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…dancing with the devil in the city of angels…

Monthly Archives: March 2011

First Timers Guide To Bangkok Gay Go Go Bars Part II (b)

31 Thursday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Gay Gogo Bar First Timers Guide

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Gay Bangkok, Gay GoGo Bars, Ladyboys, Offs

go go boy

Not your date for the night . . .

Oh, excuse fucking me! I totally left a large portions of readers hanging without a clue as to what to do next when I covered the previous steps for the first timer navigating the world of gay gogo bars in Bangkok. Seemed to be pretty thorough to you? Yup, me too. Until I remembered that newbies to the world of gay gogo bars in Thailand are not as familiar with the denizens of the bar world and may find that the hottie they brought back to the hotel is not a dude but instead is a dudette. Or a dudette wanna be. Or a dud that’s not a dude but not yet a dudette. Ah, screw it. Now I’m as confused as you.

How does this happen? Maybe you decided you weren’t as gay as you thought you were. Or just plain old chickened out, and decided to off a woman from the bar instead. Or maybe you like twinks and failed to notice the twink you liked had breasts (‘cuz gay guys unlike their straight counterparts do not look at chests. We look at crotches.) More likely, you were so drunk you didn’t pay any attention to what it was you bought at the bar. Whatever the reason, when you get back to your hotel room and find out your date for the night is a chick with a dick, no problemo: here are your options of what to do when your new friend turns out to be a ladyboy:

1. Scream loudly and faint. You actually fainted? Dude, you are so gay! In this case, forget the sex. The two of you will have a grand time discussing the latest fashions coming out of Paris. You can do each others’ nails and discuss whether Brad Pitt or Ashton Kutcher is hotter. You may not have gotten any sex, but you’ll have a new girlfriend in Bangkok and I’m sure the two of you will have a Fabulous time.

2. Scream and punch the bitch. This is not an appropriate reaction. But understandable. And proof that you still have some testosterone. The only problem with this approach is when she gets up off the floor she will beat the living shit out of you. Thai ladyboys may look like demure, lissome and frail creatures, but most spent time as Muay Thai boxers in their earlier years. Just messing up their hair is reason enough to floor you. That you dare to raise a hand to them means hospital time for you. At least one of your nurses at the hospital will also be a ladyboy. And will take sadistic pleasure in making sure your recovery is a painful one. Option 2 also means no sex, unless you are a masochist.

3. Scream and roll around on the floor in helpless fits of laughter. See option #2. You won’t be hospitalized in this case, but will probably sprout a black eye if you do not quickly sprout wood. If you realize your health is at stake and quit laughing long enough to wave a handful of baht at her, you’ll be okay. When money is to be made, your outburst will be forgiven. Her Thai-ness will overtake her ladyboy-ness.

4. Scream and notice your dick is suddenly exceptionally hard. Congrats. You just learned something new about yourself. Now man up and go for it. The only problem with this option is that you’ll probably discover the chick’s dick is bigger than yours. You’d think tiny cock syndrome would be a leading reason for guys to decide to become girls. Instead, in Thailand, the ladyboys are usually sporting wood you’d expect to find on a Nubian buck. Or a horse. Surprisingly, or not surprisingly, or who gives a fuck, straight guys who off ladyboys almost always want to be fucked. With a big dick. Personally I can’t get my mind around the ‘straight’ claim when taking a huge dick up their ass is what gets them hard. I don’t care if there are tits attached. A cock in your ass is a cock in your ass. But I won’t complain. Let the ‘straight’ boys play. It keeps the Thai ladyboys employed.

ladyboy muscle

Thai Ladyboy AKA Siamese Fighting Fish

Ladyboys, or Katoey as they are known locally, are a common and integral part of Thai society. You’ll see ladyboys working in retail outlets all around Bangkok, as well as in banks, restaurants and of course, bars. There are several ladyboy bars in the Sukhumvit area and it’s not by chance that these places open around the straight sex touri world of Nana Plaza instead of the gay bar enclave of Soi Twilight. There are also several ladyboy cabaret shows that pull in large number of touri nightly. But ladyboys do find work in the gay bars too. Often as mamasans. And almost every gay gogo bar has at least one ladyboy number in their nightly show. It’s difficult to visit Thailand without running into a ladyboy. But then maybe that’s not a bad thing . . . sure gives you an excuse for an ‘accidental’ experience with what could become the woman of your dreams.

