LonDumb – Part I


Border Control

Unbelievable – EMF

Cab’s outside. My clothes are still wet. What. The. Funk. Dryer mysteriously died the night before. Damp garments strewn all over my abode. Dry, funkers, dry!! Need to pack you, you and you. Need ye all for my trip to London. Vital I have that white t-shirt and that white t-shirt and that pair of socks, vita– Actually. I’ve over packed as is, so, I, don’t. Ha. Cab man’s beeping. Com-ing! And out the door I go. Flustered little whure. Still on time. Just leaving packing until the very last minute. But. Not to worry. On the road! Just swing by Kailand’s house. Swoop her up. My mighty London trip partner in crime. Honk honk. Out comes Kailand and her smaller suitcase up. How is hers smaller than mine? Maybe a more ergonomical packer? Is ergonomical even a word? Who knows, who cares, I’m sweating, lugging luggage, my top’s now off, panting in the back off the mini bus, Jesus, L.A is hot today, and now we are actually on our way. Off to England for a spot of tea and crumpets. LonDumb, here we… Ahem.

Sweaty Boy

Check in. Air New Zealand. Bumped up. Premium. Oh Betsy. Mighty. Notice Mischa Barton checking in one ahead. Moving up to the C-List of the world. Security. Sandwich. Wait. Board. Dancing. Suss out our seats. Appears we have done well. Premium means pod. As in instead of a cramped row of seats in the mule class behind, we are now swimming in space in a pod like container. Buckets of room. Kind of like First Class. But just not quite. Still. Pod class all the way. Flying like winners across the Atlantic. Mighty. Highly recommended!

Pod Air New Zealand

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Thai Angel!!! THAI ANGEL!!!!


Racially abused, crocked from a dodgy, sickening soccer injury, and a magnificent red wine hangover to deal with, it has been a tough 24 hours. I am feeling very tender, sore and both physically and mentally abused writing this post. At least I got to go to a place called Thai Angel, which is great fun to say while drunk. And party with strippers, which is also great fun to do while drunk.

First, I’ll deal with the emotional distress I was caused. The first pub I went to last night was fairly horrific. I have been there twice before with Andy and Colin, so seeing as I would be going with actual people this time, I thought it might possibly be better or have nicer women at least. It wasn’t and it didn’t. Thankfully the next bar was brilliant, purely because I got schooled in music by a very tasty and funky looking Danish heavy metal MTV presenter. When she asked what I did, DJ in a gym, I think, she seemed a bit interested. When I told her the only two genres of music I did not really like or have a clue about were country and heavy metal, her interest was gone. Seeing as they were her favourite two. How convenient and of course they would be, you should have said before I opened my mouth. I was then given a passionate lecture on the music of Lamb of God and some other bands I had no clue about. Weirdly, this Lamb of God lecture would benefit me later.

That pub finished up at 2, Danish girl left with her boyfriend, the job, and I headed to an after hours bar with guys on my soccer team. Thai Angel, this seedy bar in a dodgy neighborhood was the venue. I had never been but decided the night was too young to finish this soon. Thai Angel was brilliant, in a one time experience place, plus I was getting free drink from the bar maid, THAI ANGEL ON!!! For some reason, it was also great fun, to me at least, saying Thai Angel while drunk, in my best Chinese accent while in Thai Angel. I have yet to perfect my Thai accent so had to be my Chinese one, ha, ape. Anyways, this stupid way I was saying Thai Angel, THAI ANGEL, sparked up some conversation with a group of girls in there, the only group of girls in there, it seemed everyone was else was a dude in some cheesy suit eating Thai food. Irish this, Merrick that, rar diddy rar, want to come back to a party, I surely do. 

I head to the party with the 4 girls I just met, and one other dude, one of their friends, I presumed. Never presume really. Moving on, I get back to the house, bottles and bottles of red wine lined up, there are a few more girls back there, they are half watching some weird horror movie on t.v, how bad, finally, finally, things are looking good for me at a party. It had been a while.

