Tag Archives: Indonesia

Back in Balangan

After three weeks back in Australia, I was sick of winter and ready to head back out into the big wide world, so I hitched a ride on a Qantas jet and zipped over to Bali to go paragliding and chase backpackers for a month. Actually, it wasn’t quite that easy – some Islamic terrorist knob jockeys have been doing their best to blow up Aussie planes, which meant an extended journey through security. I guess rocking up with a backpack full of radio equipment and other electrical goodies probably wasn’t a great move. Sadly Fortunately, I didn’t end up with some customs dude lipping his arm up my arse.

Oh, bloody hell, it's sunny!

The other hassle during my flight over to Asia had less to do with bearded Islamic terrorist bum boys and more to do with my own goofiness, because I wasn’t allowed to check in without having a return ticket booked. With only $126 to my name, a flight back to Sydney was out of the question, so it looks like I’ll be spending a week in Darwin on the way back. Cold beer, hot Euro travellers, and heaps of crocodiles to punch. Oh shit, however will I deal with that?

The place I'm staying at looks like it was built by drunk children

Much like last year I’m kicking off my Bali sojourn with a few days in the hidden paradise of Balangan. If you want to know more about it, just read my award-winning post from this time last year. The only real difference is that I’m 20kg lighter this year, so I’ve been spending every morning jogging around in the heat and trying not to shit myself the whole way. Thanks to the rabid dogs that chase me everywhere, I’ve actually been cracking out som good times, and the seven litres of sweat that pours out of me each morning clears plenty of space for Bintangs.

Olympics, here I come

It was on one such not-so-fun run that this story begins. I was doing my best to sidestep a cow when a motorbike came to a spluttering stop a few metres from me and a stunning sort climbed off. She pulled off her helmet, sending blonde hair cascading halfway down her back. I did my best to hide my erection.

“You look like you have plenty of stamina,” the babe said in a thick eastern European accent. I just nodded dumbly and hoped she wouldn’t realise I was about six steps away from collapsing into a bush and spewing on myself. “You should jump on the back of my bike.”

We've all woken up next to someone who looks like that, right?

I was faced with two options. Either I could continue on my run, improve my health and fitness, and live a longer life, or I could climb on the back of a conked-out bike ridden by someone barely old enough to have the training wheels off and drastically reduce my life expectancy. I’m not a fucking idiot, so I went with the option that offered the best chance of getting laid. By that I mean I got on the bike – I guess I could’ve porked one of the cows wandering around, but even in Indonesia such behaviour is largely frowned upon.

Alright, they are kinda cute

Milana (for that was this lovely lass’s name) took me to a gorgeous bar on the beach, where we ordered icy cold Bintangs and did our best to piece together a conversation, despite her being from Estonia and possessing a looser grasp on the English language than your average Bauer editor. When she told me that she’d been in Balangan a year ago and had a disappointing sexual experience with another Aussie paraglider, who looked like me but was much fatter and had longer hair, I just nodded and pretended not to be hurt.

The long-haired, overweight disappointmnt may have looked something like this

Long story short, after 15 Bintangs each we found ourselves in a run-down shack on the beach, the waves crashing beneath our heaving bodies. After a few minutes of fumbling around like a drunk seal I felt very contented and was ready to roll over and have a sleep, but Milana was somewhat less pleased with the proceedings.

“I take back what I say about you have stamina,” the babe said, struggling into her dress. “Maybe you is more like 100 metre runner.”

“Luv,” I replied with a smile as I swaggered out the door, “that’s the first time anyone’s likened me to Usain Bolt. Cheers.”

I like swingers' parties

Bali is still a beautiful place, but it’s time for me to stop looking at it from ground level, and instead check it out from a couple of hundred metres in the air. I’ve got a brand new wing and an almost aggressive desire to spend as much time paragliding as possible. Let’s just hope I can keep it up for a bit longer than I did with poor bloody Milana!

Into the rape truck!

