Coronafornia Dreamin’ Part 3: Living in Oblivion

Well, it’s official. Thailand is run by incompetent morons.

I was supposed to be landing in Bangkok today after 3 previous delays due to dueling stupidity between leaders in The Philippines and Thailand. Ban after cancelled flights after ban after cancelled flights—all for a virus that kills less people than the seasonal flu.

Prayut Jong Un (his new official title) has decided to ban foreigners for another month—even the ones who live and work there. So I’ve been forced for the FOURTH TIME to reschedule my flight. This time I’m aiming for the first week in June. I’ll have to wait till the slack-jawed apes at the Thai Aviation Commission decide on a suitable date (they can’t seem to make up their minds). No word yet on whether there will still be a 14-day quarantine tacked on to the end of the trip. I’ll be honest—I’ve wondered more than once if this is real or if I’ve died and gone to Hell, because this is what my personal Hell will be: trying to get back to Thailand with a perpetually postponed flight date.



It’s becoming clear that the world overreacted to Covid-19. The models were wrong. The methods were wrong. The folks in charge were either too stupid to know the right thing to do, or too cunning and evil to do it. Right now, we’re witnessing a global experiment in tyranny. Governments are testing their citizens to see how Orwellian they can get before the people revolt. We are guinea pigs in a rehearsal for totalitarianism. Each country’s oppression is directly proportional to the megalomania of its leader. For example, the United States has 1 million cases and 55,000 deaths and is beginning to reopen shops, gyms, beaches, and restaurants. Thailand has had 3,000 cases with only 55 deaths, and their Hitlerian leader has: locked down provinces, instituted a curfew, shut down all businesses except grocery stores, banned alcohol, and banned people from entering the country. He is clearly channeling his inner communist.

And so Bangkok Seven, your intrepid whoremonger and red-light blogger, continues to remain trapped in California. It’s not all bad. I have my mum’s home cooking, exquisite wine, and HBO. And the weather has finally improved. Some of my high school buddies have also figured out that “safe-at-home” was a giant lie and are starting to have backyard barbeques. So things aren’t really really terrible. But it goes without saying that I’d much rather be home in my Bangkok apartment, painting in solitude and banging my harem.

In another startling example of the difference between how the US government is handling the pandemic vs the performance of the lobotomized monkeys in the Thai government, I just received a check for $1,200 from Donald Trump himself. Confidentially, I plan to spend it all on wine. I’m not kidding. It’s another harsh reminder that the fragile, anemic, loose-anus diarrhea that is Thai policy is a true example of societal ineptitude. Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide how to spend my Trump bucks. I’ll give most of it to my mum as a thank-you for letting me live in her house for 12 fucking weeks. The rest, I plan to use to buy cigars and wine—the only sources of pleasure in this pussy-less wasteland devoid of hot women and opportunities for coupling. In the two years since I last visited, it’s as if someone hooked a tire pump to most of the women and filled them with air like Christmas Day parade balloons. I’ve put on almost 15 pounds since coming back here, and I look trim next to 9 out of 10 females in Los Angeles. Thanks but no thanks. I’ll wait till I get back to Thailand, where the women are hot, amiable, and haven’t heard of words like “feminism” or “social justice.”

Another unforeseen perk of being trapped like a rat in America is, I’m spending hardly any money. It turns out that hitting Patpong 7 nights a week is a really obscenely expensive hobby. The money I’ve socked away since arriving here will cover my living expenses for a very long time.

To sum up, this California exile is an emotional roller coaster, the highs being wine, money, cigars, and food, the lows being the tedium, the constant presence of annoying family members, and the absence of my harem. Lots of pros and cons. Lots of column A and also column B. I’ve stopped counting the days till I can get back home to Bangkok because, frankly, it’s impossible to count down to an unknown date. Prayut keeps moving it back. So instead, I’m going to put the passage of time out of my mind and instead, sleep and drink as much as I can, hoping to wake up one day to hear that I can board a plane. In the meantime, tune in on Friday for a frowback. Also, keep your tea warm (if you’re in Thailand), your beer cold (if you’re anywhere other than Thailand), and for the next seven days, let’s just try not to kill each other.