Viet Ham

Are you out there my baby? I still believ in true
love, that you are going to be the one waiting there
for me. at that moment we will know right away!

Me: 5′4, 105, very sexy, petite and full of energy
(for shopping! I’m always well dressed in my
gucci and luis futon. I’m the usually the best
dressed outta my girlfriends. My friends say I’m
elegant, rich-looking (hehhe but not really!),
stylish, and also I am a very good friend sometimes.
People say that I’m very generous because I always
dress my man up good in versace/polo, you know! But
I’m not all about looks, I also believe in
stability, good relationship, honest and trust, and
nice car (yeah it’s a fashion statement too)

The man I’m looking to spoil? You should be a SWM,
prefarable in your 30s with a high security job so
you can spoil me back! I only want WHITE
professional males to reply to this because there
are some lessons of the orient for me to teach you!
just kidding, please don’t think I’m a easy girl.
I am looking for the true love that will provide my
future.

Please be:
WHITE
6 feet or taller
Generous (and the ability to be generous!:)
Athletic
Polite and highly educated
Good family and nice skin

No perverts please! Hurry, I am waiting for you.

Best response (further proof that desperation is an amazing source of willpower)

From: John
Subject: you’re an idiot

You fuckin’ can’t spell your own purses right! What the fuck is a luis futon? I think you meant Louis Vitton(sic). You sure you’re the best dressed and most elegant? I doubt it. If you’re that good, send a pic and we’ll see about it.
I’m 32 years old, 6′2”, 190lbs, half white/asian. I’m in SF as a investment consultant and I also model part time as a hobby. You better be some fuckin’ amazing chick to post that bullshit on the internet. Prove it.

John

> > — Malaise wrote:
> > > John,
> > >
> > > Pls send your pic. And I’ll send you mine. Don’t
> be
> > > the “idiot”. =)

I don’t have anything to prove, you better back up
your ad. Fuckin’ retarded, don’t play these bullshit
games about how awesome you are. Let’s see it

John

— Malaise wrote:
> Your loss. Please don’t email me again. You have no
> faith, and that is
> non-negotiable.

Don’t fuckin tell me about faith, that’s the last
thing you can lecture me about. Faith is earned and
proven, if you can’t spell Louis Vitton(sic), why the hell
should I believe you.

I stand corrected though, are you cute. You need an
English teacher though. = ) I’d be willing to help.

http://photos.yahoo.com/bayarea_dude94105

John

We were a special threesome. Duc, James, and me. Duc had the connections, James had the looks, and I was the comic relief. It worked brilliantly to ensure a 66% success rate for James. It wasn’t a lack of charm on his part, girls could see James’ immediate qualities, but they needed to be reassured by our smoke and mirrors act that he was about more than just gunning for their genitals. Girls felt safe around Duc; he was that vital vegetation in the food chain wherein the absence of would cause an ecological collapse. The girls grazed and frolicked there with a pastoral peace of mind. I was a lurking predator, with a mouthful of sharp, caustic liners, waiting to rip into soft exposed underbellies. The girls of our game reserve bounced between the two extremes, hiding in the safety of Duc and occasionally proving their courage and worthiness in my domain. Through this ordeal of cruel nature, they would learn to trust the gentle, groping hand of James enough to eat out of, and to have faith in the warmth of his hearth.

Duc and I had our good share of the spoils, and gained many fond memories. One particular memory that plagues our daily vernacular is Nhung. She has a particularly odd inflection on her phrases that sounds like this. It wasn’t altogether attractive, but it did elicit all sorts of juicy phrases in my mind. Another thing, she was substantially thin. This girl was about 5′3 and must have weighed no more than 80lbs. I told Duckie (Duc) my hypothesis that her deflowering would result in a horrible bone-crunching “you broke my bone!” wail. Her face was pretty, mostly. With makeup, she could look very fine indeed. She had striking eyes, a delicate nose, and a gummy smile reminiscent of Lolita-esque braces. We once coaxed her into mocking Mexican slang, ESE!” and that was riotous. Duc and I would sometimes spend all day speaking to one another in her infectious accent. It was like verbal soy sauce.

