Tag Archives: Jaipur

More of the world’s worst advice

Bro, what’s cracking? I’m going well, thanks for asking. You write about all these cool places you’re always visiting, and most of them sound fucking fantastic. I’m unemployed and have a severe drug addiction, so I won’t be travelling anywhere for a while (I’m also out on parole, so the cunts at the cop shop don’t want me to), so reading about your adventures is about as close as I’m gunna get to going on a holiday. Anyway, I’d like to know, what’s the shittiest place you’ve ever been to? Thanks, and keep up the good work.
G’day Tinks, it’s great to hear from you. Too bad about the financial situation, but I’m sure you could knock off a servo or a primary school tuck shop if you want to head off on the trip of a lifetime.
As for your question, until recently I would’ve said Huddersfield, UK. It’s a cold, wet, grim shithole in the north of England, where dreams don’t die because they never exist in the first place. The footy team’s shit (sorry, Eorl Crabtree), the shops are run by surly Poles, and gangs of unpleasant youths roam the streets. Also, everyone’s ugly and look like they’ve just come from fucking their sister.
But that all changed when I went to Jaipur, India. What can I say about this nightmare of a city? It’s overrun with criminals (how I wasn’t robbed, I don’t know), the air is so polluted that just breathing is akin to smoking three packs of cigarettes, and the city’s historical sites have been left to rot. Animals shit in the streets, the drivers are fucking idiots, it’s noisy and smelly, and the locals (I only saw men, so maybe they’ve found a way to reproduce through frantic bum sex) look like they’ve had their faces set on fire with a blowtorch and trampled out by a Clydesdale. To make it worse, cunts who were eating pigeons tried to stab me. It’s impossible to feel safe there, and that shithole promises an awful travelling experience.
So, yeah, stay the fuck away from Jaipur. And Tinkerbell, feel free to steel a new TV for me.

Hey mate, it’s me Cameron Rodrigo. You don’t know me, but I’m a fun-loving 20-year-old with a few tattoos. Everyone loves them, and they go with my quirky, upbeat personality. Unfortunately, I was a bit high on red cordial and Snickers bars on the weekend, and I got a smiley face inked on my knob. Right there on the end, so when I take off my pants it looks like the bloody Bookworm has come out to play. When the sugar worse off and I settled down, I realised I’d made a mistake because 1) it looks really stupid and 2) my girlfriend will probably never come near me again. I’ve tried rubbing it off but, while it was a lot of fun, it didn’t work. What can I do?
RODRIGO (NOT CAMERON), NORAVILLE, NSW. WAIT, ACTUALLY, CAN YOU SAY I COME FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE?ROW-ROW: Hi Cam! Uh, I mean, Rodrigo. Is that a Brazilian name? You’ve really only got two options. You can cut the silly thing off; just grab a pair of scissors and go to town, then kick it into the sea and forget all about it. Your missus might wonder where your cock went, but you can simply tell her that you’ve been getting in touch with your feminine side, and have decided to become a woman. She’ll respect your courage and, if anything, it will strengthen your relationship. She’ll dump you, of course, and you’ll have a hell of a time getting another girlfriend without a willy, but it’s worth a shot.
The other is to convince her that your penis has become sentient, developed a face and is now capable of initiating meaningful conversations. This will involve learning ventriloquism, and developing a caring, sensitive personality for your little friend. Of course, this plan runs the risk of your girlfriend falling in love with your talking doodle, chating on you with it, and eventually running away with him. So you’ll be left broken-hearted, while your knob swans around on a tropical cruise with the love of your life. Again, being penis-less will leave you deeply depressed and unable to attract other women, probably leading to a life of heavy drug abuse and prostitution.
So, up to you. We’ll talk about it at work tomorrow never talk about it in person because I don’t know you.

