The Karen and Axl Rose

10

"This place is pussy paradise!" Sam muttered to himself, sipping a cold mug of beer at the Hooters on Sukhumvit Road, gazing at the waitress's wiggly ass in her orange shorts and rubbernecking at the lovelies passing by on the street.

Sam was smitten with the Thai talent. He was in awe of how thin, curvy, and pretty the Thai girls were. They were so gentle, girly and feminine too. Nothing like the masculine porkers, disgusting tubs of lard so many American women were. The cows! Sam hadn't seen this many hot babes since college!

Popping dick pills, he hit every red-light district and nihilistically fucked every hooker he could, be they massage girls, bar girls, street walkers, he fucked them all. He even banged his tall skinny college aged cleaning lady; paid extra to fuck her up her tight little ass.

He got soapy massages. He went to blowjob bars and had his knob greased while he slammed shots of tequila.

Sam was doing it! Living the dream! Running wild like a maniac! An escaped zoo animal! A horny white baboon mounting everything in sight!

11

Sam spent his first couple weeks in Bangkok blindingly drunk, popping a cycle of Ritalin, Xanax and Viagra, and fucking every sizzling hot Asian slapper that struck his fancy.

He'd spend the rest of his time sitting out on his hotel balcony, playing on his tablet, watching 1980s rock videos on YouTube and sipping cold beers.

His mind occasionally wandering, he'd tilt his head and stare wordlessly at the palm trees by the pool behind his hotel. He'd watch the palm trees sway in the humid breeze and would marvel at how they'd bend, those trees. But they never broke. Sam wanted to be like that, be like that tree, taking whatever Mother Nature, Man threw its way. Bending but not breaking.

But he couldn't be that stoic. Truth was, deep down, the demons of regret clawed from their graves and returned to plague him. He started to miss his old life, his house, his man cave, even his ex-wife and the buttermilk pancakes and strips of bacon she'd make on Saturday mornings.

He missed his buddies, their poker games, and them together, drinking brews, eating nachos, watching football on Sundays. He missed his coworkers and the banter about Netflix shows by the water cooler... He missed his dog, the goofy golden retriever, playing fetch with him in the park...

And even though he was on an epic ass plundering spree, after the first 20 hookers he fucked, he was experiencing a diminishing return of joy. Soon, he started feeling nothing at all, basically like he was masturbating into a bag of warm flesh and bones.

It wasn't that the Thai hookers made him feel sleazy.

He'd banged a couple call girls during his lonely days after his marriage ended, back in the States, and American hookers were always awful, always rushed and had a sense of shame to them. They were never fun. They made him feel like a big stinky piece of shit.

But Thai hookers were different. They made it enjoyable, sensuous, made it feel like a normal thing. They kissed him. They smiled like they meant it. They were passionate, excited lovers, fucking gracefully and with expert precision.

The first week or two, they were incredible. Sam had imagined he'd be in heaven, always, fucking like this, fucking these exotic beauties, women far younger than him, him porn-fucking these college aged girls, girls that'd never talk to him in America, or would call him "sir" or "Mr. Philips" if they ever did.

But, somehow, the more hooker ass he got, the emptier he felt.

And one cloyingly hot afternoon, after a heavy binge of late morning drinking and Xanax, it occurred to him why he was feeling down. It was because he'd failed.

What he'd wanted to do, be a rock star, that was no longer an option. Not only was he too old, but no one listened to rock anymore. No one cared about rock.

Nowadays, it was all rap, EDM, pop. And all that music sucked. It all sounded the same. It was shit.

Not only today's shitty music, but Sam felt disgusted at the turn popular culture had taken, too. People these days were selling their soul merely for viral fame, lip-synching and dancing like a fucktard for 6 seconds on TikTok.

There was such a thing as an "Instagram Influencer." An annoying douchebag with a man-bun or stuck-up bitch posing and preening for selfies.

He'd clutch his tablet in revulsion, the device burning under his fingernails, and he'd surf social media sites, snarling, thinking, "These were today's stars? What was this shit? Why would anyone want to see this?"

Even worse, he discovered that there were people getting paid millions of dollars to play video games. Video games! Why would anyone be stupid enough to watch someone else PLAY video games?

The fact that YouTube video game stars like PewDiePie and Ninja actually existed made him want to vomit.

E-Sports? Professional gaming? This was a thing? A sport? What the fuck?

