No-- I take that back: God damn the Goat for posting kick-ass pics of Thailand resorts and then writing something that can only be written by the bored and overprivileged:
Nothing really happened during the day except for more amazing hotels and beaches.
Are we supposed to feel sympathy? While some of us roll about in wretched squalor and abject poverty, able to entertain ourselves only by sculpting little snowmen out of our own drying feces and staging fake snowball fights with our gum-rotted molars, Mr. Goat gallivants to Thailand with his wife to check out not one resort but a whole series of resorts! In the post before the one I linked, Mr. Goat has the nerve to complain about what he won't be able to do on his tour of Thailand's finest resorts:
There is pretty much no way in hell I will be able to hit the links.
Sweet assmunching divinity, man! My toy collection consists entirely of socks stuffed with navel lint! Why should I put up with this regal nonsense?
Goat, here's the plan: I'm going to kill you, assume your identity, and live your life if you're so damn bored of resort-hopping. Yeah, your wife'll notice right away that her husband doesn't seem to be himself-- the constant ass-scratching and enthusiastic tongue-flicking will be the giveaway-- but rest assured that I'll approach this resort-visiting "duty" with the appropriate level of gusto, links or no links.
I hate golf, by the way... waste of real estate.
Damn you, Goat.
May you rot in the stinkiest, moldiest hell.
And then be reincarnated as a malignant colon polyp.
In all seriousness, I encourage you all to go visit the Goat's very fine blog; the above-linked post also describes an amusing incident involving a Korean dude at one hotel.
_
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You will be happy to know that the whole trip was not sunshine lollipops and rainbows. What I neglected to mention was that, on Friday night, I created the environment for a 똥코 폭발 of the highest magnitude. On Saturday morning I provided the catalyst - a big glass of milk at breakfast.
About 20 meters from the hotel room, the bilge pump turned on.
The next 25 minutes or so were pure hell. A four stage, double flushing, room evacuator later....I may not have an anus-tongue, but it felt like my innards were protruding down into a teeming fire ant colony. It took a fairly strenuous physical effort to retract said innards back to where they belonged.
This process was repeated after lunch.
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