I met Mekong Kurk.
He was never called that.
That was a Gartland invention.
Mekong Kurk taught at a few Universities I taught at.
I had a fake degree first from Concordia, in Canada, next, UNSW in Australia.
'I don't give a fuck,' said Kurk, who was pissed by midday.
I told him about Gartland.
'Cunt owes me money, a lot of it. And when I was dying, outside a bar on Washington Square, the cunt first removed my wallet, then pissed on me, and then said, 'I'll write a tribute poem on you.'
You can't get more dogy than that, I said to Kurk who use to run a website called Bangkok A to Z.
'Don't worry mate,' said Kurk, we were chatting on an ouija board, 'I know what department he'll be located in when he kicks the bucket. And there's one particular Ogre who loves butt fucking dead beat poets.'