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After a week of brilliant flying in beautiful Candidasa, Bali, it’s time for the majority of the Cloudbase crew to pack up their wings and fly back to Australia. Me and Rich have stayed on for a few days, however, to continue flying in paradise with our mates Jules, Lewis and Dr Pete, a man best described as a ‘unique individual’ and one of the smoothest operators I’ve ever met. The flying’s been incredible, really tranquil and plenty of fun, and with nearly empty skies I’ve been able to work on my turns, chase thermals, and increase my confidence in the sky. It’s the happiest I’ve ever been with my flying, and I really feel like my skills have taken a massive step up – but things have been eventful.

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I’m even sexier at 700m above the ground

The day’s airborne adventures were cut short when a frighteningly huge storm cell rolled in, and we decided to head to the nearby Black Sand Beach for a few Bintangs, rather than stay in the sky to be tossed harder than a frustrated virgin’s pecker. After pulling off the best landing of my life (the words of advice finally worked, Mark!), it was off to the village’s tiny general store for the customary post-flight feast of icy cold beer and fried chicken skin. I’ve had some cracking afternoons sitting outside that general store, with friends old and new (and old and young, to be honest). Flying is brilliant and the ultimate drug, but the social aspect of paragliding is what really makes it the king of sports.

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It might be time to land

One Bintang turned into six, and soon me and the Hamster were becoming animated. I pulled out my phone and filled the dusty village with the feel-good beats of legendary 80s pop group Wang Chung, and we started boot scooting through the palm trees, which startled a group of small children who were using a dead chicken as a football. The locals had seen and heard enough (they must’ve been Duran Duran fans – there’s no accounting for taste) and ordered us into the back of a bright green truck with blood smears on the side. I yelled out to the driver to ask him what they usually carried in the truck, because it smelled awful.
“Mainly rice and rapist for execution,” he shrugged, and climbed into the front seat. He started it up and drove us away from the beach in a cloud of smoke while people danced around us.

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The locals didn’t chain Rich to the truck by his nipples, he just did it for fun!

As we bumped along the bumpy road the Indos raced out of their shacks to watch us cruising through the village. They laughed and cheered and threw flowers, obviously excited by the prospect of seeing a group of sex offenders get beheaded for their pleasure. Despite being in the back of the Gary Glitter Rape Wagon I felt like the queen, and waved to the little people as we passed. Unfortunately, bright green trucks designed for hauling paedophiles aren’t very comfortable, and were for thrown around as it bumped along the road. Palm fronds and electrical cables reached for us, and a moment’s lapse in concentration was enough to be beheaded by by a stray branch. I managed to dodge most of them, but then disaster struck. A jolt knocked me towards the back of the truck and a jagged palm frond lashed at my clothes and tore them off my body, leaving me rolling around the bed in my undies.

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This is why I’ve been asked not to return to Indonesia

Rich, never one to miss an opportunity to defrock, tore off his clothes and tossed them out the back, where they hit an unsuspecting motorcyclist in the face and caused him to crash into a stray dog. The truck driver had every reason to keep driving us to Kerobokan Prison, but thankfully he took us back to our palatial accommodation at the Puri Oka Hotel, before using a rusty machete to force us out of the back of the truck. The small crowd who had gathered around us slumped off in despair when they discovered we weren’t going to be executed for their entertainment.

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Jules was lucky to avoid losing his clothes in the tragedy

Despite being paraded around in the back of the Jimmy Savile Express, threatened and laughed at, it was one of the best days I’ve ever had, and another high spot in what has become one of the best and most insane holidays I’ve ever had. As the sun slid behind the horizon, we did our best to raise the stock price of Bintang and I did my best to win the heart of a beautiful young lady. What can I say, it’s a life…

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The walking cure for homosexuality

Hangin’ with the Hamster: The UNCUT TRUE STORY of THAT drunken evening with Richard Ham

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Paragliding isn’t all about flying through exotic lands. Most of the time is spent bludging around waiting for the wind to pick up, or drinking Bintangs by the pool with your mates, or stripping off in public while the locals hoot and holler like rabid monkeys. This is the story of a night out with my mate Richard ‘The Hamster’ Ham, a man who struggles to remain fully frocked at the best of times, but who becomes a walking arrest warrant once beer is added.

