...I had just made the long 1hr drive from Liverpool towards home... Stuck in traffic and absolutely busting to pee. Like driving cross legged busting to pee. At the risk of bursting and flooding my car, I made a quick stop at Thornleigh McDonalds. I walked through the newly decorated interior, into their newly renovated uber trendy bathrooms, only to be shocked and repulsed by what I saw.

There is only 1 toilet, and 3 urinals in this tiny little trendy Mens bathroom. The bathroom is tiny... Imagine three urinals in a phone booth... The worst thing is that when you stand there peeing, you are physically touching the man next to you. This is a bad thing.

Men have urinal etiquette. You do not touch the man next to you when peeing. You do not TALK to the man next to you while peeing. You do not LOOK AT, SMILE TO or ACKNOWLEDGE THE MAN NEXT TO YOU whilst peeing. NEVER make eye contact... Oh, and for goodness sakes, NO GRUNTING either. It just is not right. There are rules.

Anyway. I walk into the toilet, wait for a spare urinal, and notice a man standing the corner peeing in the urinal, who looks like he has been there a while - he is definitely in his "Focus / Aim / Zone". The tiny urinal in the tiny bathroom next to him becomes available, so I walk over, unzip and start peeing. Bare in mind I have holding this king kong sized Pee for over 6 hours. It was pretty much like firehose.

So for the next few minutes I concentrate on the little mozaic tiles on the bathroom wall as if I am some kind of Archaeologist... Perhaps Indiana Jones, except I'm not a treasure hunter and I'm lacking the whip fetish. And better looking. Perhaps.

I finish this massive Pee, and notice that there is no peeing going on next to me. I DID NOT LOOK - but there was no noise. He was just standing there. His 'Bits' out in the wind... but no pee. Standing in a public toilet, his junk in his hand. I walked away, washed my hands and left, and no-pee man is still there.

Which Brings me to my next point.

Men... get your PROSTATES examined regularly. Or You too could be that pee man locked in a tiny bathroom in McDonalds straining yourself to pee.

I mean, when was the last time you saw a Big Mac that looked like the image on the menu board, and not like the pimply faced teen that handed you your meal, decided to sit on it first before sliding it over the counter? When was the last time you bought a pair of jeans, and your ass looked as good as the obscenely sculpted model posing in the poster? When was the last time you met someone online, and they weren't at all 18kg's heavier, with unwanted facial hair, and 9 years older than their profile pic? (You know who you are.)

Things are never as they seem. From the two big news stories of the day, it would appear that gender-bending is back in vogue. Not since Boy-George walked the streets have we been witness to this much confusion. Today, his Holiness the Dalai Lama, categorically stated that he will not meet our Prime Minister, as"I have nothing to ask him".

Him? I knew there was something about his voice I didn't like. Next we'll be hearing that our PM is just that Orangutan from the ING Bank commercials, and that lustrous ginger mane of hair is really a wig, and that her 'First Man' is actually a real hairdresser, or at least a competent hairdresser. I wouldn't let him cut toenails. Lets face it, if the central showpiece of your professional career was Gillards hair, would you let her out to the world like that? No. You'd send her out looking like a crazy, gender-ambigous celebrity like Lady Gaga or Tom Cruise.

In other news today in this new world of Internet anonymity, we have a cute looking female blogger, supposedly kidnapped and unable to be located. "Amina Arraf", the author of the 'Gay Girl in Damascus' blog who was supposedly showing the online world what life was like for a minority in Syria. The worlds' media had been obsessed with her blog in the rush of Middle East uprising - holding her up as a shining beacon of hope for democracy in an oppressive dictatorship...

After 110 days of blogging, a supposed visit by security forces in Syria and one case of militant kidnapping, it turns out the Gay Girl in Damascus isn't actually a Gay Girl in Damascus...

Like all good internet romances, Amina is neither a young female lesbian currently residing in Syria. "She" is actually a "dude". But let's be honest, this is an old problem, just ask my friend Lola. We have all seen this before. Like all young hot-looking women you think you meet online, when you come face to face with reality, you're not gazing lovingly into the eyes of a beautiful women, you're staring at the unkept beard of a 40 year old white man with a Southern American accent named "Tom".

He is probably a trucker or a pig farmer, may have had relations with cousins in his past, and for reasons unknown, has a penchant for wearing lingere, but not wearing deoderant. This just further re-enforces my mistrust towards men with beards. To be fair, Beards don't have a good track record... Charles Manson, Joaquin Phoenix when he went mental, Jesus, my aunty, the Fat dwarf from Lord of the Rings... They're a pretty sketchy looking bunch of bearded individuals.

I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that in this world of digital anonymity, deceit and treachery, as I sit here wearing my $50,000 Rolex, my chromed Bently in the driveway of my country estate, while sampling a fine scotch that is worth at least $19 a bottle, at least be the one setting up the fake profile and telling lies. Life is a little bit more fun that way.