Related Posts You Might Enjoy:

First Timers Guide To Bangkok Gay Gogo Bars Part III

First Timers Guide To Bangkok Gay Gogo Bars Part III

Bangkok Gay Gogo Bar First Timers' Guide Part 2

Bangkok Gay Gogo Bar First Timers’ Guide Part 2

First Timers Guide To Bangkok Gay Gogo Bars

First Timers Guide To Bangkok Gay Gogo Bars

I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy: Holy Mackerel!

30 Wednesday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Dancing With the Devil, I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy

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Gay Bangkok, Gay GoGo Bars, Offs

fish

Ewww, Yuck!

My last post under the I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy storyline ended with Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, commenting on our dinner outing to Rama VIII and my concern thereof with, “Yeah, you worry it fitsh.”

Seems I’m not the only one who dislikes fish. Several recent gay forum topics and blog posts dealt with the subject of women in attendance in Thailand’s gay gogo bars. The most vocal responders were adamantly against the practice for a wide variety of reasons. The upshot being boy bars should not let straight women through the doors.

While I don’t care for fish for dinner, as companions or even fellow bar patrons, I enjoy their company. I’ve seen far too many fuck shows for them to be the least bit titillating anymore and spend more time watching the other patrons than I do whatever is on stage. Except for the really bad ladyboy acts. Those are always funny. Watching bored expats fall asleep isn’t too exciting. The stunned dazes expressions on newbie faces are only good for a moment’s amusement. But when a woman enters the bar, the dynamics change. Things get a bit more interesting.

Most of the guys working the stage are straight. When a woman enters, the scent of pussy filling the air stirs them from their normal lethargic state. Eyes that usually stare listlessly at mirrored walls take on a new depth, interest aroused . . . at least on those that weren’t gazing wistfully at the ladyboy acts hoping one day they too can become a star. Macho posturing soon gives way to explicit come ons. Cocks that were more hidden than displayed suddenly are proudly waved. Reeling in a fish means not only cash in the pocket but an orgasm enticed by more familiar flesh.

Of course one of the biggest objections from the gay crowd is that all of a sudden they are in competition with a woman for the attention of the naked straight boys on stage. Duh. And so what? Women are usually a bit more timid about the process. Gay guys know the score. You can easily be back in your hotel room with the guy of your dreams before the fish even baits the hook. And most don’t actually plan on making a purchase anyway. It seems obvious the straight boys would rather spend their bedtime hours with a woman. But that’s not always the case.

Noom and I were in one of Soi Twilight’s larger bars one evening visiting some of his friends. The ladyboy show had come and gone, the acts attempting eroticism had failed and were replaced on stage by the acrobatic fuck show. While Noom chatted away in Thai with one of the Captains I surveyed the crowd. My eyes fell on an elderly couple, a man and wife, sitting front and center right at the edge of the stage. The wife’s hand movement caught my eye. She’d just placed a protective palm over her drink, concerned about what was flying about the stage making an unscheduled landing in her gin and tonic. Her look was one of disgust, his one of longing. “Ah,” I thought, “Another wannabe gay husband dragged his wife in to see the gay boys fuck.”

You see a lot of grandpas in the gogo bars. Grandmas are less frequent visitors. Usually the women who brave this world are young and out to be shocked, travelling in giggling packs. Sometimes it’s a single woman accompanying her boyfriend, a reevaluation of their relationship possibly in order.

old lady

NOT a drag queen.

Noom is often as easy to amuse as I, so I nudged him and used my chin to point out the old farang couple expecting a snort of glee or maybe even a full laugh in response. His expression was more a disgusted snarl. Derision oozed touched with a sense of familiarity. Okay, ancient pussy is probably no more tasteful than ancient cock, but pure revulsion was not the reaction I’d expected.

