My moral support unit for my Gropamine Diaries was a burnt-out poet on the pension living in a run-down apartment in Bangkok.
His poetry is cutting and biting and made him nothing.
He fancied himself as a bit of an English teacher too.
Far East positions were filled by sex tourists who had fake degrees made up at Koa San.
Jodric Plinth was his most vocal publicist.
‘My last name is Plinth, and I’m a bit of stink.’
His poetry stunk with self-righteousness and his two novels were god damned awful books he couldn’t give away..
‘That makes me an ideal candidate to edit your book,’ he said.
I said I don’t sell books so why would I want to pay for an edit.
It all began with a sly email.
He and his crack head wife were going through withdrawals.
What do you do when you go through withdrawals?
You bum off someone better off than you.
I guess his credit for weed had dried up at the Star of Love.
If he didn’t pay that off, he’d be in bad standing.
Boy hadn’t Jodric fallen from grace.
No one was inviting him to poetry reading nights.
No one wanted to collaborate with him.
His need for finding new victims had expanded with the advent of the internet.
No one knew what he really looked like.
He put tape over his webcam.
That’s how paranoid he was.
‘They can see me.’
Who can see you?’
This is coming from a guy who didn’t know the difference between an audio and a video file.
But no one should underestimate Jodric.
He knew what he wanted and how to get it.
His subject in his email was brilliant.
‘Checking to see if…’
He got my attention.
The email continued:
Pal,
Just checking if you're flush enough to lend me some cash for a month. There's an urgent domestic demand from the Condo maintenance nazis. I've already paid off loads of things this week so I'm in need of a topup for 30 days.
I need about 6000 baht, or 262 Aussie dollars. If you were able, and I realise you might not be, and could send it by Western Union, I'd return it the same way, in 30 days.,
Let me know soon, and no sweat if you can't do it.
Smooth as silk as they say.
How could I not loan him money?
He’s a pensioner.
He’s living in Thailand where everything is ten times cheaper than in the West.
And the doggy cuntish poet wants to loan money off me?
I must say, I really was caught off guard.
This is when my Duromine trip started going bad.
For more on the Bangkok Poet, follow this link.