Sometimes, these little surprises make others laugh at us. I can think of an example from when I was a seven year old child, minding my own business at the bubblers when rather unexpectedly my school pants ended up around my ankles courtesy of a rather troublesome year six student.

I have the feeling the exact same thing is going to happen to someone I knew in high school. They feel like they are just relaxing, going about their own business, and all of a sudden, they are standing in the midst of their peers, red-faced, awkward, and unable to explain exactly what happened, or how they got into that situation.

You see, this particular person I know, happens to be dating someone. Allegedly. I use the term 'Allegedly' as I've done some thorough Facebook stalking, and have realised that at NO time do they appear in the same photograph. Not once.

The once or twice they ARE tagged in the same photo - it happens to be a photo composition. Let me explain what a 'photo-composition' is.

Step 1# Guy actually does his hair for a change, and poses in the bathroom mirror for a photo. #This is also commonly referred to as the second of the 'myspace mirror pose'#.
Step 2) The girl is digitally added in from another photograph, or as I like to say "Screen Grab" from her webcam chat session. YES, IT IS THAT OBVIOUS!! It isn't? Oh wait, that's right we all happen to wear makeup and our best bikini for when we Skype our friends from a third world country.

All the photos of this 'girlfriend' on this Facebook page are obviously screen-grabbed from his webcam chats with her. It honestly looks like this girl doesn't live outside her little performance booth, where she waits for your Skype call and your credit card number.

Now before you all wind yourselves up and rant at me about how horrible it is to make light comments about the plight of women in third world countries (again, the Thai writing on the wall gave it away), and about how I've no right to make fun of this former schoolmates dalliances on the interweb, we all have the right to awkward cybersex with whomever we choose, blah, blah, blah... there is one more thing you need to know about this.

This old classmate has apparently proposed to this 'girl' from Thailand. Which is interesting. Because at the moment, I'm pretty sure Australian law doesn't recognise Male to Thai Ladyboy relationships.

Yeah, look... if you've read this far just take a second to digest that last line properly. My classmate, on Facebook, is now in a relationship with what I believe to be a webcam performing ladyboy from Thailand.
Yes, sometimes we don't like surprises. I'm fairly sure he is about to get more than he bargained for. Moral of the story kids - ALWAYS tip a little extra, otherwise you may never know what you are getting yourself into.

"The music was better when I was younger..." I still remember my dad rambling and shaking his head as he walked away after complaining that my music was too loud as a teenager. His old music was better? I'm pretty sure East-17 and Coolio would disagree.

I should point out that this was the man that I remember drunk in the kitchen, holding a glass of port, singing the song (badly) "I don't want a pickle / I just want to ride on my motorcycle / and I don't want a tickle / I just want to ride on my motorcycle". Awesome right? No.

Oh, and what is that? You don't want a pickle? You just want to ride your motorcycle - only the word "motorcycle" doesn't really rhyme with "pickle" does it. So you have to say "motor-sickle" to make the song work. Not just once, but over and over again. I don't understand who thought that was a good idea.

I shouldn't direct my hate mail at her, and I won't tell her that I don't care what seat she sits in, so long as it is in a car heading over a cliff.

But then again, I look back through my old photos and I'm wearing happy pants and have long blond hair like Nick Carter from the backstreet boys - and all of a sudden that didn't seem like a good idea either. That time I decided to jump from my roof to the neighbours roof. Bad idea. For the record, I made the jump - but cracked a couple of tiles when I landed. At 1am. Not that quietly either.

So I'll be honest, I'm partial to the odd bad idea... but can someone tell me what is happening with Rebecca Black and her song 'Friday'? I'm sure you have heard the nasally voice at some stage this week. Let me give you some lyrics.

"Yesterday was Thursday /
Today it is Friday /
Tomorrow is Saturday /
And Sunday comes afterward..."

and..

"Kickin' in the front seat /
Sittin' in the back seat /
Gotta make my mind up /
Which seat can I take?"

Um... is this some kind of mistake? Is she auditioning for "high5" or "The Wiggles?" Is she trying to sing to
toddlers so they learn the days of the week? Sadly, I think not, given that everyone knows children under he age of 12 shouldn't sit in the front seat - but should be secured at all times in the back seat. Preferably with rope and a healthy dose of phenergan.

Now, I know Rebecca is only 13 - so I shouldn't direct my hate mail at her, and I won't tell her that I don't care what seat she sits in, so long as it is in a car heading over a cliff. I should probably direct my hate mail to herparents. I know there is this unwritten rule that says you should encourage and enable children, tell them they can do whatever they set their little hearts on. But seriously, where has the honesty and accountability gone in parenting? Just because your spoiled child wants to be a singer, it doesn't mean you need to pander to her and the cohort of over dressed teenage iPhone toting brat friends. So, Mr and Mrs Black, expect a sternly worded letter coming your way.