My accent is going down well, the red wine is flowing, 5 of the 7 girls are hot, the night was getting better and better. How do ye all know each other girls, oh, ye work together, cool. Where do ye work? Never heard of it, what kind of place is that? A bikini bar? Like a beach bar or something? A dance bar? What do you mean a dancing bar? Oh, ye’re all strippers? Oh. Oh yes. Well 5 oh yes and 2 oh no thank you.

The hottest girl there was the spitting image of the lead singer in the Pussycat Dolls, she was funbelievable! However, she was the only one not to laugh at any of my stupid jokes. And decided I wasn’t even worth facing, so continued on watching the nuts horror movie after I first walked in. So, I obviously liked her the most. And wasted the majority of my time trying to make her crack. However, no joy at the inn, of course. As I am re-topping my wine to the brim, another girl comes up and asks what music I am into. 9 times out of 10 I would have been delighted to chat with her, she is tasty, but her stubborn friend has me distracted. I answer her with a question “Does your friend have a boyfriend or what’s the story?” “Who, Erica? No, she just has a thing against men, she’s not into them at all, she’s a lesbian. I saw you waste your time with her earlier.” Personally, I would never say time spent trying to chat up a ridiculously hot lesbian stripper was time wasted, but I could see her point now I had the bigger picture.

Time to talk music it seemed! She tells me she’s trying to get away from the only other dude who is at the party, keeps talking crap and wrecking her head. She better look for someone else to talk to then besides me, ha, this stupid joke goes down well, in like flynn! And the type of music she likes… heavy metal, favourite band… ha, Lamb of God! No way, I tell her, I like them too, and rattle off bits and pieces from the lecture I had received earlier. She is highly impressed, I didn’t look like I would be a fan of theirs. Who me? I’ve liked them for years! 

Things are going well, until the other dude comes over, looking annoyed at me for being able to talk crap and wreck the girl’s head better than he was. The guy looked and dressed like Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Stupid looking cardigan over his shoulders, stuck-up, pompous fool. The most annoying thing was that when he was yapping on about crap, he would blink and leave his eyes shut for about ten seconds, as if this made his crap point more interesting or valid. He tries to join in talking about music, spoofing on about David Bowie and The Clash, making completely made up facts and stories. Luckily my buddy Bob from home has me well educated in The Clash and Bowie, so I was able to catch him every time he made up stupid spoof to the girl e.g seeing Joe Strummer in concert last summer here in L.A. Must’ve been weird seeing him, with him being dead a few years now and all.

This really annoys him, so starts to turn on me. Comes out with the statement that rocked the boat “Look, everyone knows that all Irish are criminals, or descendants of criminals, so I don’t really think you can try to educate me on music” What the funk was that, what did you just say? Then, for some odd reason, he validates his comment with this “Its okay, I’m a screenwriter, I can say this sort of stuff” Well, buddy, I write a blog and you are a funking gimp. The girl is shocked by the other dude, and starts freaking out, about the racism. I get a bit freaked that something I have said to him was racist (did I call him Carlton?) but the girls have turned on him and his racism towards me, ha. Commotion ensues, who knows him anyways, who brought this guy. Turns out nobody knew him, or invited him. He just snaked along from Thai Angel after overhearing the address. Everyone presumed he was someone else’s friend there.

To my delight, and with my help, he is phunted out of the party “Go f**k yourself you racist pig, we don’t tolerate that s**t here” is screamed at him by the girl who owned the house. Poor Carlton, did they not know he was a screenwriter so he could say what he wanted. Back inside at the party, I am surrounded by sympathy, rage and disgust that I had to deal with that kind of stuff, a guest in their country, so so sorry, please don’t think we’re all racist like him. Yeah, that was tough to deal with, I could do with a hug, group hug girls. Sure, it would cheer me up to go listen to Lamb of God on your laptop with you. My favourite song? How could  I pick just one, I love them all!

I would play a Lamb of God song but I had to endure a few last night and still not a fan. Here’s a Bowie one instead which is always good to strip, I mean, dance to… Rebel Rebel, eye patch on!!!