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A troubled individual

After another long day of zipping around Candidasa at great heights and rehydrating with bulk Bintang on the beach afterwards, me, The Hamster and Jed headed out for a feed at Bali’s most exclusive restaurant, La Rouge, where the waiter even places a napkin over your lap. I was grateful for this, as I had wet my pants and needed something to mop up the mess. Anyway, the food was brilliant and, full of beer and Long Island Iced Tea, we tootled off to a local nightspot, where the trouble started.

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Less like The Who and more like Who The Fuck Are These Dickheads?

The place was deserted bar for a group of volatile Germans in one corner and a bored-looking band packing up in the other. While the Hitler Youth were shouting about world domination “the fucking Jews”, the band were sombre , and refused to start playing for us. As we slumped dejectedly at the bar, a strange man man appeared from the shadows and presented us with the most hideous smile time has ever known. This character looked like he’d been kicked in the mouth by a horse and had a special needs child glue everything back together. He had about seven teeth, none of which pointed in the right direction, and were coated in a thick, brown goo.

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The offending teeth

Toothy’s negotiation skills were as good as his ability to play with his balls, and before long we came to a financial agreement that had the band picking up their instruments again. The deal was not, however, sealed with a handshake. As the band tumbled headfirst into a unique interpretation of Wonderwall, we celebrated by smashing beers and ignoring the deranged sexual advances of Toothy, who just couldn’t leave his fuckin’ balls alone.

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Showing them how it’s done

I can honestly say that we kickstarted the band’s professional career that night, because I can’t imagine anyone else would’ve paid them to play. They were awful, with only a rudimentary understanding of the concept of music and a set list that consisted of Don’t Believe Me Just Watch! and a number of jams that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in a Nazi concentration camp.

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Skins on skins

The Hamster is a former drummer with legendary Pommy band The Jimmy Savile Experience (they might want to think about renaming themselves if they ever reform), and soon became enraged by the lackadaisical attitude of the drummer, who spent the majority of the performance looking at his imitation iPhone and yawning. He stormed the stage and threw the teenager to the ground before taking his place behind the drums, where he busted out some lightning beats that even had the Hitler Youth grooving around.

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Alright, they weren’t grooving around, but they did stop raping and killing for a few minutes

Jed and I took his lead and threw the other members off the band off the stage and took their place. We performed a rocking set of classic rock songs and stuff we came up with on the spot, and the masses poured in to dance and sing along and throw their panties at us. The Hamster became so caught up in the moment that he took off his clothes without missing a beat, which sent the ladies in the audience into raptures. Toothy, meanwhile, simply continued playing with his balls.

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Jed wows the crowd with a rap version of the Home & Away theme song

We finished off with a rousing rendition of Stairway to Heaven that was deemed by all in attendance to be better than the original and were carried out into the street by our adoring fans. They chanted our names as they carried us through the night, eventually dropping us off at the Indomart because we all wanted Cornettos. During the ride my fans had stolen my clothes, meaning that two of us were now naked, with only Jed remaining decent.

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“This is why I hate white people”

Tragically, while searching for a Cornetto that hadn’t been defrosted and re-frozen a dozen times, The Hamster tripped over a dog and knocked over a large rack of imitation sunglasses, sending it crashing to the ground. With only a handful of rupiahs on him and no way to pay for the damage, he was forced to take up a job working in the Indomart for a couple of cents an hour. After loading up on ice creams, Jed and I left Hammy to work off his debt. He was later arrested by corrupt Indonesian police and is looking forward to spend the next 20 years in a cockroach-infested jail cell with a Chinese drug runner/sexual predator named Rodney Yap. I trust they’ll be very happy together.

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Sweet like Candi

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Candidasa is a mystical land full of ancient temples, turquoise beach, and angry monkeys, but the only way to truly appreciate it is from the air. This isolated collection of beaches along the Balinese coast have provided me with an aerial playground that has proven to be nothing short of mind-blowing and life-changing. In short, this place is fucking amazing.

