[Vũng Tàu, 8/17/26]
At 7:40AM, I begin at Ten. Since it’s a Monday, there is no crowd, only scattered zombies, staring at phones. With its view of the ocean, Small Mountain and Fusion Hotel, Vũng Tàu’s tallest building, Ten attracts many customers, despite its relatively high prices. This is called “ăn khách,” which means, literally, “eat customers.” In Vietnamese, the consumers must be consumed, if you’re to eat for another day. A restaurant owner, then, must eat his (useful) eaters constantly. He must ăn khách.
Looking up, I see a savage try to throw a plastic bag into the ocean, but the wind blows it back. He’s now smoking a cigarette with a peculiar and well rehearsed cockiness. Sitting on a stone bench near him is a fat woman, perhaps his wife. With no means to execute this, I couldn’t help but imagine him instantly disappeared, not just from Vietnam, but this earth. With my own cockiness, I’m cocksure he wouldn’t be missed.
As cultured primates, and the term itself is obnoxious, for who gave us permission to categorize ourselves as “prime,” though primates also include bald uakaris, dick nosed proboscis monkeys, black howlers and slow lorises? Anyway, before we can ăn anything, we must boil, grill, deep fry, parboil or fricassee that chunk of dead meat, so ăn khách implies, if only linguistically, cannibalism. Before we can savor our fellow fools, we must kill them. That we do this so regularly proves how universal is that primal instinct.
A healthy body count is a sumptuous feast, at least to our gloating eyes. Though I may have lost my nose and nuts, I still have this chewing mouth, whereas you, plus so many like you, have been reduced to gory flesh. With your crap splattered backdoor staring so cutely at that benign sun, so dutiful as always, and your crimson pendant messily shredded, you’re not so cool, spiffy and martial, are you?
Now, I’m settled at Salt Water. That Canadian Christian is reading C.S. Lewis. “Good book,” he said. Feigning knowledge, I commented, “Good man,” as I walked by. There’s some accordion music, vaguely Parisian, so, in minutes, I’ll have to flee this overrun territory. A universal blight, recorded tunes choke and cloud our already wobbly, dimly lit interior monologues, thus deepening universal idiocy. We’re not even smart assed cannibals, just gleefully stupid. I had to duck in here to cool off, since our entire planet is burning, not just Paris. A fat young lady is listening to her own music and vaping surreptitiously while typing. I’ll buy her novel soon as it’s released. Now, I must run, before my train of thoughts is entirely derailed into the deepest crevice, acrid with sulfur. So many souls, right down there, are screaming for you to join them.
Besieged and bombarded, I had to return to my room, so this is my last stand, at least until lunch. Were there Taco Bells near the Alamo? On my retreat, I noticed kids at the expensive Vietnam America School doing some weird shit together. All over the world, children are railroaded constantly into abject obedience. Office drones, factory serfs and slavish soldiers must be cultivated. In Vietnam, there are still many mom and pops, at least. Daily, they ăn khách. The more developed a country, the fewer these are. They’re nearly extinct in the USA. There, chains rule the meekly chained.
Finally, we get back to winners devouring losers. If they think about this at all, the constantly dazed are puzzled by rulers destroying their very serfdoms, or monster corporations eliminating their customers, via AI, automation or, as with pharmaceutical, chemical or food behemoths, pricey toxins. Keep in mind that Pfizer, Moderna and Astra Zeneca didn’t Jewjab everyone to death. There are still billions of customers left to be eaten. Many of these, diagnosed with “long Covid,” have their agony prolonged, so their bank accounts and sacks of flesh can be steadily blanched, a contemporary version of death by a thousand cuts.
For those who’ve made billions, raking in more isn’t the biggest thrill. More cash won’t get them Cialis hard. All along, money was just power, quantified. As their smelly bodies shrivel and collapse, so unjust!, they must rape and kill as many as possible. To casually bump off millions proves they’re above us all. Otherwise, they’re just shitting and dying primates, like any Joe Sixpack or “bum,” curled up under some crumbling overpass. This cannot be tolerated.
With gas pipelines, refineries and seaports blown up, and shipping lanes blocked, what do you think they’re up to, eh? Even without these sabotages, everything is running out. Us primates overrunning this finite planet can’t stop, ah, loving each other, despite a meteoric increase in frantic masturbators. Porn, homosexuality and genital mutilation as population control just aren’t sufficient. Since everything is being consumed at an unprecedented pace, millions if not billions of penny pinching and unsightly consumers must be massacred, simple as that. There are so many ways. While you sleep then sleepwalk, many if not most of our best minds are working on it.
Not that long ago, they teased us with a bug and fake meat future, but even that is too much. Let’s just kill ‘em all! That 1209 Crusade order became a beloved slogan among American GI’s during the Vietnam War. There was even a Vietnamese-American gang in NYC called Born to Kill. Those yellow freaks sure tried hard to become assimilated. What’s happening, though, goes way beyond population control. The powerful demand victims. Otherwise, why bother? As they teach us to be non violent and hold up cute signs every few months or years, not to mention voting in rigged elections, they know, all too well, killing is exhilarating
Though hardly the most powerful, Trump is most visible, so what he’s doing must be dissected. Each one of his acts is an assertion of reckless power, to the detriment of his supporters, too. He’s not just out to destroy Iranians, Venezuelans or Cubans, but you. Betrayal of MAGA morons adds to Trump’s enjoyment, for nothing is more delicious, to psychos, at least, than dicking over those who love or worship you. To murder your enemy isn’t just too generic, but expected. Guys like Trump must achieve much more. His forcing even the relatively powerful to smell his shit proves, further, he’s the man. If only Trump could have blonde bimbos swallow his shit! DC can’t be tamer than Dubai. (That White House chick who’s always tailing his ass must squeeze out a tell-all memoir, to be published in Russia, China or Iran, after she’s moved there.) US soldiers dying by the thousands wouldn’t faze Trump, but turn him on. Sadly, this thrill must remain private. Publicly, only 18 grunts have been killed during this six-month long war.
Propping up Trump are those self-declared Chosen. The US itself is a self anointed Chosen Nation. Since hubris knows no limit, they can’t stop running up their body count. Zombies stumbling around everywhere are merely antipasti or finger food. Babbling nonsense, we’re still too noisy, so shut up already! Plus, we’re blighting all their meadows, mountains, streams and sunsets. To sleep better, they must clean up this still beautiful earth.
But wait, aren’t we going to Mars? According to Trump, America will be back on the moon by 2028. It will take that long to find those yellowing blueprints. With a “vibrant space economy,” “next-generation space capabilities” and “space resource recovery,” etc., you won’t have to worry about making next month’s rent or how to pay for your daily doses of fentanyl.
[Pingxiang, 7/19/26]
[from Elon Musk’s SpaceX website]
More pictures please!