Oh, while I'm on my letter writing campaign - I need to direct something to her record label - 'Ark Music Factory'. Not so much a letter filled with white powder, but more along the lines of "Dear Mr music manager, I sincerely hope you didn't place all your eggs in one basket - otherwise I'll meet you in the welfare line next Wednesday".

Of course, I could be wrong. Or maybe Rebecca Black is God's punishment for Miley Cyrus & Justin Beiber? Or it could just be that my Dad was right, and today's music is just becoming, well... shit?

I don't remember much from the evening of day 4, and what I do remember is fairly vague... I remember the overly fancy drapes and spiralled staircase of a hybrid French / Vietnamese restaurant in downtown Saigon, eating spaghetti and trying not to throw up... I remember laying in Spenny's room, deliberately making him panic while I combined coughing, heaving and burping noises to pretend to throw up on his bed... and I remember walking through the central park in Saigon at night, and having numerous little Vietnamese men (who spend the day reclining on their scooters) running up to me in the dark, offering to sell me drugs. Because NOTHING says "awesome holiday" like getting busted for weed in a country in South East Asia.

9 times out of 10, Schappelle Corby agrees.

So waking up healthy on Day 5 was a relief. We had booked a trip to head north out of Saigon, up to the Cu-Chi tunnels, and trust me - no one wants a 2 hour minibus journey through Saigon traffic with a stomach bug and hangover. Our drug dealer tour guide delivered the goods - in this case, our own chartered mini-van, complete with an esky full of beer, and we set off at around 7am, trying to push through what is some fairly uncomfortable Saigon traffic.

Saigon seems to be one of the few places in the world where it is perfectly acceptable to have a hole the size of a house in the middle of a highway with a couple of witches hats around it to divert traffic, and road surfaces between bridges and freeways that don't actually line up, meaning you have a line of cars jamming on their brakes to slow from 100kmph to 20kmph to avoid tearing off the underside of the vehicle on the massive lump in the road. As an aside, there was also a massive series of ponds between the north and south bound lanes of the freeway out of Saigon, and we regularly had to dodge Vietnamese men with their fishing poles and children in tow – hundreds of people line up and fish in the middle of the freeway. Crazy.

Nothing can ever really prepare you for the Cu-Chi tunnels. It is a war memorial meets Tourist Park. Hong took us on a private tour of the site, including a video presentation that still includes propaganda about the wonderful and prosperous nation of Vietnam, complete with Anti-American rhetoric. The site, like much of the country I suppose, still looks as though it did in the 60's during the war. The tunnel complex stretched for over 120kms underground, and was a total labyrinth, and after seeing the tunnels, I cannot imagine what it would have been like to try and conquer the people in that country. The French & the US never stood a chance...

Our guide through the tunnels was pretty much the fastest 60 year old ex Viet Kong in the world. He was like a drugged up greyhound in a Khaki green military outfit.

After all these years the tunnels remain. The craters from the B52 bombing runs in 1966 remain. The empty shells of tanks and a plane, destroyed during the war remain on display. Nowadays saplings and vines reach down into the depths of some of the tunnels and craters - but the whole place is pervaded by this eerie feeling.

The complex is now a full on tourist destination, with former Viet Kong soldiers now acting as tour guides, taking fat westerners down through tiny trap doors (if they fit), and underground into the tunnels. Our guide through the tunnels was pretty much the fastest 60 year old ex Viet Kong in the world. He was like a drugged up greyhound in a Khaki green military outfit. I like to think I’m fast, but over a stretch of tunnel, he would race ahead, only stopping at the corners to shine the torch back and shout “You ok?!” with a big grin on his face.

...and then there were the traps. Oh my goodness the traps. They are displayed with this odd sense of pride and achievement, and they are absolutely ingenious... think of a an angry deadly version of ‘Home Alone’, and you get the idea of sophistication, simplicity and imagination. They had grass covered panels 8 feet long, that are counterweighted and flip into an unsuspecting soldier into a bed of spikes, other traps that give way under pressure and drive 10 inch spikes into your legs from 8 directions, traps disguised to fit in with the jungle ground, that spin when you step on them, throwing you underground into a pit of spikes - and flipping back over again, leaving you impaled, covered, and unable to get out, and even more traps that flip down if you open a door the wrong way, impaling your face with a block of wood & nails. Macaulay Culkin had nothing!

So Hinton, Spenny and I spent a few hours, exploring the Vietnamese tunnel complex, posing inappropriately on a blown up tank, and seeing how the Vietnamese lived and survived during the war.

Probably most surprising, was that on top of all of this, we peed into urinals that had ice in the base. ICE. IN A URINAL. When you are in an ultra humid environment at 37 degrees and you get the opportunity to pee into an ice filled urinal, take the tip and give it a go. Let’s just say with enough pee speed (driven by enough beer consumption) the cool air gets blasted up into your gentlemen region. It is a surprisingly cooling experience.