What’s up, dude? I’ve been smashing this good sort for a while, and I’ve decided to take her on holidays for a week. After reading your blog (on the toilet, usually) I’ve decided to whisk her away to Samoa. Now, I’m planning to spend most of the time pounding her senseless, but I guess we’ll have to get out and see a few things, so can your list your three top recommendations for this place. That’s if the little lady can even walk after what I’ll do to her!
ROW-ROW: First up, you might want to have a look at the way you talk, because I can’t be 100 per cent sure whether you are having regular sex with this young lady, or enjoy beating the shit out of her. Use a more sensual phrase for sex like ‘driving the beef bus into tuna town.’ Right, on to your question, homie.
I can highly recommend the To Sua Ocean Trench, simply because you’ll never see anything else like it. You’ll descend beneath the earth into a tropical paradise, where you can chase fish in crystal clear water. It’s incredible.
You’ve gotta dive off Safotu, with Dive Savai’i. I’ve dived and snorkelled all over the world, and this place is better than anywhere else. There are so many fish and other forms of ocean life, and awe-inspiring wrecks to paddle around.
I’d also suggest spending a couple of nights at Lalomanu Beach, sleeping in a rustic fale on the sand. It’s a peaceful, perfect spot, with not much to do but relax and swim and fuck your missus. Be quiet when you do it, though, because those fales don’t have walls.
Most importantly, make sure you send me some nude photos of your lady, because she sounds like she’s a real goer.

Hey, babby, it Rara. You still want make fuck? You still want big tit ladyboy? I suck you dick like vacuum cleaner. Look like real woman, big tit, long hair.
ROW-ROW: Fuck yes. But if you get a boner, I’m gunna flick your cock with a rubber band.

Happy birthday from Air India. Here, have a three hour delay (the lost blog entry)

Back when I was in India, I wrote a blog entry on my birthday that never quite made it onto the interwebs, due to a power surge killing my computer quicker than a fat girl kills her boyfriend while trying the cowboy position. Anyway, I found it on my computer amongst the porn and the photos of Gary Coleman, and here it is. So hold on tight as we travel back to India with me, we’re in for a bumpy ride.

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It’s my birthday today, and here’s what I’ve received so far; a hangover after spending the night drinking Kingfisher at a crappy bar on the roof of a dilapidated building while watching cows wander the streets of Delhi; the opportunity to wipe my arse with my hand because they don’t have toilet paper here, an act made even more fun by the fact my guts are garbage at the moment; and my flight to Jaipur delayed by three hours, meaning I’ve now been delayed a total of six hours in two flights with the idiots at Air India.

Crappy birthday to me

I was planning to from Delhi to Jaipur by train, but as is usually the case in India, even buying a ticket for that was an arduous adventure fraught with danger, so I ended up going for the big bird in the sky and save myself the hassle. But hey, this is the Democratic Republic of India, so they’ll find a way to mess you around anyway!

The best thing about today was my driver to the airport, who sang the whole way. He had a terrible voice and I was wishing he’d spend more time looking at the road and less with his eyes closed, his hands in the air and his head wobbling around like it was on a spring, but it amused me anyway. When he asked for a tip at the end, I told him to sign up for India’s Got Talent. If I gave him money, he’d only waste it on curry anyway.

That’s the thing about Indian fellas, they’re simple blokes who only need a few things in their life, and they’re as happy as a pigs in shit. Give them cricket, curry, nice long-sleaved shirts, wacky music to dance to and the ability to waggle their heads from side to side and they’re good to go. Maybe throw in a few Westerners for them to rob, too.

“Hey, I can see my house from here! Oh wait, that’s a toilet.”

I wish I was home for my birthday today. I’ve been away for it before, but never in a place as dreary as this, or after having spent a day as rubbish as the one I’ve had. It doesn’t feel like I’ve had a birthday at all, to be honest, although I suppose turning 32 isn’t an especially big occasion. Still, would a few strippers and a birthday cake made out of meat pies be too much for the Indians to organise? I got to talk to my Mum for about 20 seconds before the internet went out, and also to my nephew, who claims he’ll soon be competing in his school’s cross toilet race, which apparently involves urinating in every toilet the quickest. They didn’t have that when I went there, we just had Percy Playford, everyone’s favourite sex predator.

