I have my annual physical today. Sucks because I didn’t eat a huge meal last night and I came in with a bit of a case of the munchies, so I have to suck on ice water until 12.00 or so, at which point I can gorge on a freakin’ meal. I am not psyched. The world is kind of messing with me today, too. I thought I would be able to at least read about a bear attacking and killing a little girl in Tennessee without the damn article making me hungry – you’d think that, right?

No. They have to bait traps for the bear with “honey buns and doughnuts” and plan to set additional, similar traps, and I’ve got to read about it.

Shit.

I wrote that back on April 14, before I headed to the Kong. I have lots to say about the Kong, though, so I’ll get into that, but I just thought you might find that old post funny. I need to publish some of the shit I wrote over the past 6 months, but I know some of you have been wondering when I’ma throw up some HK posts. Thing is, since I just write lots of text and don’t have any fancy features, not even pics, I wonder whether I need to do more than break up the paragraphs – maybe I just need to shorten the posts.

Hell with that. I’m going straight Diary of Indignities style – I write as long and texty as I want (ah wait, that cat does have pics sometimes, that’s the funniest part about his blog).

On a side note – since I don’t really where to start, so I’m in no hurry to get there – I really dig this badnewshughes cat. I can relate to him since we had similar youths – listened to similar music, grew up in Florida, have tales of drunken, uncool yet sometimes successful mackalation attempts, did some Webelos crap, stuff like that. And sometimes we seem to have similar outlooks on things, uncannily so. Sour outlooks. That’s right.

Let’s stick with the off-the-top side notes before I run through another tale of getting completely hammered on ill drinks and fighting and fucking and stuff. Which one do you prefer – “my niggas and niggarettes”, a la ODB, or “My niggas and niggettes”, comme zee Mobb Deep? I like ODB’s more, always have – funnier, you got that cigarettes thing going that adds a little bend in the comical river there...

This weekend I did some shit. Friday I went out with B and E and her family for Mother’s Day dinner at a Korean barbecue place – her moms heard we were in town and invited us to come along. My lady had just got hit with some food poisoning, so she chilled, but I headed out and ended up getting pretty litacious in a short period of time. Also proud to say I ate about ten different animals, depending on whether the beef (both raw and cooked) came from a cow, a bull (uncastrated male), or an ox (castrated male) and, related to that, whether you see any difference among them, which I suppose there is not except for various degrees of dick-havingness or oncedick-havingness… bornwithdickness, I guess.

So dig, I had ox tongue, a pile of raw beef, some beef short ribs, chicken, lamb, mussels, scallops, giant prawns, fish of various sorts, octopus, and squid. Ten if you count the ribs and tongue as two. So, like 9. Hell yeah. I put in work, and watch my status escalate.

Yeah, so we were like the loud crowd at the joint, and even though I used to describe every little detail of an evening like this in previous posts, I’ll be honest and say that this wasn’t too over the top. Had its moments. The burner-fixing techniques that the waitress and some other dude attempted struck both fear and curiosity in me, especially given that they were doing it 12 inches away from me. Ok, put on the glove, I’ll turn the valve, you light it and jump back…ok, let’s try it 2 or 6 more times…of course the food was fantastic as always. The pile of raw marinated beef was great, the tongue I could live without forever, but it wasn’t terrible, and the rest of it was amazing. The Korean sake was pretty good too. And just like the last time I had dinner with E’s family, my knowledge and recollection of the location is something like this: Causeway Bay, Jaffe Street, up an elevator.

