A little story.

About a year ago I’m on Pattaya beach, Thailand. Guy walks up to me.

“Are you Richard Nikoley?”

“Uh, yea…” as I’m wondering whether I’d met him in some bar somewhere, sometime and don’t remember.

“I’ve been reading your blog for 13 years!” says Doug.

And he was even a paying member.

By this point, Doug has been an expat in Thailand for a year and a half, and me, nearly 4 years. We’re both ex military. He’s a retired Army Blackhawk pilot.

Been buddies ever since. We get together often and some of our outings are not for polite discussion.

Today, about noon, he rings in with some thing or the other and I’m like “hey, wanna grab a bite at Peaky?”

Peaky Blinders. Classic American style steakhouse owned an operated by an American chef from Texas USA. I could walk there in about 15 minutes. The MC ride is 3.

Since it was lunch, we both opted for the Reuben.

Alright, story time, fellow mavericks. Let’s delve into a day in the life of yours truly, navigating the chaotic yet intriguing streets of Pattaya, Thailand. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill socmedia post—it’s about dry fasting and the absurdity of everyday encounters that make life here a unique blend of hilarity and exasperation.

I’m on this dry fasting chapter over at http://FreeTheAnimal.com. Feel free to check it out if you’re curious about my fasting escapades that stretch back to 2007. Hundreds of fasts later, I decided to revisit a 24-hour dry fast. No food, no water. It’s a different beast altogether. Around the 26-hour mark, it dawned on me—I needed to grab my passport from my agent’s office, thanks to my annual visa renewal. Two weeks had already slipped by as I kept forgetting to pick it up. So, off I went on my motorbike, a 15-minute ride away.

Picture this: I’m at a stoplight, casually rolling into the red crosswalk zone like everyone does. Enter the rotund cop, seemingly invisible to me but not to the others who halted. He waves me over, and I comply as the light turns green. His first demand? My license. I whip out not one, but two—a valid motorbike license and a car license, both current and legit for another four years. He takes a gander, nods, and advises me not to repeat the crosswalk infraction, no fine. Passport retrieved, I headed out as the light was green for another 6 seconds (yea, they have timers on the lights so you know how long you’re stupid…especially at 04.00 when there’s not another vehicle in sight…I always run them because I’m not stupid).

On the return journey, a younger, fitter cop pulls me over. No helmet this time. I’m not one to kiss ass, but I keep it respectful, just mildly signalling my annoyance. I fork over my licenses again, and he warns me: “Richard, next time 500 baht.” A fine that unofficially goes to the policeman’s fund or lines a pocket, but at 15 bucks, I don’t sweat it. Last time I got nabbed for this was eight months back. Ride helmet-free and pay the occasional fine? Worth it. I know the stats, but I don’t care. My bike’s slick as fuck—check it out on the homepage. Sometimes I wonder if cops just want a closer look.

Now, let’s talk corruption. Spare me the lectures. Here, the base ethic revolves around avoiding hassle—for both cops and citizens. They surface occasionally, like my last encounter eight months ago, just to remind you there’s a law. In the States, drive on a major holiday and count the highway patrols. Hundreds. Five years in Thailand, and I’ve never seen a cop pull over a car on the open road. They prefer peace over hassle. They themselves don’t want to be hassled over bullshit…Karma dictates, then, that they not unnecessarily hassle others.

To wrap up, I was headed to Peaky Blinders, an American-style steakhouse with a killer vibe. Think low lighting, no windows, dark furnishings. Perfect for lunch or an early dinner. Debated between the Australian lamb shank or the cowboy cut pork chop. Opted for the pork chop—bone-in, succulent, and divine. The place is owned by a Texan chef, running strong for twenty years. It’s become my go-to spot. A solid 10-minute walk or a 3-minute bike ride from my place.

So there you have it, unfiltered and unapologetic. That’s life in Pattaya—enjoy the ride.

Story time. And would you believe this one’s about liverwurst? Yeah, the German sausage made from pork or veal liver. My father, a German immigrant, brought this culinary delight into my life. He arrived in America at 14, and with him came liverwurst sandwiches. As a kid, I hated them. Now, as an adult, I love them. Seriously, I crave them.

Let’s take a detour down memory lane. Ages ago, I debated an Australian vegan diet advocate online (“Durianrider”). Vegans flocked to listen. I threw down the gauntlet: compare the nutritional profile of four ounces of beef liver to a basket of mixed fruits. How much fruit would it take to match the vitamins and minerals of liver? I blogged about it. Some of his fans took the challenge. The answer? It takes about five pounds of fruit to match four ounces of beef liver. Everyone knows liver is nutrient-dense. These are the real superfoods—liver and organ meats. Milk and eggs, too, whether from chickens, ducks, or fish. They’re nutritionally loaded because they’re designed to nourish growing organisms.

Now, back to last night. I’ve been experimenting with fasting, particularly dry fasting. In a feeding stage, at 9:30 PM, a craving for liverwurst hit me out of nowhere. I hadn’t eaten it in over a year. I jumped on my motorbike and headed to a foreigner-friendly market in Pattaya, Thailand. Food Mart, open till midnight. I snagged a 140-gram package (5 ounces) of authentic German liverwurst for about three bucks, along with a couple of freshly baked mini baguettes. Back home, I grabbed some unsalted New Zealand butter, toasted the baguette, slathered on the butter, and piled on half the liverwurst. I sat back, watched Netflix, and devoured it. Heaven.

I hit the sack around 11 PM, only to wake at 4 AM with the same damn craving. So, I got up, resumed my Netflix binge, and made another liverwurst delight with another mini-baguette and the other half of the package. Does your body sometimes just know what it needs? I went back to bed at six and slept till nine, waking up feeling better than I had in ages.

The takeaway? Listen to your body. It knows what it needs.

The story continues…

My last was about liverwurst on toasted baguette, with butter.

What I didn’t tell is that I had competing cravings during that dry fast refeeding time. Liverwurst sandwich and…of all things…French toast.

So when I made that dark-of-night MC ride to the farang market in Pattaya, TH, I got both. Unfortunately, though they have almost everything farang (foreigner), no real maple syrup, just maple flavored corn syrup. That would have been fine—I maybe had French toast or pancakes like 2 years ago, so STFU with your virtue-signalling.

I use fasting, so I can eat what I want, when I want otherwise. I don’t fret. I do whole food 80%+ of the time and I enjoy my food life a lot.

I’m no Puritan and above all, I am not careful.

DON’T BE CAREFUL!

Nonetheless, I delayed the gratification of satisfying my craving to last night.

I used Thai honey instead, and as you can see, it has the butter in there too. And they were fried in butter, smoking hot.

I’ve arranged a threesome for tomorrow at 10am.

I’ve known both of these gals since last November (Far) and December (Planil).

I’ve had 2 dozen threesome encounters with Far and her friend that brought her to me. She doesn’t love them, so she says… She tolerates them and admits that the sex, as it were…it’s more crazy, and she gets an “enhanced experience.”

Planil I’ve only had here alone. A virgin until 32, and I was the first man she ever slept with in her life. An extreme outlier. But if she does sleep with you, be warned. It’s Buddhist prayers from 03.00 to 05.00. Then, she gets REALLY horny.