Playing video games was fun, sure, and he'd loved playing Nintendo as a kid. But watching someone else play video games? That was pathetic. People packing arenas to see THAT? Watch a scrawny nerd in a chair, with a headset, staring at a computer, playing VIDEO GAMES?? People PAID to watch that?

Sam just couldn't wrap his head around it. What happened to rock n' roll? Getting head in the backseat in the parking lot after a Mötley Crüe concert?

It was then reality set in. Sam realized his youth really was over. He was old. When the moment comes that you think the younger generation sucks, their music sucks, you don't "get" their hobbies, and you don't understand them, that's when you're officially old. He knew it. He knew the sad truth.

And, if anything, too, he felt bad for the kids today. He'd see them, sitting together, only staring at their phones, never talking. That was all they did. He'd read online how the younger people were having less sex, too, just playing their stupid fucking phone games. That must be why they liked E-Sports. It was all they knew. Fucking sad.

He was glad he'd not grown up with smartphones and social media and E-Sports. Sam knew how lucky he was to have seen bands like Mötley Crüe. Watched MTV when it still mattered. Went to shows and parties where people talked to each other and got laid.

But those days were gone. It was the 2020s.

His time had come and passed. He could see jazz and swing band guys probably thinking the same about rock n' roll all those years ago. Now it was his turn to be a dinosaur. He had to face it.

Bon Jovi was gone. Guns N' Roses were pathetic old fat guys, old farts with hip replacements and hearing aids. Guns N' Roses were hairy old geezers living off nostalgia. He'd seen a recent concert of theirs, and it was dreadful. Seeing it made him feel so old. Especially Axl Rose.

Axl Rose, who he'd come to detest, looked like a Karen meme. It was sad. He all of a sudden pitied Axl.

Axl Rose, the rock god, who stomped on, smashed his dreams to the floor like an insect, Axl was old as fuck and fat as shit. Axl had once been such a beautiful man. Now look at him. A beached whale. Pitiful!

Not that Sam was much better. He too was an old fat guy. The lines on his forehead kept getting deeper, like slash marks from the scythe of time. The corners of his mouth were sagging farther and farther down, like a colorless rainbow.

And he'd been seeing pictures on Facebook of his college classmates, his former bandmates, and they all looked so fucking withered and old. Seeing their pictures, how aged they were, made him feel worse than when he'd look at himself in the mirror...

Dammit. He was such a fat old fuck.

What's worse, he was an old fatso living off his ex-wife's cash. Cash from shit, literally, from septic tanks.

Sam had never hated anyone as much as he hated himself. He saw himself in the reflection from his glass coffee table and winced like he just smelled a violent fart.

He grabbed a bottle of Black Label, guzzled a healthy slug of the smoky potion. He started thinking of heading back to America, maybe starting his own accounting firm.

But, for the time being, he'd try to enjoy the rest of his time in Thailand, bang hookers at a more sensible pace and maybe go see some culture, some museums, temples, the Emerald Buddha. He'd see wild elephants, tigers and shit and pagodas and teak triangle roof buildings. He'd hit the islands, eat coconuts and watch waves crashing into white sand beaches.

Shit, maybe he'd visit other countries in Asia while he had the chance, like Japan or Hong Kong...

Sam decided to go for a cold drink at the bar out by the pool. Getting a healthy dose of sun would make him feel better. It always did.

To his delight, by the bar sat one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes upon. Early 20s. 5'5. Luscious skin the color of mahogany. Coal black, glossy waist-length hair. Long legs, trim waist, perky tits, big sloe-colored eyes, and an angelic face like a chinadoll with cheekbones so high and sharp they could cut a hole in the sky.

It was like she was an angel, glowing in the sun. She had the light!

She was sitting all alone at the bar, and, even better, she was flashing her perfectly white teeth, grinning broadly, and staring right at Sam, with a sparkle in her eyes.

Tipsy, he stumbled over, introduced himself. "Nok's the name" she replied, tilting her head coquettishly, brushing a wispy strand of shiny hair behind her ear.

Sam thought the white bow in her hair was the cutest thing he'd ever seen in his life, and he was ecstatic when he found that Nok spoke near perfect English.

Nok understood everything he said and they made small talk and she laughed at all his cheesy pickup lines and corny jokes, making him feel like a comedian.