Oh, and did I mention the rifles, and the shooting and all the machine gun fire?
Well, that will just have to wait for another day.

So, with my turtle-neck and thick rimmed glasses on - I figured I'd touch on a bunch of TV ads that I think have really hit the mark in their time... Some are old classics, some are new clever commercials...Some are here because of their humour, their complexity, their simplicity or their ability to seamlessly tie together juxtaposing ideas...

So the first couple of ads have been loved by millions of Australians for years... sure, they don't have a slick idea, or trendy designed graphics... just simple anthemic songs, bringing together two Aussie institutions. Drinking, and sport.

The next TVC, Is a classic, that still gets airtime years after it was first show. I love it - not just for the song that all Aussies secretly have an affinity for - but for the way they juxtapose the impressive natural and wild landscapes of regional Australia with the neat order of a children's choir, and in this particular version, combining the Aboriginal and English languages, singing simultaneously in harmony. I also have it on fairly good authority those white choir outfits were doused in so much bleach that the children ended up with 3rd degree burns on their bodies. Stop crying! More Singing!

On the theme of juxtaposition... this TVC I love for the music, but mostly for the concept of a snow white summer... it is such a fun, mysterious concept. Pity the branding comes through a little weak.

There are some commercials that are just so big, they make you sit up and think "what?", and then "Why?". This ad has been so influential within the alcohol market, it has spawned numerous imitators. None came close. It is a big ad. My God it's big. Nothing screams awesome like a fat man in a gown running with a beer.

The next few TVC's I just love for their humour. Some ideas are simple and cheap, and use sports footage... some ideas use a great song... others use clever humour, and end up passed around the social media landscape to take on an entirely new life of their own. Of course - these three are all from the USA - and all launched during the Superbowl. Can I get a "cha-ching" people?

This ad - launched at the Superbowl - spawned a whole new greeting.

This ad - launched at the Superbowl, ended up being shared around the internet, via facebook, youtube and twitter, and ended up being a sensation. Not because the single ad was viewed online over 30 million times, on youtube (that isn't including the other 180 additional videos they have recorded)... but mostly because it actually made me look at Old Spice in the supermarket. Didn't buy it though. Just saying.

You knew a coke ad was coming... don't act like you're not impressed though. An ad designed to entertain, in a time where others were to designed to inform... Plus, jumping out of a plane in a desert for a coke is normal right?

When it comes to sporting related TV ads, you have sport TV ads, then you have NIKE TV ads. The ability to take a sport away from the field, and into a social environment while still tapping into the passion of fans has seen enjoyment for millions of sports lovers the world over - and, the competitors only just starting to catch up after 10 years.

NIKE

Finally... an honourable mention to an old TV ad, so good and timeless that the jingle is still being played 50 years later... Or, alternately, it is just made by a company that is so freaking lazy, the jingle is still being played 50 years later.

Have you ever had that experience where you see someone in a foreign country, and they are overly big, loud, and culturally insensitive, wearing a cartoon t shirt, 3/4 length shorts and sneakers, always carrying drink, a backpack AND wearing a bum-bag - and you immediately get the urge to shout "USA! USA! USA!".

Well, for the first five days of our trip - we were accompanied by our very own Australian version of the North American tourist. Only problem was neither Hinton nor myself could remember inviting Uncle Buck or the Comic Book guy from the Simpsons along for the holiday.

It could be about helping those in need, about renewal, rebirth, and mostly about eliminating three quarter length pants from the world, one pair at a time.

It is true, we tolerated it for a time - usually at a distance of about four to five metres so no one knew we were a group of three - but things began to change. I had.... what could only be described as an epiphany.

There has been that quote floating around for quite some time - something along the lines of "some people look at the way things are, and ask "why", I look at the way things are, and ask "why not". Normally, I'm not one for artsy quotes - makes me sound more self-righteous than I already am. And let us be honest here - I don't need encouragement in that department.

It all started in a fashion store in district 1 in Saigon... while Hinton & I were being touched up by a slightly more trendy and super-camp version of Jet Li in tiny change-room - the thought came to us. Well two thoughts. The first was "Oh, seriously? Again?" - the second thought was "What if we give Spenny a total makeover - what if the world could know a Spenny without a cartoon T-shirt?".

Instead of JUST being a drinking / motorcycle tour around Vietnam - this 14 days of drunk tour could become so much more. It could be about helping those in need, about renewal, rebirth, and mostly about eliminating three quarter length pants from the world, one pair at a time.

So as Hinton, myself and the three little Viet attendants from the store held Spenny down and started forcibly removing his clothing with scissors... we started a revolution for one man, slightly against his will. Thus began, what we liked to call "Queer Eye for the Map Guy - from Map trai to dep gai". Or, for those of you who haven't learned to bag each other out in Vietnamese... well, maybe next time...