Noom cleared up the matter. “She smell,” he noted with a wrinkled nose. “No clean,” he told me the look on his face ripe with loathing.

Seems the couple was not unknown to the bar. Semi-regulars, they often offed a boy to do madame while hubby-san watched, no longer able to participate even with the help of a blue pill. And a blue pill was of no more help to the unlucky boy who faced an evening of putrid smells wafting from the old bag’s unwashed cunt. Sure a bar boy may be disgusted with having to have sex with an old fat gay farang, but rank body odors are even more of a turn off. Thai bar boys may like eating fish, but they sure in the hell don’t want to sleep with one that smells like it was landed weeks ago.

So next time you feel put upon when a woman comes in to spoil the fun at your favorite gogo bar, consider that it’s possible her rank smells may instead make a night’s off with you a more acceptable proposition.

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Bonus Shot: Siem Reap Delivery

30 Wednesday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Cambodia, Travel Photography

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Cambodia, Photography, Transportation

siem reap laundry

Two Wheeled Laundry Service

Bicycles, as two-wheeled beasts of burden, are in heavy use throughout Cambodia. Bikes lethargically peddled down the street piled high with goods being taken to the market is a common sight. Amazing feats of balance. This delivery bike, transporting guest laundry to my hotel in Siem Reap, went with the width instead of the height approach.

Bonus Shot: Wat Preah Prom Rath

29 Tuesday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Cambodia, Travel Photography

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Cambodia, Photography, Wats

Wat Preah Prom Rath

Blue Door

The majestic Angkor Wat and the colossal heads of Angkor Thom get all the press, but Wat Preah Prom Rath smack in the middle of Siem Reap is a temple equally worthy of a visit. Much newer and quite colorful, the wat’s compound includes several temples and some fascinating residences for monks and students.

Fear and Loathing in Phnom Penh: Siem Reap / Postcard from the Edge

29 Tuesday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Cambodia, Travel Tales from Beyond Thailand

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Cambodia

Expat

“I am a sick man . . . I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased.” -Fyodor Dostoevsky

Siem Reap. Cambodia. I’ve been channeling the good Doctor – Hunter S Thompson – on this trip. But it’s a Dostoevsky line that slams into the cells of my brain as I sit on the patio of Le Grande Cafe, one of Siem Reap’s numerous outdoor bistros, struggling to remember the date, the day, the reason I exist. It is late in the morning, the touri hordes have yet to descend upon the town. Still ensconced in their buses, shepherded to yet another ancient, crumbling temple they’ll only get to enjoy amidst the pandemonium of a few hundred of their fellow travellers; a raucous scrum jockeying for the best view, the best photo, first in line to get back on the bus. But the beggars are out, blatantly displaying their deformities. Missing appendages, a tragedy yes, but a boon if you need to pull at the heart strings of foreign visitors whose pockets bulge with riel. An amputated arm, stick thin legs, or twisted spine guarantee a windfall. A handful of change paid in appeasement, soothing the guilty conscious of Westeners who can only assume their nations hold some responsibility for the locals’ deplorable state. I’m on my second, or is it third, cup of coffee. Caffeine is coursing through my veins, slowly jump-starting my lethargic mental state. I’m almost there. Almost awake. Almost aware.

I pop another valium, a looming habit addictive as eating M&M’s. A counter to the effect of the caffeine, a hazy veil to enshroud my consciousness. It’s balance I seek: my body alive, nerve endings afire, my mind in sluggish motion like the cafe’s ceiling fans languorously stirring up the dust that coats this parochial town. An aimlessness in both purpose and spirit. Am I turning into a drug fiend? No Not me. I’m not to blame. The fault lays with Siem Reap, a bucolic setting that commends peace within. Harmony. Stillness. A centering of your wa. The constant reminder that death and disfigurement wait just steps off the path, a harsh juxtaposition. Cambodia offers no shades of grey. It’s black or white, good or evil, kill or be killed. It causes my psyche to ache for the means to drop kick the edge off reality. But I have yet to achieve the drug induced state that will quell my cognitive process. It is my only goal for the day. The Doctor would approve.

