Getting drunk with K.D. Langkawi

I made it through the doors of a taxi and slammed the door just in time to stop one of the pervs grabbing me. I told the driver to get me the fuck out of there, and he burnt out of the car park and towards Penang’s ferry terminal. Shit, I’d rather spend three years at Mount Penang Juvenile Detention Centre, than another night at the Penang Hilton.

I barely made it to the boat in time, and when I climbed on it was crawling with stroppy Indian blokes and reverse-Ku Klux Klanners. Y’know, people with black sheets on their heads, rather than white ones. Seriously, there were babes in burqas everywhere, and it made me quite aroused. But it also raised questions, such as, how would a bloke know that that chick in a burqa is his? What if a bloke was at the pub and his mate said, ““Dude, I saw your missus getting fingered by some fella out the back of the shops the other day.”” How would you know it was the same girl? It’s fucked. When I’m out at the shops with a girl, I’ll give her a sly goose when she’s not looking, so it’d be shit if every girl was wearing a stupid black sheet on her head ‘cos I’d get the wrong one.

I thought about that for around seven minutes, then fell asleep and woke up as we were getting into Langkawi. I pranced into a taxi with a little Indian bloke whose name was Sam, – yes, SAM,– and a few minutes later I was at my lovely little resort in Tengah Beach, the Sunset Beach Resort. When I checked in the woman put a flower behind my ear, which I thought was a bit gay, and when I walked off it fell to he ground and I stepped on it, and I believe she was emotionally crushed. Ah well, when you disappoint as many women as I do, you stop caring. My room was great,– surrounded by trees, 15 metres from the beach and quite spacious inside. It was nice to have accommodation that didn’t look like it doubled as a public toilet.! I unloaded my stuff and, after a longing look at the gorgeous beach,, headed back to the main road for a much-needed bite to eat.

And what a main road it was. Yeah, it was about about as busy as Julia Gillard’s vadge while Tim’s off at the mardi gras. I blindly wandered into a curry house by the side of the road, and that’s where I met Sonjay.

Sonjay was a fat little Indian bloke with a moustache the size of Papua New Guinea and an award-winning combover, and he couldn’t do enough to make me happy. A drink immediately arrived at my table, a small Indian boy came to give me a foot rub (which I found very uncomfortable) and then Sonjay sat there nodding and smiling while I ordered my food –- a prawn tikka with garlic naan.

Five minutes later the food turned up and bloody hell, Sonjay delivered! The prawns were fresh and juicy, the sauce was deliciously spicy and old mate even brought out some fruit juice that tasted like it’d been squeezed from the arse of an angel.

I paid for the meal – $10 or so in total! – and got up to waddle out, when Sonjay pulled me in for a cuddle that lasted just a little bit too long. He was also breathing a bit too heavily and it felt like he had an erection, but I ignored that and got out of there, promising to come back.

Right, beach time, and wasn’t it a corker! My resort had a little stretch of private beach that was lined with palm trees, with a bunch of sun lounges to lie on, but that wasn’t the best thing. When I rolled up with a plastic bag full of cheep-as-shit beers and a packet of pawn crackers, a bunch of sexy German backpackers were already lying out there, and they must’ve left their lederhosen back at their rooms.

I settled down for a read, a drink and a perve and bloody hell, didn’t those Germans like me! Not really, as it turned out. Within the first 30 seconds, one of them started chucking up on the sand, and another one stumbled over coconut and passed out on the grass, upside down. They were drunk or hungover or drugged out or something, and a few minutes later two big, burly blokes stormed over and picked up all four of the sausage-guzzlers– and carted them off. I assume they got raped.

With that distraction out of the way, I turned my attention to a much-needed swim (I hadn’t showered in days) and the important task of plowing through eight beers. I had all that done by sundown (which was grouse – just check out the pictures), then stumbled up to the bottle shop where I bought a 1L bottle of Absolut for $10, and nearly cried it was so beautiful. I had half of that down my throat by 9:30 when, feeling hungry, I crossed the road to Sonjay’s.

He greeted me with a enormous hug, and this time he let his hands fall to my arse. I pulled away, but he just thought I was playing hard to get. I’m going to have a moustache rash for weeks.

I ordered a butter chicken and cheese naan, and got chatting to Sonjay while the food was getting cooked. I can’t remember what the fuck we talked about because I was shitfaced, but he was a good bloke. We actually danced together for awhile, and he was quite sweet and tender. The meal was amazing, and when I knocked it off he brought out some cigarettes for us to smoke, and I didn’t knock him back.

“”You want to fuck?”” he asked me, and I jumped out of my chair. ““No, you want to fuck Indian girl?”” he continued, and I was intrigued. Apparently Sonjay’s sister was looking for a man, and didn’t really care if it was a long-term deal or just for a few hours. I didn’t have the heart to tell old mate that a few minutes would be generous in regards to me, but agreed to meet his sister.

If an elephant ate another elephant, it would look like Sonjay’s sister. India became a lot less crowded the day she left town, and the people of Langkawi were lucky their island didn’t sink into the sea the day she turned up. She was fucken huge –- about two metres tall and just as wide, with arms that looked like they could carry Australia’s national debt. And she wanted me. Oh, bloody hell, she wanted me! She came at me, making these weird kissing noises and knocking tables and chairs out of the way. I spun around and ran the other way, but Sonjay blocked my escape. I went the other way, and the cook was there with a huge knife and an evil look on his face. I ran backwards and climbed onto a table, and managed to run along and somersault over the curry-monster’s face and race out into the night while Sonjay and the other creatures tried to chase me down.

I ran and ran and ran, until I saw a quiet little bar in the middle of nowhere. I raced up to it and sat down, and the fuckwits chasing me grudgingly turned and walked away, with Sonjay’s sister sounding like a T-Rex as she stomped away.

Turns out I was at the Sunbar, which is owned by the people who own the place I was staying in. I ordered a Long Island Ice Tea, then another, then stumbled into the club and got a bunch more drinks. There was a band, I tried to crack onto some chicks and… that’s it. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a hut – a fucking hut! – with a dirt floor and bamboo walls and some weird dudes asleep all around me.

Dunno if I scored with any chicks at the club, but the state I was in would suggest I didn’t. But bloody hell, I was blackout drunk and can’t remember a thing, so let’s just say I fingered a moderately-attractive sheila from Norway and call it evens. Bad day ahead. Hangover in three… two… one.

I originally wrote this on May 9, 2012. I may have been drunk at the time.