When he asked her up to his room, he expected her to quote a price. But she didn't. He couldn't believe his luck. A girl this hot. She actually liked him! He didn't even have to pay for it!

As soon they entered the room, they were on each other like white on rice, and minutes later, naked, in the king-sized bed, Nok doing things to him in bed that he'd only seen in porno flicks. Nasty, crazy, double jointed shit. Acrobatic moves he didn't know possible. Things his ex-wife could NEVER do.

They spent the next few days together, mostly in bed, fucking, watching TV, and ordering room service meals.

He loved waking up next to her, seeing her perfect facial structure, and hugging her soft, warm body, his hands on her sculpted curves. He'd feel like he was in heaven with her in bed next to him, her long black hair splayed out on the pillows like a raven's wing...

12

He did the math and realized how much further his money could take him in a lower cost country like Thailand. He also thought he could do remote accounting work online.

He could make this work, in Thailand, and how could he leave a girl like Nok behind? He knew Nok would be miserable in the cold and snow in America, away from her family and friends.

Hell, he'd probably also be miserable in America, especially without her, having to return to all the frown-faced people in America and their PC bullshit and their bitching and moaning about race and politics and trans people. Not that he hated anyone, but he didn't care about any of that shit...

America really was becoming a dumpster fire, he thought. The news from there worsening all the time. Always mass shootings, riots, Twitter mobs outraged over a stupid thing someone said, everyone always offended about something, everyone such crybaby wimps, everyone whining about dumb, meaningless shit like cultural appropriation.

Everyone was victimized and offended and outraged. And there were so many keyboard warriors ignoring America's real problems like budget deficits, failing schools, genuine systemic racism, homelessness, and income inequality.

Instead these idiots were going for the low-hanging fruit, creating things to be angry about, and attacking standup comedians, of all people.

No one believed in free speech anymore. People couldn't ignore opinions, movies or jokes they didn't like. Everything had to be deleted and canceled. Everyone was getting banned from somewhere. And everyone was cowering and apologizing to the rampaging, bloodthirsty vampires of political correctness.

What the hell happened to America? Sam thought, shaking his head in contempt.

For all its bluster, Sam saw America for what it really had become, an overdeveloped third world country. A corrupt, broken, lawless wasteland, and not much better, and in many ways far worse off than Thailand.

It was miserable, coming to see his own country like this, viewing it from afar, with a new set of eyes. But it was what it was. And he'd felt incredibly fortunate to have escaped to Thailand, feeling like he'd broken out of the for-profit prison that is today's America...

13

Sam had come to realize, too, that Thailand was not only a more peaceful, saner country, but it was still a man's world. All of Asia was. There were sexy women in tight miniskirts everywhere. Every stewardess he'd seen at the airport was a young knockout that smiled at him. None of them were some angry old flabby lady with a bad attitude.

There were hot women, classy women in elegant clothing everywhere. To him, the women in Asia looked like women SHOULD look.

And all around Sukhumvit, the area of Bangkok he was staying, there were go-go bars, hostess bars, dirty massage shops, and chicks in lingerie on posters and billboards. They were chicks with nice figures, too, not some gross blubbery sack of shit being idolized like that disgusting Lizzo singer.

He couldn't imagine a place like Sukhumvit existing in America. It'd be attacked. There'd be protests in the streets, beta-males up in arms, Karens throwing Molotov cocktails!

But there were no violent Karens here, and Sam loved how he saw so few fat chicks. Nearly every woman was at least do-able!

There was no prohibition against fat-shaming and that was awesome! Women were expected to look like women. Have curves, be thin, wear make-up and be beautiful. And a man could look however he wanted. As long as he had cash.

And another thing Sam loved about Asia was that, unlike America, people in Asia actually liked white people.

They had skin-whitening creams to make themselves look white and nose jobs to make themselves look like him. His white skin was something people complimented him on. Something they admired and aspired to have, not like it was something terrible or a sign of his "privilege."

Sam had grown quite tired of many of the liberals in America making people feel guilty about simply being white.

Here, in Thailand, he wasn't made to feel like a piece of shit just for who he was. He could be a straight white male, and that was okay. And it was not that he hated anyone, or thought he was any better than anyone, but before he'd left America, he was starting to feel like the enemy, vilified by popular culture, made to feel like he was oppressed and hated, just because of who he was.