Early for me, not too late in the morning for the rest of the world, the sun has yet to reach it’s zenith, still angling its rays across the dusty street, spilling its warmth onto the cafe’s cobblestone floor. The serenity of the morning is jarred. An undercurrent of cataclysmic proportions envelopes the street. Like a scene from a bad spaghetti western an apparition appears backlit by the sun: a haloed band of farangs, well past middle age, raucously stumbling their way across the dust ridden street, not so much weaving through the traffic as daring to be hit, their beer bloated bodies surely a winning match against the rickety bikes and decrepid motorcycles the locals load with entire families, goods from the market, and fowl for future meals. Each of the farang clings to a can of Angkor Beer, craftily hidden in a brown paper bag, a life ring to keep them afloat in the turgid existence that life has cast their way. Muscle T’s that yearn for muscles, plaid shorts in need of a wash weeks ago, black socks that only serve to heighten the paleness of their hairless legs. The tall one has a faded blue tattoo running down his leg, the design more appropriate to someone a good forty years younger. Rummy eyes hidden behind cheap sunglasses they take up position at the table on the corner. Expats. Why is it that you can immediately pick out the cantankerous old alcoholic farang who have taken up residence from those only passing through?

What traumatic event is it in their past that makes them want to soak that motherfucker in amber fluid that roasts your tongue as it courses down your gullet and sends its radiant message of hope and love to the far precincts of your body and numbs out your mind with the buzz of alcoholic bliss? What is the causation that results in an attraction to a foreign land where they’ll live out the golden years of their lives soaking up equal parts of torpid sun and cheap gin, a locale they’ll never consider home and which will never consider them to be anything more than a ravenous tick sucking at its life blood, a blight that plants its obese ass squarely on your chest like a fat black cat asleep in the night? Is there within me that germinating seed that could easily blossom into my being called to join their ranks? Is this sad existence to become my fate?

Siem Reap Ruins

Siem Reap Ruins

I try to avoid the thought with as much determination as the locals display in trying to avoid the sudden presence on their street that mimics the effect of a great white settling into a new cove. Tranquility lost. Danger sensed. Turquoise blue waters soon to be stained a bloody red. Wary of the peril, they make themselves scarce. Urchins cut a wide swath to avoid them, scurrying off to safer shores, leaving a sense of having sailed too close to the wind in their wake. Tuk Tuk drivers give up their chase for customers; a nap under a shady tree a safe and more unassailable position. Deformed beggars disappear fearful of their bodies being victimized yet again. You can almost hear the theme to Jaws echoing through the town. No one wants to take a chance. No one wants to sleep on the volcano that erupts within these guy’s souls. No one wants their bad karma to rub off on them.

They amuse themselves at the expense of a beggar who didn’t get away, his limbs incapable of the speed needed to avert disaster. Their laughter not of humor but of boredom. I start to object before my anesthetized mind can still my sense of outrage in favor of safety. But as my feet plant squarely on the floor, I see worn, multicolored bills passed. Their entertainment paid for. The beggar content. They know and are known.

The waitress who won the unlucky lottery of having them take up residence at her station ignores their presence, hoping they’ll disappear, or that maybe the Khmer Rouge will make a guest appearance and bring their bloody act to town yet again. But it’s not to be. Their patience and lack of purpose rule the day. Summoning every shred of courage to her aid, she approaches, her order pad a shield against their abuse. As boisterous as they’ve been in their revelry, I cannot hear their order. Shots to wash down the tepid beer? A bottle of amber gold to match the morning’s festering mood?

The staff shows an alertness, attentiveness, and speed unfamiliar to my experience in this somnolent town that holds a place of honor for any local moving slower than a snail on quaaludes. The waitress returns, careful steps balancing the weight of a serving tray heavy with their order. Served, beer abandoned like a cheap whore who dropped her last hit of crack down the sewer drain, the toothless old coots fall upon their feast like jackals devouring the last scrapes of flesh off the carcass of a fallen wilder beast.