Isn't reflection a wonderful thing?

So in the spirit of that, I give you the top 5 viewed posts from life of such. Even though I didn't post enough in 2010 - the hits just kept on coming... so, without further ado - The top 5.

#5 - Would you put your children in this?

"Kids, Mummy is tired, how about you all go play in the monkey's vagina for a while ok?"

#4 - Best Birthday SMS of 2008

Unfortunately - this one is just getting more and more appropriate coming into February. Ehh.

#3 - The 'Art' of Spanking Children



"Daddy please may I go home and play with Señor Spanky?"

#2 - Amputee Dolls, Hulk Wang, and other things...

When have you ever walked into a shop, and had your child grab your arm in excitement, look up at you with eyes full of anticipation and wonder and say "Mummy, I want the doll with the Stumps." That's right. Never. Which is why this toy is such a stupid idea.

#1 - Why I HATE Hawaiian parties...

What is worse than an old lady stripping down and trying to dance like a Hawaiian princess? 30 old woman doing the exact same thing! Because it is a birthday party, there will be copious amounts of alcohol AS WELL AS large numbers of other elderly people pretending to be young pretty Hawaiian girls in bikinis and grass skirts. One wrong move, and this party could turn into something you read about in the newspaper tomorrow.

So read up and catch up, and tomorrow (if I am sober) I will count down the top 5 moments of 2010...

I'll be honest. Day Four didn't start until just after lunch. I could try to make some excuse about how Jet-lag finally caught up with us, or about how our body clocks didn't adjust properly, but that would be lying.

The truth is, because Saigon was hot in that 'tropical zone' kind of way, we tended to sweat. A lot. Now, in the same way that people who train hard need Powerade, those that are holidaying hard need beer. Beer hunts the white man in South East Asia. It is everywhere... cans sold from fridges on the street, in convenience stores and even (slightly ironically) in chemists.

So, when three guys stumble into a rooftop Vietnamese restaurant at night, and are confronted with the spectre of dehydration, we chose to hydrate via Steins of Heineken and Fosters. Which I do not recommend (The Fosters part that is - how a beer manages to taste soggy I will never know). So the night of day 3 ended in a blur... but from what I remember, it was a case of 3 drunk white guys + way too much beer + live skewered crayfish being placed on the BBQ = one heck of a show - both from the Crayfish and the drunk white guys yelling at crayfish trying to crawl off the BBQ on our table while skewered... Delicious.

So... Day 4 started slowly. And with much Shushing, shuffling of feet and not a lot of talking. Hong, our tour guide dropped into the hotel to see how we were going, to laugh at us, and to inform us that had booked us traditional massages.

Massages. Again. The terror of "Mr Wiggly Fingers" sitting on the massage table, smiling suggestively and tapping the spare part of table beside him came flooding back... needless to say, 2 to 1 I was over-ruled by the "weren't almost raped" parties in the group and off we went.

Foot Rubbing, Hot Rocks, litres of massage oil, little Vietnamese girls on our backs, cucumbers... it all sounds so dirty now. Awesome.

Spenny - "I think I've killed mine"... After another ten seconds of no movement - we thought he might've had a point...

Truth was, we were absolutely pampered like the princesses we were (or more aptly - came to be). Hand and feet massages, hot rock massages, cucumber facials, that kind of awkward and somewhat painful massage where the girl stands on your back and uses feet and knees on your spine. There was even one point in the massage where the girls would sit us up, sit down behind us, hook their arms under our shoulders, and pull us backwards over the top of them until we were stretched out with our entire body-weight on our little masseuses who were curled up in a ball under our backs. They would stretch you out, then leave you hanging backwards over their curled up bodies for about about a minute

Which was fine for my little masseuse. Probably ok for Hinton's little masseuse. Not ok for Spenny's masseuse.

Let's put this in perspective. Our little Vietnamese massage team would have had a combined weight of around 115kg. Spenny's weight was about 115kg. At one stage, after Hinton and I had been stretched and rolled back into the sitting position, Spenny was still on his back - stretched out over his little masseuse - who showed no sign of rolling him back again. Nor any sign of being able to.

Spenny - "I think I've killed mine".

After another ten seconds of no movement - we thought he might've had a point...

...have you ever watched a documentary on Ants? Ants are fascinating creatures - apparently they can lift like 20 times their own weight. I don't know how they do it, but those little ants grab something huge, and just lift it up without regards for size or their own safety.

I guess the same could have been said about Spenny's masseuse. I don';t know how she did it, but with a lot of grunting, heaving, and probably through the use of some kind of hidden lever system or voodoo magic, she managed to roll him back up to a sitting position. She looked exhausted, her hair was messed up, and her face clearly showed the strain of the effort.

