I lied - the blog begins tomorrow. Bangkok is alive, my friends.

This is probably where we should start.

What do you think this is? Yes, correct. A groovy Thai rock and roll concentration camp, sponsored by Pepsi. The youthful vigour, the rebellious flair, the manned guard towers and cigarette rations...

No, I am not making any sense. This is not the first post. I am positively delirious with some bizarre illness right now. Like acid but without the driving need to find a house that looks like the one in Beverly Hills Cop and climb on its roof. Tomorrow things will make sense.

I think the best place to start will be my new friend the fake monk. His name is Vaginasaur Jr. 

Yes, he got his name from a toilet wall.

Although his actions are a blatant mockery of the Buddhist precepts, Vaginasaur Jr can certainly eat a lot of mini hot dogs when his honour is questioned. Each to his own cul-de-sac of Hell. I'll explain in due course.

No coup yet. Tank commanders are returning to their ice cream vending businesses. My neighbor told me that. She hits me with an electric fly swatter when I laugh. She is is 71. She eats ice cream cones all day, delivered by her officer son. Her eyes are so black they are like thousand year old eggs. I think she would make a good tank commander. Her name is Vithi. She has a lot of pictures of Serpico, and seems to regard the (fictional) man as a Buddhist saint. Mine is not to question. My old khmer friend Srang used to bribe dead policemen, so I don’t see this practice as much of a spiritual faux pas.

I asked Vithi if she wanted to become a tank commander. She hit me with an electric fly swatter and made me drink two Fantas. Such is the wages of sin.

The blog begins tomorrow. Come back then. Get on in for the big win.

Salut.