The still lingering effect of my previous night out crawling through the bars on Pub Street dims. My fourth cup of coffee serves to clear my befuddled mind, allowing for a splinter of clarity, a momentary spark of lucidity. The scrim drops from sense and place. The lardaceous mounds of soggy fried foods laden with grease and promising to further clog their already hardening arteries that I’d envisioned dissolve into a kaleidoscopic tableau of ice cream, piled high in chilled glasses, dripping with sugary toppings festooned with tropical fruit; a confetti of chilled confections sweetly strewn across the table. A kids party of vacationing seniors happily gumming their frozen desserts takes stage. The bats take wing.

Fuck I need a drink.

I leave the old folk to their just desserts, moving off down the street past the market and its swarm of flies gliding on the waft of putrid fumes rising off what already is no longer fresh meat. Concentrating on the tedious process of laying one foot down after the other, I head back to my hotel where Tony, my tuk tuk driver, waits. My lack of a morning in Siem Reap but an ill conceived memory gladly left behind.

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Forget Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Let’s Talk About Ladyboys

29 Tuesday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Thailand Travel Tips and Tales, Tips

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Gay Thailand, Ladyboys

army ladyboy

Ready to Serve

Songkran soon approaches, but an equally important event arrives in just a few short days. April 2 is an important date in Thailand. That’s the annual conscription day for Thailand’s military. Bar boys of 21 years of age all head home to anxiously await the results of the Thai military lottery, praying to Buddha that they escape the draft.

This year the Thai military proposed some new terminology to cover the country’s ladyboy and ladyboy wannabe population. In the past, the transgendered were exempt from conscription due to their “psychological abnormality.” a term to which many took offense. ‘Fabulousness’ would be a more acceptable phrase.

With this year’s draft, Thai men are instead categorized by type. ‘Type 1’ refers to men ‘whose appearances are typical of men’. They have the most to be concerned with over the draft. Thaksin Chiamthong, director of the academic resources division of the Army Reserve Command reports, “Normally only Type 1 are required to draw a conscription ballot.”

Type 2 are men who have undergone breast implants. Type 2 men are held in reserve, says Thaskin. “If the number of Type 1 is insufficient, Type 2 will be conscripted as well, despite their female-like breasts.”

Full on ladyboys, those who have had a complete sex change, are classified as Type 3. They are exempt from military service. Possibly a foolish move on the Thai military’s part. I can think of nothing more scary than a platoon of screeching Thai ladyboys running at you across a battlefield. The Thai armed services may want to reconsider the psychological impact on enemy troops an army of ladyboys could have.

The military intends to draft 97,280 men this year. It’s possible some may sport a nice set of tits.

Bartering For Trouble At Hong Kong Street Markets

28 Monday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Hong Kong, Travel Tales from Beyond Thailand

≈ 3 Comments

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Hong Kong, Markets & Shopping, Money Matters

Temple Street Market

Temple Street Market Fortune Teller

There are two things I enjoy most while travelling in foreign lands: soaking up local color and shopping. And there’s no place better to do both than a street market in Asia. Finding street markets not heavily trafficked by touri is ideal. Following the advice of guide books usually means higher prices and far too many white faces. But sometimes good street markets are listed in the guide books and you can not avoid going with the touri flow. A good example is my favorite market in Hong Kong; the Temple Street Night Market, replete with food stalls, pirated CD’s and DVD’s, knock-offs of every major clothing design house, and electronics of ever imaginable sort.

More than just a market, Temple Street has a unique atmosphere that makes it a must-do for Hong Kong visitors. Fortune tellers huddle by gas-lit lamps next to local chess masters. Street singers perform Cantonese opera. Tables and chairs from stalls selling local delicacies overflow into this street that was named after a nearby temple honoring the goddess Tin Hau. And great bargains abound.

