Saigon, (Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam, Part 2

On the return bus ride, an Australian bloke blustered and fulminated in stellar douchebaggery. Not only was he an arrogant penis, but he felt the need to inflict his puff adder fangs into other passengers. As our bus skirted the Saigon river, he noted that there

were bloody weeds growing in there

and “I’m never coming back to this bloody shithole”. My first and immediate thought was to wonder if this tourist nitwit really expected fishermen to start weeding their river so fat jackanapeses like he could take less offense at Nature trespassing in man’s waterways.

Even a 10 year-old would deduce that in this tropical clime, so near the equator, that stuff’ll grow whether you like it or not. And because it grows, the 10 million inhabitants of Saigon can actually feed themselves. Plus, it has the salient effect of cleaning the grisly air blowing in from factory-plastered China.

So, what really was the issue with Vietnam for him? All the people I met were lovely, peaceful, curious, kind, generous–model Christians, ‘cept they were Buddhist. Likely, he didn’t get “bangbang” from one of the local girls, as I was so generously offered. In all honesty, I declined the bangbang myself, because by membership in the gay league would’ve been revoked and I might have had a tough time explaining to Alejandro the source of oozing polyps.

Bloke then verbally assaulted the spaniard in the row in front of him for reclining the bus seat. SeƱor responded with a courteous and clipped sentence indicating he did not wish to be tiraded by this plump pinhead. It heated and heated until I started taking flash pictures of both and announced this childlike this volley would make for great Facebook fodder. Nothing like the mysterious Facebook to stanch the passions of people over 70.

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