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The launch is unusual in itself, because it’s located on a peanut plantation overlooking the sea. Locals chatter and laugh among themselves, while dogs root each other in the scrub. Once off the ground,the flight is as daunting as it is awe-inspiring, with the whole world opening up  beneath my glider.

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It’s a big hill that reaches far into the Oriental sky, and the ride up there took me over thick jungle and screeching monkeys. Far above me dozens of gliders soared through the sky, and it was a surreal experience making the slow ascension to the ‘bubble’ where they hung together at the peak of the world. It was truly breathtaking stuff.

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I’m not going to lie, I was absolutely shitting myself during my first flight in Candi. It took me half an hour to pluck up the courage to take my hands off my brakes long enough to turn on my vario. But despite feeling like it was my first flight all over again, that first climb to the roof of Bali is something I will never forget. It was epic, and truly life-changing.

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I got so much height that I made it to cloudbase for the very first time – and even swung my glider through the clouds a few times, which was a heart-stopping experience. Never have I been surrounded by so much beauty, with the freedom to explore it all (well, never outside of a Thai knock shop).

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The landing is on a long stretch of black sand, dotted with traditional fishing boats. There’s a tiny village seeming untouched by the western world, full of children who think dead chickens make excellent toys and topless women who are really good at balancing stuff on their heads. There are also icy cold beers, making it the perfect place to land (as long as it’s not on one of the boats).

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There’s only one way to celebrate such an epic day, and that’s with a dozen Bintangs and a bunch of good mates. There are plenty of great places to drink beer by the water in Candi, with all sorts of tiny bars and warungs. There are more restaurants in the hills surrounding and along the main road, where bars boast awful Asian cover bands with long hair and only a rudimentary grasp of the concept of music.

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I even got lucky with a big-titted local. She’s the quiet type and and a bit on the heavy side (and I also suspect she’s a stoner), but I feel like this could be the start of a long, loving relationship…

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Trees-ed to meet you!

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I haven’t received many standing ovations in my life. There was the time I came third in the under-8 boys mini tramp competition at Gosford Youth Centre a few decades ago, the day I came second in a pie-eating contest, and that’s about it. Even the ovation I received from impressed onlookers after scoring with a big-titted water nymph after paragliding didn’t really happen – I stole the story from my sexy Brazilian friend Ricardo, who can’t walk down the street without a conga line of  super models forming behind him.

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I should enter this shot in a photography comp. It would win and I could use the prizemoney to buy beer

So I was shocked but delighted to be met by roaring applause upon returning to my hotel tonight after another hard day of flying. Had I broken a long standing distance record? Had I impressed everyone with my aerial trickery? Maybe they were simply exhibiting belated appreciation of my dancing skills? Nup. I just landed my wing in a fuckin’ tree.

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Gettin’ higher than a first year yooni student

Unusually, it wasn’t a great day of flying. The Hindu Wind Gods must’ve slept in, and by 3 o’clock I was resigned to killing a few Bintangs and listening to the Raiders lose on the wireless. But when the wind did turn up, I was the hill, back to the setting sun and wing slicing through the evening air.

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Perfect form on launch (it’ not me, obviously)

It was a strange flight. There was a wedding going on in one of the hotels below, and if I’d flown any lower I could’ve zipped in and grabbed a canape and the phone number of one of the bridesmaids before scooting off. They decided to release thousands of balloons shortly after I launched, which created a wacky diversion for the crew. At least they didn’t release a whole bunch of doves.

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Heading for the temple

The ride didn’t last long (words the majority of my ex-girlfriends have spoken at some point) and I had to make a run to the beach after half an hour or so. It was a fun end to a brilliant week, and only a clean landing stood between me and a night of drinking icy cold Bintangs and dancing on tables while Indonesian men threw money at me with my mates. Just aim it at the huuuge patch of sand and we’re sweet.

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This is Rudi, an Indonesian dude who spent the entire afternoon taking selfies in front of us as we stood around. He probably has a photo of me and him as his Facebook profile pic

Yep, I ended up hanging my lovely wing over a bloody bush. It sounds a bit sexy, but it really wasn’t. While I wasn’t hurt, the bush was huge and spiky, and the lines of my glider were as wrapped up in it as a housewife is in the adventures of Ellen DeGeneres and her fellow gay ladies. It was going to take some seriously high-tech actions to get it out.

