I notice that some weeks, my article is post-scripted by a disclaimer. It reads something like this…
‘Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Johnny Dope is written for entertainment purpose only. Bangkoknightlife.com does not encourage buying, selling or using drugs in any way.’
That translates to ‘My editor is a pussy and is covering his ass in case the shit hits the fan later.’ I’ll have you know Johnny Dope is a real person. I should know because I’m him and I distinctly remember the time I lost a fistfight with Hunter S. Thompson over a $45 bar bill in a Kentucky whorehouse. (I might also have lost a fistfight with my editor by the time this is published.)
Bangkoknightlife.com might not encourage buying, selling or using drugs in any way, but Johnny Dope does. For lots of reasons, but mainly because drugs are fucking awesome and make you a more interesting person.
But I don’t condone abusing drugs and getting yourself fucked up any more than I’d condone becoming an alcoholic or smoking until your lungs disintegrate. But you should definitely take drugs (note to any law enforcement agents reading this – You should definitely NOT take drugs. They’re bad for you and you’ll get addicted off one marijuana pill and probably become a rapist too.)
So today’s article goes against one of my principles… and I don’t have many, so this could be a big deal. Today I’m going to teach you how to get free booze in Bangkok’s nightclubs. No trick. No scam. No money outlay (errm maybe a bit… I haven’t worked it all out yet).
Better than Alcohol
The reason it’s against my principles is that drugs are better than alcohol. They make you feel better, they cost less, have fewer negative side-effects and are less damaging to your body. Don’t start whining and saying ‘But Johnny, what about heroin and Krokodil…?’ Sure, there’s some crazy shit out there but I refer you back to the bit where I said ‘don’t abuse drugs…’ Besides which, I haven’t got my hands on any Krokodil yet and I don’t know if the high is so freaking amazing that it’s worth turning yourself into a reptile.
The idea for the free-booze scam was inspired by a chick I woke up with recently. We met at an event in a nightclub and she told me she worked as a model – definitely believable; a tall, leggy blonde. She showed me her Facebook page – lots of photos of her skinny body running on beaches and holding scarves etc. She was from Uzbekistan… or Tajikistan… Who the fuck cares? One of the ___stans that isn’t Pakistan and has tall, skinny girls for export.
So long story made short – she came back and stayed the night. That was a mistake. Not that the sex was bad, it wasn’t. But I should have let her go home in a taxi after. But we’d done a ton of gear at the party and I was feeling charitable.
So in the morning, I get a good look at this girl… What a fucking mess! I couldn’t believe it was the same girl. I got my phone out and compared the pictures from the night before. She looked awesome in the photos. But next morning? With her hair all messed up? Her make-up smeared over her face? Her push-up bra somewhere over the balcony?
She looked like a badly-graffitied totem pole that snagged some passing tumbleweed.
And while I’m slagging her off, the accent was a real turn-off. ‘Oh Johneee, Johnee! Itz zo goot. Ya itz zo goot!” It was like a 70’s porn movie.
What has this got to do with free booze? Well, I was looking at this hideous skeleton wandering around my apartment naked the next morning. (Seriously, when she passed in front of my window the next morning, I swear I could see her internal organs working! Like one of those transluscent baby fish on the National Geographic.) And I was thinking, “Well, if she can be a model… Anyone can be a fucking model!”
The Models Night
And that’s when the idea hit me. Why not? I mean, how hard can it be? Virtually every night, Bangkok has some ‘Model’s Night’ occurring in one club or another. Free drinks for anyone who calls themselves a model. I think QBar was the only club to be honest. They had wristbands for models that read, ‘I’m pretty, give me free stuff.’ And it turns out you don’t even need to be pretty (trust me… I know!)
All you need is a comp card. Which is a piece of card with your contact details, vital statistics and 4 or 5 decent ‘modelling’ photos of yourself printed upon it. For girls, you can’t go wrong with bikini, lingerie and sporty pictures. For guys, you need the gayest underwear imaginable and an ability to copy Zoolander.
Then you simply present the card at one of the models’ night and get your free drinks and food. Of course, you need to be able to maintain the charade for the entire evening. Guys need to wear ridiculous outfits – think woolen scarves, shorts with blazers, yellow plastic sunglasses. Call everyone ‘Dude!’ (with an exclamation mark). Make sure that every-fucking-thing is ‘Awesome’! And be super positive about everything, except modelling rates (which are shit, because no-one deserves to be paid lots of money for being skinny and handsome).
Girls have it even easier. They have many more methods for concealing their hideous deformities and terrible skin. They can be moody and temperamental. They can be ridiculously chirpy and upbeat. Or they can be foul-mouthed and grumpy. Because they are artistes and have creative angst running through their veins.
Johnny Dope has bags of…
Johnny Dope knows models because Johnny Dope has bags of confidence… Wait. Did I say ‘confidence’? I meant ‘cocaine’. Johnny Dope knows models because he has bags of cocaine. And that’s pretty much all I need.
I’ve got to wonder what the Models’ Night events are supposed to achieve. I’ve been to loads. Not because I’m hunting models, simply because I’m in a bar and a Model’s Night occurs around me. And from what I can see, the bar loses.
The models don’t buy drinks because they get a free drink allowance. And once their allowance has gone, they move on like migrating giraffes – with the same leggy, galloping walk – to the next free waterings hole.
What about the models’ friends? The ones who go to meet their model-buddies for a drink? Well, those number about 1:10. So the bar is giving away 10 drinks for every 1 drink purchased. Even more, actually because the ugly-buddies often get free drinks off their model-buddies. Surely that’s not a sustainable business plan?
Do models attract other people to the bar/club? Possibly. There is a small number of older, chubbier guys that hang around the herd clutching Nikons and Canons calling themselves ‘photographers’. But for the most part, they are hyenas waiting for the weakest to start limping. A couple more drinks and an offer to ‘enhance their portfolio free of charge’ and the older, chubbier guy has a remote chance of scoring out of his league. But hey! Even older, chubbier hyenas deserve to eat fresh giraffe meat sometimes.
What’s the benefit in it?
But there’s another possibility… The possibility that models actually dissuade people from going to the venue. I once invited a date to Bed’s legendary Wednesday Models’ Night. But she didn’t want to go… ‘I don’t look like a model. I’m too short.’ That was true. She was short. But she had a great smile and a perfect rack. And when she walked in front of my window the next morning, there was no chance of seeing her internal organs… She had curves and booty. (She also had a beer gut, but held it in admirably until the deed was done.)
I wonder how many other people avoid Models’ Nights because they feel inferior.
So if clubs are spending money to attract people who don’t pay… And those people don’t attract more customers… And some paying guests avoid those people… What’s in it for the clubs? To be honest, I can’t see any benefit.
But seeing as no-one listens to me anyway (you probably stopped reading after finding out my one-night-stand was ugly), it looks like Models’ Nights will be around for some time to come. And that means you can blag free booze. Just follow the steps listed above and you too can be stinking drunk 6 nights a week for next to nothing.
And if by any chance your cover is blown and someone calls you ‘a phony’, just turn around and flash your best ‘Blue Steel’. Just be careful… There are likely to be twenty other people turning around at the same time.