She was the ideal incest fantasy, that plum combination of sister, flirt, and vixen. I used to get jealous of the gifts she bestowed upon the evil Duckie, and sometimes pretended to accidentally forget them at my house. When it was my turn to receive her attentions, she was always generous and thoughtful. I would delight in wondering what would be my next favorite thing.

But she didn’t last very long. James’ interest in her waned with his increasing obsession with the mothball smell of her clothes and the ill-timed discovery of her minoxidil-9.

Prologue:
In 1989, my dad bought a silver, no frills, dealer-lossleader Toyota truck. Because my dad always stopped on yellows, there was a huge smash at the tail-end that went unfixed. When I could finally call this hapless vehicle my own, there was no a/c, no radio, and no dignity. The one thing it did have, at the specific request of my dad, was “The Club”, that infamous-as seen on tv theft deterrant device that locked the steering wheel. For all its grandeur, I dubbed it my “Touring Luxury Truck”, and even flaunted its vulgar cheapness infront of women I had hoped to bed, thinking it would filter out the brand-grubbing, fad-groupie, bourgeouis-trash asian gals that my penis would not. It was an unprecedented success in the annals of adolescence. This truck repelled females like my friend Phil.

It was during this sexual lowtide that I founded great male friendships (no the gay!). Duc, a paragon of Asian cliches and underdog resourcefulness, whom I’ve always suspected to be an effeminate leprechaun, was not put off by the Touring Luxury truck. We’d have our monumental battles locked in the truck cabin on a blistering summer day with the heat full blast to see who would scream uncle first. Looking back, it’s not uncommon for me to cause my close friends as much discomfort as possible. I’m sure everyone’s thought about driving naked before, and that thought had crossed my young mind as well. I can’t really even say it was done on a dare because I wanted to do it. I wanted to humiliate him, and possibly myself too if it could at all be helped.

It was the last gasping sigh of July and my vinyl seats were at their usual 110F. I lured Duc out to the truck with the promise of a trip to 7-Eleven. There, I removed my shirt, my shorts, and my underwear, and announced that I was going to drive naked. He looked at me with giddy horror, and appeared to hope that his lack of protest would wilt my strange resolve. We both got in and I began to back out of James’s driveway (no, it wasn’t even my place). My buttocks were sizzling and my heartbeat racing. I looked to him and smiled, saying, “we’re gonna go on the main road.” It was then that I caught a glimpse of my shiny, wispy, black pubic hair. It reminded me of the glistening hair in those Pantene Pro-V commercials. So we drove out to Bascom Rd. and waited around in the afternoon traffic. All the while, I could see Duc holding on to a look of restrained laughter. He blurted out, “hahahaha!!! the trucker!!!” and I shot my head left to see if he could see me from his predatory perch. He could. I was a naked Vietnamese boy, and there was an awful white trucker looking upon my very pubic soul. I needed to put an end to this and made my unceremonious exit back to James’ house, without drinks.

Epilogue:
Yesterday, I drove around looking for a Christmas tree in yet another Washington hicktown called Monroe. I was driving down Main St. when I saw a sight that made me shudder: three teenage girls wearing skimpy shorts in the cool winter air. I swung my head all the way over so I could sneak a look at them again. Goodness. There were creamy white, slender thighs that made me think of the girls swim team at my old highschool. I swung my head back the other way for another ravishing peek and my mind completed the image of perfect B-cup breasts held taut in thin, cocktease cotton. Just then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white police car idling and my thoughts ran to Billie Holliday, Strange Fruit, how dare this Asian man visually grope and molest our innocent girls!@?@!? My heart throbbed with panic and I thought to make the next available turn off Main St. Lurching on the stop sign, I went for my turn when I noticed a blockage. My loose pants had allowed a lusty obelisk to rise. I couldn’t turn my steering wheel past the bulge in my pants. Those three bystander-temptresses had dramatically reduced my turning radius and I found myself having to 9 and 3 the entire way to steer from that awful scene of temptation.