After dinner we headed to LKF and, after a brief altercation with some drunk cats who were trying to get all feely and touchy, we went into some joint, can’t recall the name but there were all these gweilos there dancing like fucking idiots on the floor, jamming to one of the ubiquitous Filipino bands that permeate the landscape in this region. Apologies to those readers who already know this or read about this in the Times magazine, but Filipinos have this band game on lock out here. “Out here” as in “all over a huge chunk of Asia”. Apparently they go to like band vocational school-type shit as teenagers and they all learn instruments, work out a decent singing voice, form bands, learn a pile of hit songs, and proceed to be the most ubiquitous and most talented motherfuckers in Hong Kong, Shanghai, Singapore, Australia, all the cruise ships…and they did rock, even though playing all the “hits” means you had like one decent Depeche Mode song thrown in among two Black Eyed Peas songs, a “You Can Call Me Al” for the older folks, some bad disco covers and all that. The dancing made me seriously ashamed of being a whitey mcwhitestone gweilo. Ha, the spell check calls out the last two words but not whitey. Let’s see, does it underline honky? No. Nigga? Yes. Nigger? No. Great, the PC’s dictionary knows the language of racism. Wop? Yep, Accepted that. Kike? Jesus, this software is fucking bigoted! And now I just noticed farther up that it underlines uncastrated but not castrated -- does my computer prefer, and therefore only accept, bad things, bad words? Let’s try a new racist term for a cracker that Chris Rock made up on SNL years ago: honkaloid. That one it called out.

Ok, whatever. So we headed to LKF and we got more lit and B and I talked about random crap for a while, and I headed home to my sick baby. That was the more mellow night. Home by 12.30, even though I still had a good baker’s dozen in me. Saturday morning, not surprisingly, involved F going to the gym while I got puffed and slugged myself in the genitals and tried to go back to sleep. We had some illtop freakin’ later, though. That helped. It’s too bad you can’t have orgasms every 5 minutes until your hangover has subsided.

Saturday night we went to Red for a farewell drinks thing for this reporter, and that was ok. Kind of like work, really. B and I took our honeys up to Soda later and we got all manner of fizznucked izznup. I was drinking these fuckers with vodka, Crème de pech, some kind of berry liquer, and mottled raspberry and mandarin orange – served in a pint glass no less. Going down as fast as Jungle Juice on the North Beach schoolyard back in the day, and the same bright red color, too. Stellas, ginger and lemongrass martinis, this shooter called a One Night Stand that is just so sweet and tasty and then disappears, just as it should (oh, snap)…ha-a-aa-aaa-a-aa-ammmered. Actually, Victor was in the house – at least for me – so I felt pretty lucid and awesome the whole night. Everything was lovely until about 4am when we rolled home and got in a big fight on the way and fought for a while when we got home. Stupid fighting. But we made up in the morning.

Oh yeah, I guess to kind of automatically, if pathetically, qualify this as service journalism (why am I doing this), I will now throw up in your mouth. Nah, kidding. Soda is on Pedder St. just below Hollywood Rd in Central. Decent DJ, good drink menu for those who care (and last night I seemed to be one of those people), and the same cats who own Loft 9 owns this bar, so if you like Loft 9, this is fairly similar. Plus you can stand out on Pedder St., which you can’t do at Loft 9. The bathrooms are, like every other bar in Hong Kong, as cramped as a fucking submarine. Prepare to have your dong bumping up against other dude’s dongs. And if that’s what you’re looking for anyway, you can step to Propaganda, just down the alley across from Soda. Walk down the alley…keep walking…don’t worry, there’s no crime in Central…and there it is on the left. There’s some other place further down, too. Go to Propaganda on Fridays, I think.

Called B and E around noon the next morning and they said they ended up heading to Wanchai after we left. Turns out E doesn’t remember going. And she had to work Sunday.

So there’s some other shit from the weekend, but I want to look at all these other posts I’ve been meaning to publish. I can’t believe I never threw up a summary of the Rakim show. Have to finish that one. So like I was gonna say before I interrupted myself, I just want to end with a short journey down memory lane and mention this awesome Metallica tape this dude gave to me in college. It was from the Metallistore, this “store” in NYC when Electra went out of business and they just gave away all kinds of weird Electra shit or Metallica shit out of the store on one last day, January 21, 1993. There was a little description on the side of the tape or something. Metallica was there.

Anyway, this dope tape has 3 tracks, all from a live show in Moscow – can’t remember the date, but it was from 1991. Probably ended up on a live album – did they do one of those or was it just video? Oh yeah, Binge and Purge. So they start off with “Last Caress” by the Misfits, and then segue into “Am I Evil?” by Diamondhead with the Kirk Hammett crunch – this loud, raw, advancing legions-type shit – and the drums…ah, man. Metallica heaven for hardcore fans. Last, they rip their way through a blistering “Battery,” faster than you can imagine. I know I sound like a big dork right now, but it’s just awesome.

Chucky