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No one had ever slipped roofies in my drink at a Karaoke Bar before today

Back in KK – it feels like coming home in some ways – you can walk into Trekkers Lodge and Mike will be there, reading a paper. He’ll tell you who is where, what’s happened to whom. And then to find everyone else, off to BB’s cafe – predictably busy given that it sells smuggled lager 50% the cost of everywhere else. And Special Brew. And a bottle of Special Brew, supplied not with a glass, but with a straw, is how my evening began.

After a meal free evening of beer drinking, we managed to find our favourite Karaoke brothel – Happy Garden Karaoke Lounge, and belt out some songs. This time, we used the winning strategy of letting Erika sing into the microphone, the speakers drowning out the cacophany issuing from the rest of our mouths. Soon it was down to just Joe and I, and a few miserable looking hostesses (apart from the one we bought a drink for, who perked up), so we enquired of our new friend where disco dancing could be had. Off into a taxi to Los Angeles we went, heaven knows where it was. It took about twenty minutes in the dark folds of the club to figure out that it was just a tiny room with mirrors all around it.

The rest of the night had to be pieced together from fragmentary evidence, and Joe and I, who got separated and lost each other in a nightclub the size of a cardboard box, came to the conclusion that either the beer in Los Angeles is weird, or they put elephant tranquilizers in it. In that hungover kind of flashback jigsaw, I managed to find the corners of the night, and have started slotting other pictures in:

I woke up in a plate of noodles. I couldn’t find Joe. I couldn’t find KK. I walked about a bit. I don’t have my hat anymore. I asked at a petrol station where KK was. A transvestite approached me, and lunged for my trousers. My belt saved me. I found an internet cafe curiously open at what must have been about 6am. Women were passed out on the seats. I sent a few random confused emails. The women turned out to be men dressed as women. I tried to find the Daya Hotel – quite a landmark with its tall tower and huge sign. I found myself at Trekkers Lodge just after 7am. I feel like dog pooh.

{ 2 comments… add one }
  • ronmalibu 2012/06/02, 21:52

    Those were the days my friend. Said Other Ron

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