It looks good from the outside, like an Easter egg with a turd inside it

I’m spending the night in a ridgy-didge authentic palace here in Jaipur, which makes me feel like a real life princess. You know, like Diana before she got killed, or Fergie before she got fat and red-headed. Well, I’d feel like more of a princess if the joint wasn’t run down, and if there weren’t Indian men urinating outside my window. And if there weren’t power surges and blackouts, and the sink wasn’t dripping constantly, and… Alright, so I’m in a bit of a shithole. I think I’m the only person staying in this 200 room hotel, and it doesn’t look like anyone else has been here for a while. I just went to the front desk to see if anyone could tell me what’s going on with the blackouts, and there was no-one there except for the retarded guy who works here and was sleeping on the floor like a dog.

Still, I’ve had worse birthdays. When i was 19 I went to Club Troppo with a girl for my birthday, and she had this gay friend with her. He might’ve been a midget, too, or at least really small. He kept on cracking onto me all night, asking if I went to the gym, offering me drinks, obviously trying to turn me into one of the gays. Anyway, I went off to chat with some of my friends, and when I came back the gay midget was fingering the girl I was seeing! I didn’t know whether to be more offended that she cheated on me, or that, or that my little gay mate found me so easy to replace.

Computer’s about to die and I don’t know when I’ll get power to it again. Bye bye!

The Worst Exotic Marigold Hotel

A while ago I watched a film called The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, about a bunch of coffin dodgers who travelled from England to Jaipur, only to discover that the delightful hotel they thought they had booked was horribly run down and everything was crap. Some of the fogies fucked each other and one of them turned out to be off with the queers, but that’s not important.

It’s one stiff breeze from falling over

I’m staying in a former palace, that obviously hasn’t been maintained for half a century. There are 200 rooms, but I’m the only person here, half the building is crumbling apart and nothing works. Last night the light in my room exploded, the tap started squirting water everywhere, and drunken Indian men were pissing outside my window. When I went to reception to see what could be done, I was greeted by the retarded dude who works here, sleeping on the ground like a damn dog. Today, when they came to fix the light, it took four of them half an hour to work out they didn’t have the right globe, at which point they gave me a bedside lamp instead. It’s a crap place to stay, but if I’d known how close I’d go to being killed today, I never would have left.

The film showed Jaipur in a favourable way, as an exciting and exotic land. I’ve found it to be dirty and ugly, and inhabited by the absolute scum of the earth, who ensure that this city is not one that anyone should go out of their way to visit.

It’s hard to walk five metres without some fuckwit yelling out, “Hello sir, where you going?”, or having a street kid try to rob you, or some knob in a stupid shirt start yelling and trying to start a fight for no reason. Every single person was watching my every move with dead eyes, and it all felt even crueller than Delhi, which is saying something. The people here are rotten, rude pieces of shit, and the few monuments there are to see are made nearly inaccessible by these cretins.

Poverty is everywhere, and there’s a constant tide of beggars to get through. There’s also a frightening number of deformed people around, making a walk through Jaipur feel like a real-life zombie film.


The scariest part of the day came after climbing up a mountain to check out Nahargarh Fort. It’s a lovely old building tjat offers stunning views over Jaipur, but it’s also sadly rundown, covered in graffiti, and drowning in broken glass and rubbish. Anyway, I was checking it out when I came across a bunch of peasants who were catching pigeons and eating them. It was fucking horrible, and when I went to leave, the peasants started following me.

I’m a big, tough dude, so I took the only option available – I ran away like a little girl. They chased me, bit their diet of city chicken let them down and I got away, fleeing down the mountain and into the streets. It was terrifying, and who knows what would have happened if they’d caught me? One of me is worth a few hundred pigeons, so they would’ve been eating well for months.


Jaipur also has cows, pigs and camels roaming the streets, which led to the funniest part of the day – getting attacked by a goat. It was funny because I caught it on camera. One second I was dancing with the four-legged fuckers, then one turned and tried to bite me and I screamed like a child.

I’m off to Goa tomorrow. India, this is your last chance, don’t fuck it up.

WHERE THE FUCK WAS YESTERDAY’S ENTRY? I had a post almost ready to go yesterday, but a power surge destroyed my Macbook’s power cable, and my battery ran out before I could post it. Shame, ‘cos it was awesome. I’ll post it once I get my computer up and running. This is also the reason why I don’t have many of my own photos in this entry.