Up until this point, the only English words the masseurs had uttered were "Ok", "No Ok" and "Up bott bott". I'll leave you to work out what they mean. After Spenny nearly crushed the masseuse, we realised they were also super-versed in cinematic characters. She slapped him on his round stomach, smiled and proudly announced to the room "King Kong!"

Needless to say, we were in hysterics. Even more so when they decided he needed a second nickname... So it is from hereon, Spenny will now be referred to as...

"Map Map".

I'll let you google translate that one.

Meet Hong. Hong is in his 30's. If you need something, he can organise it for you. He has connections everywhere. Travel, chauffeurs, massages, restaurants, clubs - he will get you in, and treated like a VIP whether you like it or not. He is smooth, suave, and always sunglasses even inside. He is always wearing gold chains and expensive shoes, and is always a little too well dressed, wearing designer clothing (well, fairly admirable knock off gear at least), and always had his shirt unbuttoned one button too far.

He smiles a lot, and laughs loudly, and is fairly large for a Vietnamese guy. In short, if there was a Vietnamese series of "Underbelly", this guy would be the main character pulling the strings, and rolling in the cash, with three or four strippers bringing him drinks. The only difference between Hong and the Underbelly series, is that his empire probably won't be undone by some hardcore police work. Because Police aren't really an issue in Vietnam. Trust me, I worked this out later on in the trip...

If there was a Vietnamese series of "Underbelly", this guy would be the main character pulling the strings...

Oh, and Hong was our unofficial tour guide for our Vietnamese tour. Our own South East Asian Drug Lord tour guide. The only thing missing from this photo, is the cache of machine guns that he had stacked towards the back of the wooden boat under the bench seats. (Photo taken in the Mekong Delta)

He organised hotels, accommodation, meals, free motorcycles and transport, massages, private tours of Coconut candy Islands in the Mekong Delta, private tours of the Viet Kong tunnels from the Vietnam War in ChuChi (Just north of Saigon), including a privately chartered mini bus, and an esky of beer - which we did our best to finish, but got beaten down by sheer volume... Which isn't good, considering part of that tour involved us firing AK-47 and M-16 machine guns. He also organised chauffeur airport pickup services, our tailoring and
ensured we were treated like millionaires from a thousand kilometers away.

Hong really made our trip fantastic. Whatever we needed - we called Hong, he made some calls, twisted some arms, shot out some kneecaps, and organised it for us.

So *Raises beer* To Hong, best tour guide slash drug lord EVER!

So, to recap, and so everybody can catch up on the boys 14 days of drunk tour... where were we?

Oh, the three Boys (Will, Hinton & Spenny) had been a little too drunk one night watching a top gear special on TV, and after a few more beers, decided that the best, most important thing we could do, was to do our own motorcycle tour in Vietnam. We booked flights, packed bags, and headed off to South East Asia. Landed in Bangkok, lost Spenny at the airport, gotten lost, sick and disoriented in the maze of BKK streets, drunk way too much, been fleeced by a Tuk Tuk driver, sexually assaulted by a lady-boy, drunk more to cover the emotional trauma, been taken to a gay nightclub by "mistake", flown from Bangkok to Saigon, an airport that thinks that bunkers, machine guns and attack helicopters should be in full view of the flying public, and tumbled straight into a 1960's communist regime, and into pretty much the most inherently dangerous, disorganised and beautiful traffic system in the world... so we're all up to date for day 3.3 right?

To be honest, nothing of great significance happened for the rest of day 3.3. Well, things happened, but we know that you kinda had to be there.

Firstly, there were some things that were interesting. Like when we were in the tourism office in central Saigon, sitting around a desk in the overbearing heat while a travel agent looked through hotels to make a booking for us. An old Vietnamese man in his 70's shuffles into the agency, and looks us up and down, while leaning heavily on his walking stick.

Old man : "Je vois que vous avez un petit pénis..."

He squints through his spectacles, and a look of wonder crosses his face at seeing us, and he immediately charges towards us at our little dark wooden desk. And by "charged" I mean "charged". It was like seeing a pensioner in a "buy a pair of socks and get free sandals" sale...

He stops just short of us, and timidly stretches his neck towards us, like a turtle coming out of his polo shirt shell...

Old man : "Wok, or touris?"

We all looked at each other - a little unsure...

Spenny : "Um, sorry?"

Old man : "Work or tourist?"

Spenny : "Ahhh... tourists, holiday."

The old mans face lit up : "Oh, Welcome to my Country"

With a huge smile, he reached out and grabbed our arms, and shook our hands and set of around the agency grabbing tourism brochures for us, telling us about all of his favourite places, where we should go, what we should see. Of course, his English was a little limited, but we were all surprised as heck when he stopped mid sentence... and decided to change language.

Old man : "Parlez vous francais?"

Spenny : "Whooaa.... Bonjour, êtes-vous bien?"

