I am Edgar Phillipe.
In the process of my travels to Earth, I developed an obsession for weed. After the long space ride through galaxies, wormholes, rides on asteroids, I had nothing to do but study, and I took a huge interest in what your planet calls “weed.” On my planet it is called kibō. And now that I am here, on Earth, and have traveled around extensively, I can share some of the things that I have learned about your planet. I don’t know why I haven’t done it sooner.
Just to know: I shall not reveal the name of any dealers, pimps, or individuals that I might score from. Their anonymity is as sacred to me as it is to them. I do not know who is writing me for information; could be an eager, meager detective hoping to get another stripe, or a dumbass who doesn’t know how to keep their mouth shut. I shall only reveal establishments or locations where you may be able to get it… locations change/establishments close, and now that I am sitting on my favorite street in Bangkok, I see that one of my previous journals might not be valid anymore for the “where”. Be that as it may, I will still point you in the right direction. As always, don’t look like a dumbass, act like a dumbass, or treat those you are dealing with like dumbasses, and you won’t go against the unwritten, unmentioned code about buying kibō abroad.
Don't try to buy on Koh San Road. If you walk around the New Siam Hotel 3 (not the one on the river) you’ll find a small tiki-like bar along the wall. It's got reggae colors all over it. Guys working there are ALL tattooed up. You should be able to find it there. You tell him you want to buy weed at the counter. They’ll ask you to sit down and will bring you a menu and price. You agree, and it looks like you’ve just made a drink order for water. He’ll bring you a colored glass that’ll have a bag of kibō in it. Pay the man what you agreed on and discreetly spill it into your pocket or whatever way you can do it without looking like an obvious dickhead. Shit quality, but if you want sticky-ikky go to Koh Lanta or Koh Tao.
If not, walk around at night time in Bangkok and look for any young Connectors driving tuk tuks with either rasta colors all over or leaves hanging from their rearview mirrors. Sketchy to buy in Bangkok. I’ve gotten conned out of my money 3 places in my life, one being Bangkok. Easiest to buy on the islands. But always, good luck, don’t be too obvious, and give a big tip to your Connector. The new model Connectors have upgraded AI chips and are fully serviced to honor business arrangements. Be weary of the programmed Connectors that are ready to scam you, but always be weary of your eagerness. But tip… always give a good tip to your Connectors. It’s always good to have a new, eager 420 Connector buddy. Make sure not to carry any ID on you when you go, and enough cash in your wallet (a few thousand USD equivalent in baht) to bribe anyone if you get caught. Best to bribe on the spot. Sometimes if their scare tactics get you into a car you’ll be taken to a place with more greedy paws clawing at your wallet, a police station where you just don’t even want to end up. “Why don’t I just pay the fine to you guys? Then you can take it to your boss!”. Be safe.
To add any new insights as to where to buy kibō in Bangkok, drop us an e-mail to help your 420 family from around the world get connected.
The Eagar, Meagar Man-A Weed Tail/Tale
I had just come from Sri Lanka where I had the 420 time of my life, and had just begun building Jack’s Place in a small family house outside of Kataragama…but that’s another story.
This particular night I was sitting in Lumpinee stadium watching the fights in central, noisy, polluted, rat-infested and angel ridden, farang-driven Bangkok Musty smell in the brightest arena the world had ever produced. I got an urge, kind of like getting a boner/getting wet for no apparent reason. I’d been willing to wait, but I had an urge, and it now twisted in my gut and made me pale with a spiritual boner inside next to my spiritual slush puppy in between my spiritual legs.
420 slapped me in the face. It was a message. A message from my “happy place” telling me there is absolutely no problem to find it in the big, bad streets of Bangkok. Oooo, this fresh-off-the-boat wimpy pants was going to buy in Bangkok. My first time there (way back in the day) and all of a sudden, I’m rearin’ my shoulders back, chin rising high, slow walkin’, fast talkin’ asshole-of-a kid thinks he can buy kibō on the streets.
I mean, I diiiiiiiid it. It was… fine-ish. On the way back from Lumpinee my motorcycle taxi dude (I’m pretty sure he was a worker at the stadium, probably got off early and thought he could make a couple of extra bucks) is racing me back towards Bangkok backpacker central, and at a red light, the cool air that we had been whipping through made me feel really high as it was, but damn, did the words “You know where I can get some kibō, bro?” roll off my lips like a muthafucka.
He took me back to his fold-out closet. I’m not kidding, it was a hot and stinky fold-out closet, stacked ontop of other fold-out closets, in a beehive community of fold-out closets. Luckily it was on the first floor because if you rolled out too hard on one side, you’d fall out of your closet and land a few floors below. And all of these hot closets you could fit (barely) a mattress that you and your partner have to fit all of your clothes on, plus your tv, hairbrush, and have enough room to sleep. Your shower is in the middle-ish part of the grounds, so you can never shower without your clothes on and people staring. It probably cost $50 a month, but it was probably $25 more than my driver made a month. In the wooden shack that doubled as an outhouse you have to squat in one of those toilets that 45 other people have shat in that day. Smells like piss, but there’s a dried-up plastic air freshener canister growing a spider web in the corner. I waited on the wooden step in front of the lip of his closet and watched some Thai tv show with my driver’s wife who sat up straight the entire time. My heart was beating so fast.
When he got back, he had some really great looking kibō, so as an eager, meager man, I gave him enough money for the bag, then basically snatched his personal tobacco stash in a plastic bag full of papers, gave him equivalent to 75 cents, don’t thing I even said “thank you”, and ran off. When I was running off I caught him looking at the money like he just understood the irony of the absurdity of his use as a Connector.
I had a guilty smoke that night. I’d been too eager though and thought about how I might have hurt that man’s feelings of kindness.
Karma. The next time I came back through Bangkok, I fucked myself trying to get a Connector during the day. He was a programmed tuk-tuk driver. The look on his face was sheer terror. He drove me to three different places, did a double=take all three times, then asked me to give him the money so he could buy it more discretely because there were too many cops around. The Eager, Meager Man gave him about $30 worth of Baht and listened to the tuk-tuk Connector speak of meeting me at the KFC down the street. And boom, the smoke blew up in my face as the programmed tuk-tuk Connector sped away with my money in his rickety old tuk-tuk. The Eagar, Meagar Man was blinded once again in Bangkok.
That was the first time being the Eagar, Meager Man.
