cunning linguists. They don’t want us to have fun here. How dare we have fun? We haven’t earned it. You can’t have fun until you speak the local language.

Well to that, I say Chicken Shit.

I had to buy a few T-shirts. While walking to the computer shop, to pick up my Mac Air with its replaced battery, I passed the Orient Hotel. Well fuck a duck; it’s the same place my driver took me on my first night.

They were so happy to see me.

I checked out one of their rooms.

Imagine living here.

On the third and fourth floor are hookers. If I lived here I’d be spunking up all my cash on room service.

Miss Madura was trying it on. With her massive hooters, she could try it on any day.

The old security guard rubbed his fingers, after I informed him  of her assets.

‘Tight pussy.’

That’s the reputation they have around Indonesia. The Madurese men are not welcome in Kalimantan, but their women folk are. Bigger the tits, the more they are welcome.

I sometimes feel for guys. It’s not easy having a set of balls.

At the Ramayana Mall, a pack of hot girls descended on me.

I was in serious risk of being raped.

I bought two cool cotton T-shirts and a pair of shorts.

Man, if this why people get into the movie industry, I’m seriously considering changing my occupation.


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