To him, it was the extremism of America. Instead of really having an equal, diverse society, the country was simply shifting gears, from hating gays and people of color to hating straight white men.

Now he was the enemy!

But not in Asia. Not in Thailand. In Thailand, he was welcomed. He was a foreigner, a "farang" as they called him, but that was okay. Thai people smiled at him. They were laidback, humble, and respectful. He felt far safer. He could easily walk the streets of Bangkok at night and not worry about being robbed by a gangbanger or gunned down by a crazed incel mass shooter Boogaloo freak.

Then he started reading OAN news reports on his tablet about crazy left radicals like Antifa in America calling for the abolishment of police departments! Doing away with police? It was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard! America was becoming like the movie "The Purge"!!!!

Watching Fox News online, he saw more riots in the streets! Every day, there were riots somewhere, by radical leftists, Marxist nutjobs. He'd watch "Louder with Crowder" and see white people being attacked in grocery stores and nothing being done about it!

It was becoming like the Cultural Revolution in Mao's China! Complete insanity!

America was starting to scare the shit out of him! He NEVER wanted to go back there!

It was settled, in his mind. He'd stay in Thailand. He'd never go back to America. Vindicated, he knew that he'd made the right decision, coming to Thailand, after all...

14

Sam told Nok over a pancake breakfast that he wanted to stay in Thailand, forever, and that he wanted to open a bar in one of the islands, like Koh Samui, and it turned out that's where she was from.

She said she could help him open the bar. It was magic. It was serendipity! And it was at this moment that he knew. That this was fate. He was to be with her. This was it. Everything in his life had led him to this moment.

He couldn't be a rock star. He couldn't be Axl Rose. But after seeing what a joke Fat Axl had wound up being, he didn't care. He didn't even want to be that anymore. Be some old guy in spandex pants singing songs from 40 years ago. Fuck that!

No way, there was a peace in anonymity, a tranquility in escaping the polarized cesspool of acrimony and hate that had become modern America.

He'd be spending his final days aging gracefully, running a bar on the beach, lying on a hammock.

That'd be a far better life than having millions of people pitying and laughing at you like they were doing to the Fat Asshole Axl Rose. The fucking Karen!

"Fuck you, Axl Rose! I'm glad you broke my demo to pieces! I'm glad I never became washed-up, a has-been like you!" he gleefully thought to himself...

He thought to VH1's "Behind The Music" about Poison and their bassist Bobby Dall saying something about how he'd never wanted to be a musician, he'd wanted to be a rock star and he'd done that. He'd accomplished that dream...

Sam was likeminded. He didn't give a shit about the music. He never learned to read music. He hated bands like Rush and Dream Theater, those annoying bands that musician snobs masturbated to. He couldn't care less about music theory or any of that pretentious shit.

He wanted the lifestyle. The pussy. The money. Traveling the world to exotic locations. That's what he wanted.

And he had it, escaping to Thailand like this, fucking all these exotic, beautiful young girls.

His wallet was so fat it wouldn't fold. He had rock star money! He was a millionaire! He was rich! He was getting ass! He was in fucking Thailand! Everything had worked out for the better. And he would never leave. He would stay in Thailand forever!

Sam decided it. Then and there. He'd marry this girl.

He proposed marriage to her later that morning, as they lay together in bed. He was naked and drunk, floating warmly on Xanax and had stuttered when making his proposal. He'd been worried she'd laugh it off as drunk talk. But, to his delight, with no delay, she said yes. SHE SAID YES!

THEY WERE TYING THE KNOT!

15

Sam was so excited that it was all coming together. He was so elated that a girl this beautiful was marrying him.

He didn't want to waste any time. He didn't want her to have even a millisecond to change her mind.

Scrambling out of the covers, jumping out of bed and stumbling up to his feet, he clumsily pulled on his camouflage cargo shorts, stepped into his Gucci sandals and twisted on his black AC/DC singlet and he ordered her up too and told her they were going NOW to be married.

She laughingly complied, collected her clothes from off the floor, and they ordered a Grab car, then rode down to the courthouse and he paid extra to have the papers signed and expedited THAT DAY.

They then returned to the hotel, ate an extravagant lobster meal in the hotel's restaurant. Then they retired to his suite where they drank champagne, watched superhero movies and fucked. His head spinning, he curled up to her tits like a baby, and passed out in the early evening. And when he woke up the next morning, around the crack of dawn, she was gone.