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Poor Kenny!

Enter Hamster and a styrofoam boat he stole off some locals and proceeded to destroy, and Jed with a massive length of bamboo that the locals probably use to beat infidels. As funny as the situation was, the boys really went out of their way to help me, which is just the way the paragliding community works, and I can’t thank them enough for it. Hamster, I owe you a beer or three. Jed, a Cornetto is on its way.

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Go, Hamster, go!

And so, when we turned up at the hotel, late and cut up and tired, the rest of the crew were washed and ready to head out – after letting me known how much they appreciated my efforts to wrap my wing around the biggest bush on the beach. It was embarrassing but also a great laugh, and a funny way to top off a day that showed off what paragliding is really all about – just getting out there and having fun with your mates.

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Photobombed by an albino

My wing was fine, which was just as well because the next day was to offer something very, very special.

Paragliding in paradise

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Forget about lying in the sun  and save the ladyboys for another day, because it’s time to get stuck into what I came to Bali to do – a shitload of paragliding. And thanks to the legends at Cloudbase and the Hindu Wind Gods, that’s exactly what’s been happening.

The skies above Nusa Dua have been swarming with gliders for weeks, and when our crew rocked up it made for a bloody awesome spectacle. There were as many as 37 pilots in the air at a time, and I’ve never even seen that many at the same time. Once I made it into the air, though, it was incredible, and I never wanted to come back down. I soared over resorts (I spent a lot of time above one in particular, because there was a really good-looking sheila lying by the pool), beaches and temples.

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There are also some mad Chinaman and kamikaze Japs flying around attached to glorified shopping bags, with little concern for their welfare. The same rules apply in the air as they do when driving – just stay the fuck away from the Asians, because they’re only ever a minute away from doing something stupid, and you’ll be sweet. While it took a bit of getting used to, learning how to fly in difficult conditions is important when it comes to becoming a better pilot.

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I’ve already clocked three-and-a-half hours of flight time over the first two days, which is mental, and that number is going to grow massively over the next two weeks. I’ve also made my first-ever top landing attempt (an utter failure) and my second (a massive success that brought tears to the eyes of all who witnessed it – and a few ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the local female paragliding groupies).

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Those watching on included a little Indo bloke who hangs out on the hill selling DVDs (of course), cigarettes (not surprising) and Viagra (whaaaaaaaat?) Honestly, mate, the last thing I want to worry about whilst avoiding suicidal Chinamen at 100m above the ground is maintaining an erection.

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After a very long day of flying, the crew piled into buses, Bintangs in hand, and headed back to our resort, where we had a quick splash in the pool and then piled back into buses, fresh Bintangs in hand, and rolled out to dinner. It was lucky the company was so good, because the meals took about an hour to arrive, and the bill about an hour and a half to settle. Ah well, it’s a small price to pay to be able to paraglide in such a fuckin’ great place.

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Sunsets in Bali-dise

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I love a good sunset. They’re pretty, they don’t take much effort to enjoy, and they perfectly compliment an icy cold beer. If I found a woman with all those qualities, I’d be sorted for a long and happy life.

Bali is a great place to watch the sun sink below the horizon while sinking a Bintang, so that’s how I’ve spent a lot of my time. Here’s a bunch of photos (and a really awesome video that should win an award) so that you don’t feel like you’re missing out. Aren’t I a nice guy? Set me up with your hot sister, won’t ya?

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Bingin there, done that

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I’ve been itching for somewhere new to explore in Bali, and today i scratched that itch by visiting one of the beautest beaches around. By sheer coincidence, a lady friend of mine happens to be in Bali right now and staying only a few kilometres away from me in Bingin, so today I decided to rock on over and see her. And see if I could give her one, because she’s pretty hot and knows how to make sex better than my good buddy Geoff Jansz knows how to make pineapple quiche – and that motherfucker knows how to make pineapple quiche.