Old man : "Je vois que vous avez un petit pénis..."

Spenny : "oui, j'ai honte et ne peut pas le cacher..."

OK, so that last bit of French I'm not too sure about, and I'm just going from the notes I jotted down, but I am nearly 31% sure he may have said something like that with Spenny. The important part to note here, is that we were having a conversation in French (and by we, I mean, Spenny) with an old Vietnamese man in the middle of Saigon.

The most amazing thing about meeting this old man, was seeing how genuinely proud he was about his country, and how excited and happy he was to share it with people visiting. He kept thanking us for coming to visit, and literally had tears in his eyes from talking and sharing with us. It blew me away, and as it happened, set the tone for the entire trip. The Vietnamese are so friendly and happy to share with tourists, it is honestly humbling.

Another important point, is that Saigon has incredible French food - we tried Frogs Legs, Snails, French Croissants, Baguettes - all with a slightly Vietnamese twist - and all absolutely delicious.

Anyways, for those 3 and a half readers that are interested - (half - you know who you are), I guess I should get on with my 14DOD posting... hmm... maybe tomorrow.

Controlled. Sterile. Outdated. Clean. Quiet.

Think of a 1960's over sized communist processing facility, only silent and empty, with army guards posted on every checkout gate with a computer straight out of 1987. Getting off the half empty plane, and walking across the tarmac and into Vietnam's biggest airport was a somewhat confronting experience.

From the machine gun turrets on the airstrip, to the army guards patrolling inside the airport, you really got the impression that this country controls its citizens with an iron fist. The silent, clean and monitored communist airport was such a contrast to the overbearingly capitalist approach to the airport in Bangkok, which was full of advertising, stores and people selling tours, souvenirs and anything else you could wish for.

And I have to admit, I liked it. There were no people to queue behind, dodge or avoid. Simply walk off the plane, out into the empty airport, get your passport stamped by Mr Red Army at the gate, and you were on your way.

Controlled, sterile, outdated, clean and quiet - that is until you get to the outside of the airport. At which point, you have a fence which prevents those that are not flying from entering the terminal at all. And behind that fence are people. 60 million of them. All smiling, all watching eagerly to catch a glimpse of some famous person that they have never met. At least, that's the way it felt.

Sardines in a can have space to stretch out and lounge around compared to this.

Spenny, Hinton and I walked out the gates, past the fence of people all smiling and watching, and off to find a taxi. From the moment we drove out the boom gates of the airport, that controlled, sterile, clean and quiet environment was all but a distant memory. The original plan of the boys tour, was to get a few bikes for cheap, and ride them up the coast from Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi.

Now before you all jump up and down and tell me that the whole Ho Chi Minh to Hanoi thing has been done before, let me say 2 things. Firstly, shut-up stooge. Secondly, it was while watching that very Top Gear episode that a conversation took place back and forth over the course of an hour between Hinton and I. Hinton was using his sales technique to get me over to South East Asia, a place I had never wanted to visit. Eventually I somehow agreed to the trip, and we decided to introduce Spenny to the idea very covertly.

We set up a typical boys night - Beer at Hintons, with Spenny's home-cooked hamburgers. The more beers the better. We told Spenny we had something to show him, and flicked on the Top Gear Vietnam episode... Of course, being drunk, we were laughing more than was necessary, right up until the point when we turned to Spenny and said:

"Boys holiday?" T
"Hell yeah! Where to?"
*Hinton and Will nod at screen*
"Vietnam?! - I don't know if I have enough hand sanitizer!"

So, we knew that riding was going to be tricky, we knew the traffic was going to be crazy. As drivers we have had to put up with our fair share of traffic, and we are used to traveling roads that are jam packed and out of control. But we were totally unprepared for what we saw. We never really expected to be driving down roads with it to be THIS out of control, never this jam packed. Sardines in a can have space to stretch out and lounge around compared to this...

Bikes. Thousands of bikes. Everywhere. Riding on the road. Riding on the footpath.

Traffic Vid 1. (link)

A typical traffic merge. Two flows of traffic somehow dodging each other... look closely at around the 25 second mark, to see where the bus nearly takes out the little man on the scooter.

Traffic Vid 2. (link)

Typical peak hour in Ho Chi Minh. Check out the man using his scooter as a goods truck at around 25 seconds in. Awesome.

No amount of internet videos or TV shows can truly prepare you for what has to be the most chaotic and dangerous road transport systems in the world. Forget road rules or common courtesy (which is on the way out in Australia if you ask me), it is simply a case of every man for himself.

Trucks, cars, taxis, buses, mopeds and bicycles all share the road. But instead of "share" the correct term should be "fight for survival". The first breakfast in Ho Chi Minh saw Spenny and I sitting in the penthouse guest dining room of our hotel, watching the traffic circle the roundabout in hypnotic fashion, the traffic ebbing and flowing from different directions like the tides. A gaggle of traffic begins to force its way through the roundabout, forcing traffic flowing from another direction to cede and give way. Suddenly, a mass of traffic including a bus, a truck, several taxis and 50 mopeds comes to a halt, and swerve and change direction to avoid a hidden obstacle. As the traffic clears, I can see what stopped the traffic flow.