At night, the street becomes a fairyland of consumerism. Some stalls are humble, no more than a piece of cardboard on the ground, protecting a pile of beads from the sweating concrete. Some are elaborate, piled high with gleaming electronics. And the Yau Ma Tei end of the street features an echelon of palmists, physiognomists, and a fortune-teller whose trained birds select slips of paper to predict the future, your destiny by avian prestidigitation.

Officially the Temple Street Market is open from 2 pm, but it really gets going after dark. I kind of get the impression that post 9 pm is best. The market extends for half a dozen blocks, you need to pay attention to avoid getting run over in the cross streets. Or hang for a bit and watch some other unsuspecting touri get hit. It’s usually quite busy, bustling even, until quite late. The latest I’ve been there was around 11:30 pm, stalls and nearby shops were just starting to pack up for the night.

Hong Kong Temple Street Market

Trinkets @ Temple Street

Of course, as at all street markets in Asia, bartering is a must. At least if you don’t want to overpay for the cheap goods you buy. Which brings us to this tale and brings my friend Ann back into the journey. Ann, her friend Char, and I had been in Bangkok and decided to take a few days out to see the sights of Hong Kong. Now Ann, on her first trip to Thailand, had really gotten into bartering at the street markets of Bangkok. It’s good fun and everyone, both seller and customer alike, are out for enjoyment (besides making a buck or getting something for a song). Typically, in Bangkok, the asking price is way over inflated, you offer a ridiculously low price in return, the merchant tells you about her sick grandma, you plead poverty . . . and it goes back and forth until a bargain is struck. Everyone is happy and everyone has a good time in negotiating the deal.

Not so in Hong Kong. As Ann discovered. We visited Temple Street to see the sights, and for Ann to purchase a calculator (great tool for shopping in a place where English may not be spoken . . . like Hong Kong . . . for once being a British Colony it’s down right amazing how many of the natives don’t speak English). A new friend we made in Bangkok, typical of a Thai, borrowed hers and never returned it. After visiting several stalls and trying them out, she found the calculator of her dreams. “How much?” she asked the vendor.

“100 HK Dollars!” was his curt reply. (Hong Kong Chinese don’t hold Americans in high regard to begin with, and a woman??? Ha!)

Ann smiled and quickly came back with her Bangkok based offer, “10 HK Dollars!”

Yikes!

“Fuck You!, Fuck YOU!” he shouted, face contorted in rage.

The look on Ann’s face was priceless (mmmmm, may be a MasterCard ad in there). She backed quickly away from the stall, totally bewildered. He’d offered her the calculator at about US$12.00. She’d countered at a price slightly over a buck. It probably would have sold for about 80 HK dollars, or ten dollars U.S. In Bangkok, this would have been a fine beginning exchange. In Hong Kong, however, they have a bit more reverence for money. She would have known this if she’d checked her Frommers. Maybe those guide books have a use after all!

Two Tails

28 Monday Mar 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Dancing With the Devil, Eye Candy

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Nude Dudes

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Sawatdee and welcome to the new and improved Bangkokbois Gay Thailand Blog! Okay, so it’s not necessarily improved, just hosted on a new site. And it’s not just about Thailand, though that still is the main focus. And it’s not all gay either, unless you’re not and then you’ll think it’s pretty damn gay I’m sure. All of the penis might tip you off. Which means if you are not of the required legal age to be looking at penis other than your own, you should leave. And go tell your parental units they suck at their job.

But it is a blog and one out of three ain’t bad. Besides, Bangkokbois Pretty Gay Mostly About Thailand Blog For People Of Legal Age is just too wordy. But so is Dancing With The Devil In The City Of Angels, which is really the title of this blog.

As cool of a title as that is, Google just ain’t sharp enough to figure out that means this blog is mostly about Thailand. And pretty damn gay to boot. The penis part even Google figured out. Which is a good thing. ‘Cuz Bangkokbois Pretty Gay Mostly About Thailand With Lots Of Penis Blog For People Of Legal Age, I think, was taken by someone else.

Move along, there’s nothing to see here folks; pay no attention to that man behind the curtain:

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