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Bingin is pretty much the bigger, more developed brother of Balangan – which is pretty much the same role I play in regards to my brother. I certainly can’t match him when it comes to eating Dagwood Dogs, however. The track down the cliffs to Bingin is steep and winding and offers awesome views out over the ocean, with all sorts of shacks and restaurants clustered around it. I’d say it’s not recommended for wheelchair people, but a little Balinese bloke would probably carry you down for a few dollars, so go for it.

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The beach itself is really nice and quite unique. Cliffs rise up from the water, completely covered in huts and hotels and places to drink Bintang. It’s heavily developed, but in a nice style that makes it feel like the way it is right now is the way it was always meant to be. Of course, the wooden shacks will probably be knocked down and replaced with a fucking McDonald’s in a few years, but at the moment it’s pretty perfect.

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Unfortunately, my date didn’t progress as hoped. I saw a funny-looking dog and chased it with a stick for half an hour or so, and when I got back my lady friend was kissing a Brazilian dude with a full sleeve of bad tatts. When I mistakenly asked whether a threesome was on the cards, he chased me with a stick for half an hour or so, which I believe is the definition of irony.

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The Brazilian bozo didn’t order me off the beach with a threat of beheading me and defecating down my neck (he was too busy kissing my lady friend, which he probably wouldn’t have done had he known where that mouth has been; spoiler alert, MY PENIS!), so I spent the afternoon splashing around in the water and checking out the sexy bikini-clad European women ambling about. It was a bit like one of those black man rapper videos where every chick is really hot and there’s not a fatty in sight, although when I started spittin’ sick rhymes about bitchez and money and stuff like that, I wasn’t met with nearly the same amount of applause as Jay-Z or Vanilla Ice would be.

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With my lady friend edging ever closer to having a Brazilian baby and few other people on the beach looking like they wanted anything to do with me, I made my way back up the steep track (I’m lying – I paid a Balinese dude to carry me) and raced back to Balangan. When I got there, I was treated to a sunset that was truly a gift from the gods. Sometimes everything goes wrong, and sometimes life isn’t easy, but a sunset can put everything into perspective and let you know that it’s going to be cool in the end.

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As I’ve gotten older I’ve gained a greater appreciation for sunsets. The uniqueness of each one, how fleeting they are. Every sunset is one less that I get to enjoy, so for now, I’m going to make the most of every fucking one of them. Now where’s that funny-looking dog gone?

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Revenge of the Ladyboys

Last time I was in Bali I was overwhelmed by the number of ladyboys – seriously, there were wangs busting out of bikini bottoms all over the place. I matched with a whole bunch of them on Tinder while I was looking for proper women to disappoint, and readers of Drunk and Jobless were left gobsmacked by my encounters.

Despite not having ovaries or wombs they can still compete in the Olympics as women seem to have bred, because there are even more shemales here this year! And while I haven’t had the pleasure of making six with any f these fine gentlemen, my good friend Igor the Russian Sex Tourist has been with them all, and was more than happy to share his experiences. Righto, let’s check out the finest chicks-with-dicks the Island of the Gods has to offer!

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Tragically, Nicky suffers from shemale-pattern baldness

IGOR SAYS: First we share haircut, then we share gonorrhea. Call me, baby!

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Mela is the most popular player on his soccer team, because any hole is a goal. He was even named MVP – Most Valuable Penis

IGOR SAYS: Mela’s wear spiky soccer boot to bed, and hotel charge me for damage, so I slash man at front desk with bottle. Maybe he live, maybe he die, I no care.

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Despite being the Hottest ever” LADYBOY”, Siti only had enough money for one breast implant. He’s waiting patiently for the right German pervert to pay for the other one

IGOR SAYS: When Siti ask for money for breast enlargement, I put my penis close to breast and say, “See! Breast already look larger!” I could be comedian like American faggot Mr Jerry Seinfeld.

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“Oh, bloody hell, my sheets are stuck to my face with my own jizz again!”

IGOR SAYS: Joke is on Cleopatra, that is my jizz!