A woman, in woman in traditional Vietnamese clothing, on foot pushing a bicycle laden with bags of rice has apparently out ranked every other vehicle on the road, and forced them off the round about.

It was pretty early on in our trip that we realised that scooter-ing up the coast was pretty much a stupid idea. I mean really, what chance do three white guys on Scooters have against this?

Oh... and did we mention at this stage, Spenny can't actually ride a scooter? Awesome. This should be good.

So it's been months since the holiday of the year, but my posts have finally made it from Sydney, through the seedy underworld of Bangkok, and into Vietnam. Well, almost. Technically we are picking up the story in Bangkok.

You see, the morning of day 3 found the three of us a little worse for wear, somewhat dusty and under the weather. This was mostly self inflicted, and to be honest kind of set the tone of the holiday to come. Awesome.

Oh, and to make matters worse, someone had decided to book us flights that were just way too early. So early that sunrise decided to hit the snooze button, twice. And by way too early, I totally mean we had to be up at 5am. Only it wasn't 5am, that was just the seedy hangover talking. But when you feel seedy, and have a 40 minute Thai taxi ride across the city to the airport, you are totally allowed to bitch about it.

Either way, I spent the flight to Ho Chi Minh city, on the other side of the plane with my head in my hands. In what was pretty much the best mood ever. And by best mood ever, I meant "I'm hungover and the two guys next to me think it is funny to keep poking me in the ribs and drawing pictures of me and laughing at me all the way to another country".

In a rather strange co-incidence, as we flew into Ho Chi Minh, my ipod (which was keeping me sane at this point) switched songs and started playing Cold Chisels' "Khe Sanh" - one of my top 5 Aussie songs of all time. Now, one could launch into a rant about how the song is historically inaccurate *Steve*, but in all seriousness, it felt strangely fitting as we flew a graceful arch over the city and into the airport.

Despite the rapid development in Vietnam, and in Ho Chi Minh in particular, there are still so many vivid reminders still standing of the Vietnam war that devastated the country. I haven't been to many airports around the world to be honest, but I'm pretty sure you don't often fly into an airport still surrounded by concrete bunkers and flanked by machine gun and anti-aircraft turrets. Somewhere in the back of my mind a voice was saying "Seriously Will, what are you doing?!"

But that was the same voice that I apparently ignored when I was sexually assaulted by the Lady-boy in Bangkok, so in typical male fashion, I did some pretty complex high level maths calculations and trigonometry, and worked out the following equation around my relative safety levels in each country.

{n00b (-)5EX / THAI} < {pwnage (+) 1337 / VIET}

Yeah. Works out well huh? Now, I could get technical and explain the actual science behind that calculation, but I know for a fact that there are a few nerds out there who could actually translate, or even improve on that calculation for me, and I'll leave it to them...

For the rest of you non leet speakers, the basic idea of the calculation is:

Thailand: A land where packs of wild ladyboys assault naive and stupid travellers such as my self, vs Vietnam : a land of cheap beer, no road rules, and the ability for foriengers to play with war era machinery.

Just quietly, I figured I'd rather take my chances with a bunch of machine gun turrets, non existant public safety awareness, non regulated roads and an inherant lack of quality control on public infrastucture, food standards and pretty much everything else, than with another Wiggly finger ladyboy massage.

For those that read the previous post, this might make sense to you. For those that haven't, go back and read (touch UP in Bangkok).

After laying in bed trying to deal with my almost rape at the hands of a lady-boy, Hinton and Spenny decided the best way they could help was in the only form of psychological help that men understand.

Beer.

So we headed out into Bangkok's crazy and somewhat seedy nightlife, and on the advice of our tour guide, headed to the most cutting edge, trendy bar & club in Thailand. It was shaped like a new-modern cube, with glass at both ends. Now, in the tour guides defence, they did say "I've never been here on a Monday night before - but it's usually the best place in Bangkok".

So, after being molested by a lady boy during the day, and wanting to go out to a normal pub to check that I hadn't been turned by the event, we turn up at the club to see these seven HOT Thai women in tiny skirts and shorts, and barely there tops, dancing suggestively on a stage and singing.

Not so bad you might say?

Except they were singing "I will survive" by Gloria Gaynor. Which seemed a little odd. But I let it slide and walked upstairs in the club. And then I noticed I was getting watched very closely by a lot of guys, and a lot of rather "strong" looking women.

And then this guy got up and started dancing. In a towel. Then someone in the crowd pulled his towel off. And he kept dancing.

And then I realised... Monday night was Gay night.