Thread: Handcuffs For Breakfast.

HANDCUFFS FOR BREAKFAST.

It had already been a great evening thus far and the fish restaurant in Port Moresby had lived up to its reputation. Formalities dispensed with; the preliminary line of advance, (for what was termed a Safety Managers team building), gorged itself on copious platters of; local crab, lobster, prawns, and chillied perfumed rice, sustained in liquid equipoise by the smooth balance and genius of Jack Daniels bourbon.
Then, if I remember correctly, it was the Scotsman who initiated the main offensive.
“The night is still young. Where are we going on to from here laddies?”
For those of you unacquainted with the more down market dives of Papua New Guinea, there is an establishment in the capital called “The Weigh Inn,” that I will now endeavor to describe.
Past the razor wire surrounding the car park, one enters a fairly modest reception, and turns left into a cacophony of noise and smoke in which geriatric Australians dosed up on Cialis and beer, paw female silverbacks amidst a jungle of unstable bar stools, twilight alcoves and the occasional recumbent sleeping lush. I do believe there was a guitarist in the far corner but he didn’t stand a chance. All in all, it was my kind of joint.
Drinks were ordered, the circling night fighters closed in, seemingly reinforced from Flack Alley outside. One younger one in the midst of our group, then proceeded to strip off an outer top layer ready for what the night would bring.
“Oh, there is a God!” exclaimed Nicolas viewing her impressive balcony, “And she’s got a tattoo on the other side!”
Upon making discreet enquiries after her general health and well-being, he was reassured to ascertain that she was only twenty and still in a state of innocence. She smiled suggestively, and almost indulgently, in a manner reminiscent of a take from the Munster’s. I do believe at one point, that she was offered employment as a welder back on site!
Elsewhere on the left flank, the alpha-female of the tribe closed in on the Scotsman, effectively blocking any thoughts of escape towards the door he had so innocently entered. Blood-red teeth from chewing betel nut added to her charms, along with her pedigree as a chief’s daughter down from the hills for a spot of R&R.
I was myself led astray to an alcove, where a slim, dark young lady with claw like fingers, and prominent, yet attractive teeth laid a gentle hand on my upper arm and spoke soft monosyllables in cryptic terms of dreams and spells that even my classical English education was unable to unravel regards meaning and perception. It seemed to range from crudities unimaginable to one raised as a nice Jewish boy from North London, to musings on extended families living in dark forests with exotic creatures of the last paradise. She was tactile, complex, feminine, streetwise and quite fascinating. Also I might add, it was the first bit of young crumpet I had been near for three months.
I could not remember much after that, only that the drink kept coming, my senses deadened, the kangaroos started a fight over limey poofters trespassing on their wild life park and I woke up the next morning in a strange room. The handcuffs securing me to the bed came as a surprise and cut into my wrists.
In the corner, adding garlic and baby yams to a steaming pot was the Vamp from last night. Hooded eyes viewed me coldly as she stirred. Other creatures of the mist sat around with obvious appetites. It had been a good nights hunting and breakfast would soon be ready.

Ooohhhh, Kipling out slaps slaps.
Well done.

Expats in PNG probably read Slaps tales and write him off as beginner...

Brilliant Manichaean, More Please

Originally Posted by MANICHAEAN

I woke up the next morning in a strange room. The handcuffs securing me to the bed came as a surprise and cut into my wrists.
In the corner, adding garlic and baby yams to a steaming pot was the Vamp from last night. Hooded eyes viewed me coldly as she stirred. Other creatures of the mist sat around with obvious appetites. It had been a good nights hunting and breakfast would soon be ready.

If that was written by Slapper, the next instalment would start with a good sound buggering

Originally Posted by Necron99

Expats in PNG probably read Slaps tales and write him off as beginner...

Writing's old hat. Film direction on the other hand...

Better than my arival in Moresby. As a passenger on the Braeside I had made friends with some of the crew and also had aranged to stay on board for the first night so we took the ships boat to shore and proceded to find a taxi driver who took us to houses of ill fame but no one suited even the sailors so after getting well lubricated it was back back to the boat...after everyone got thrown off the jetty into the beautiful warm water....lucky I did not take my passport.
Moresby was a very quiet town at night then...when there wasn't a fight.

^^ no I meant in terms of scale, scope and possible outcomes of adventures..PNG and Borneo must make Deepest Darkest Issan look like Disneyland.

^ You should have just left it alone

Originally Posted by Necron99

PNG and Borneo must make Deepest Darkest Issan look like Disneyland.

I'd be very interested to hear about the local shop, where soi dogs are probably replaced with soi baboons.

Originally Posted by somtamslap

Originally Posted by Necron99

PNG and Borneo must make Deepest Darkest Issan look like Disneyland.

I'd be very interested to hear about the local shop, where soi dogs are probably replaced with soi baboons.

Only behind the counter. They put the shops in cages too to keep people out.

Don’t knock Somtamslap, as I’m one of his most avid fans. His pieces are sharp, witty and perceptive. He is a watcher of humanity by instinct, a connoisseur of the absurd by nature, with the restless nature and imagination of a true writer. Stick him in PNG & me in Thailand and you would see the result of the alternate stimulus these exotic locations generate.