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You could just about convince yourself you were porking a real woman if you were with Sasha. And it was dark. And you were drunk. And she didn’t spoof on you

IGOR SAYS: Woman from back, man from front. Sasha’s penis is like the evil snake from the popular Hollywood movie Anaconda. I hate that film, it is for fags.

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The best thing about Marysa is not her massive, fake titties, it’s the fact that after rooting him you can both sit down to watch the footy and talk about cars

IGOR SAYS: When I take off Marsya’s top, I disappoint that she not have love hearts for nipples. I still fuck him, but when he ask for money I call my friend Viktor and put a hit out on Marsya. He is dead now

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“Hello, Mum? I got the role as Garth in the Wayne’s World remake. Schwiiiiiing!”

IGOR SAYS: I get bad beard rash from kissing Jezica in movie theatre. Rash is on my mouth, penis and anus. I make Jezica pay for popcorn as I hate him

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The bloke on the left is in for huge surprise when he gets home. The bloke on the right knows exactly what he’s in for

IGOR SAYS: Who are these gaybos with my woman? I hope Geby give they AIDS, like he give me

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Putting a wig on Mike and calling him a woman is like putting a hat on a duck and calling it a rollercoaster

IGOR SAYS: Michel fucking trick me, I think is girl! Of course, I also once think tractor is girl and marry it, so my judgement is not so good

 

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Rara is back, and it’s STILL not gay if you root him/her

Bintangs in Balangan

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The next leg of the Drunk and Jobless World Tour™ has begun! It’s a journey that will take me from the pristine beaches of southern Bali to the skies of Candidasa, across the mountains of South Korea and deep into the beating heart of Tokyo. It’s going to be a full-on seven weeks, so I’ve decided to start off in the most relaxing of places – Balangan, which is around 45 minutes drive from Kuta, but a world away from that concrete nightmare.

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Balangan’s a really nice beach, with clean, white sand nestled up against volcanic cliffs and palm trees swaying all over the place. Ramshackle restaurants look out over the deep blue sea and surfers either glide through the water, or just sit on their boards because they don’t actually know how to ride but want to say they’ve surfed in Bali.

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It’s not a great beach for swimming due to the reef extending to the sand, so I just bludged around drinking Bintang and perving on the good-looking sheilas who were wandering around. I saw one I really liked the look of – a topless blonde with a bad tattoo that suggested a low sense of self worth – and rolled over to say G’day.

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“We might have to shut the beach down,” I said with a cheeky wink towards her perky boobies. “Because there are a couple of white pointers around.”
I was making my third honking sound when a shadow fell on me, and I turned around to see a very large, very angry man who was covered in tattoos that even Stevie Wonder would agree look shit. He politely suggested that it would not be in my best interests to remain on the beach (actually, it wasn’t all that polite – he screamed something about removing my head and defecating down the remains of my throat, which sounds like an odd thing to do), so I decided to run away in tears and go for a walk.

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During my strut around town, I saw all the usual sights of Southeast Asia – overloaded motorbikes, blokes burning shit on the side of the street, and children urinating in public. I didn’t take any photos of the urinating children because I don’t want to end up on some sort of register, so I’ve put in a picture of an interested cow instead. I also found something that looks like a prison, with barbed wire and everything, and was chased away by guard dogs while the locals laughed at me.

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I sought refuge at the top of a poorly-built wooden tower that seems to serve no other purpose than to give schoolkids a place to smoke bongs and trade porno mags they found in their fathers’ closets (sorry, Dad – I swear I’ll give you back that copy of Sixty Plus one day). I spent a minute or two gazing passionately at a flock of cows milling about far below, then hurried back down to safety because the whole thing felt like it would blow over with the faintest hint of wind.

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It doesn’t take long to get sick of walking in Bali because it’s as humid as a ladyboy’s crotch, so I hailed a cab and headed back to my luxurious accommodation (the driver offered me a happy-ending massage and I said no, but I was disgusted with myself when I realised he probably meant that a pretty lady would do it, not him). With the beach off limits and not much else to do, I’ve just been sitting around with a beer in my hand and a grin pasted on my stupid face. You know, sometimes this strange dance we call life isn’t too bad at all.

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