Hello, and welcome to the HoltBlog. I am very happy to welcome Korski, an old friend and an excellent writer. Korski is a well known writer, published author, monger extaordinaire, denizen of the highways and loways of life, and a good drinking buddy. Welcome aboard Korski!

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I was not surprised when I heard that Hans was dead. I had thought the end would come soon and it would be his liver. I guess Hans was right in being paranoid. The colonels would get tired of him taking what they saw as theirs. Wan said they found his body in the river about eight kilometers north of Vientiane. He had been decapitated and they had cut off his hands. Hans would have said this is how they would do it.

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Malcolm and I were never saints, but we had a conventional upbringing that included a very strong respect for life. Neither of us were killers; or so we thought. But circumstances can push any man to the brink if the motivation is strong enough.

After we killed Baker I took Malcolm home to my place and poured us both stiff drinks. Then we sat out on the balcony where I rolled a couple of thick joints. We didn’t smoke often, but this was a special occasion. We both needed to relieve the stress. I even considered calling up a couple of hookers we liked to play with together as a foursome, but decided to talk to Malcolm first. Right now, he needed to calm down and come to terms with what we had done.

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He’s dead now. There’s really not much I can do about it any more. Why did he have to spoil everything?

Sorry, I guess you are wondering what I am talking about. Let me start at the beginning. Malcolm and I have been friends ever since we met at kindergarten. I don’t know why. We just met and the chemistry was there. He was in a fight with another boy. I saw what was happening and went over to help him. Even at age five I had this inner confidence that has stood me in good stead all my life. I stepped between them and just hit the other boy between the eyes. He was stunned. Then he ran away immediately. Malcolm and I became firm friends from that time on.

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When we are young, we collect stamps, baseball and football cards, toy cars and trucks. When we are older, and if we have enough money, we collect antique cars and motorcycles, mountains climbed above 20,000 feet, classic 78 records. A great many academics–although they would deny this is what they are doing–collect publications, the more, obviously, the better. And indeed, collecting in this sense is even highly institutionalized, to the point where promotions and raises are based not on the quality of what one does, but on the number of publications. The collecting mentality of the eight year old boy never dies.

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Deux coups de téléphone de deux vieux amis. Deux questions brûlantes. Du mariage avec une Thaïlandaise.

Voici résumé en quelques mots ce qui tracasse non seulement mes amis, mais aussi beaucoup d’entre vous. Est-ce que j’ai des réponses ? Probablement pas, mais prenez en compte les récits qui suivent et faites vous une opinion.

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She was an angel. Long straight black hair hanging down to her ass, small but beautiful breasts, and legs up to her armpits.

She looked to be only sixteen, but the thin man said she was twenty-two. I wanted to believe him. Who wouldn’t? There was no way I was going to pass up this chance.

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When I was a young man back in the mid nineteen sixties I first heard the siren call of Women’s Liberation. Germaine Greer, Angela Davis, and Alice Walker, to name a few, shouted out for women’s rights. They told us how our forefathers had always kept women unequal. It was time to change all that and give women their rightful place in the world.

That was the start of the misunderstandings between men and women up to today. Oh, I know you are going to point out that women had been campaigning for women’s rights long before that, but the 1960’s was when women actually started to achieve a whole range of ‘rights’.

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Elle est de retour à la maison ! Je savais qu’elle reviendrait. Nous avons vécu tellement de choses ensemble. Vous ne pouvez quand même pas faire une croix dessus comme ça, n’est-ce pas ?

Nous nous sommes rencontrés l’année dernière dans un night club, par une nuit torride. C’était une vraie fournaise dehors. Le milieu de la saison sèche est toujours difficile à supporter à Bangkok. Alors je suis allé chercher refuge dans ce night-club glacial au sous-sol d’un hôtel, à proximité de l’endroit où je me promenais. Il faisait trop chaud et je me sentais trop seul pour rester à la maison par une nuit pareille.

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She’s home again! I knew she would come back. We’ve been through so much together. You don’t just throw that away, do you?

We met at a night club one boiling hot night last year. It was like a furnace outside. The middle of the hot season in Bangkok is always hard to take. So I ducked into the ice cold night club in the basement of some hotel that happened to be near where I was strolling. It was too hot and lonely to stay home on a night like that.

The interior was chilled to almost freezing point, goading the patrons into dancing feverishly out on the dance floor.

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