All the former GI's, British veterans, pensioners and just plain drop-outs fell silent as the two beautifully dressed, Arabian looking girls walked in and ceremoniously covered the billiard table with a colorful, flowery plastic sheet.
There was a short pause where nothing happened but not long enough to give any of the guys in the bar a chance to react in some way. The doors opened again and two beautiful belly dancers glided into the bar, their hips swaying seductively. They covered the floor with colorful petals all the way from the entrance to the billiard table. Suddenly the door banged open and a tall man of apparently Middle Eastern persuasion, stormed into the bar. He had a mustache, short, orange, henna-died hair. He was wearing a caftan. What made him really stand out was the live chicken he held by the neck in one hand and the rhino horn dagger in his right hand. The people in the pub were still too stunned to say or do anything else than to gab with their mouths wide open. Nobody stopped the wild man as he ran towards the billiard table, climbed on top of it and sliced the chicken's head off while screaming : "Allah is great, death to all infidels." He then ran out as fast as he came in followed by the belly dancers who took a more relaxed and aesthetically pleasing approach to their escape. Still nobody said a word. The chicken ran headless through the bar, its wings fluttering, spraying everybody with blood droplets which finally caused some reactions. A couple of girls jumped screaming on their chairs. Another one scrambled towards the bathroom.
Jim, a veteran of both the Korean War and Vietnam was the first to say something. "What the f….."

This event actually never really happened.
I am only dreaming, it is just my fantasy.
That crazy Arab, that's me in disguise.
It’s supposed to be my revenge. First I only wanted to wear a T-shirt of Osama but thanks to some beers and other social stimulants it kind of went a little overboard.

A few days ago I was thrown out of that particular bar. The following story is true though. It all started quite innocently enough with a message from an artist friend of mine. He informed me that there would be an attempt to prepare the world’s biggest "Sizzling Sisig" in Angeles City, two hours north of Manila, Philippines.

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Sizzling sisig is basically the ears, the snout and other parts of a pig's face minced up and served slightly spicy on a hot sizzling metal plate. It tastes pretty good and goes perfect with beer. Since I was in the neck of the wood at that time and I never had a chance before to observe an actual world record attempt I decided to drive up there and document it with my camera. The guys from the "Guinness Book of World Records" were supposed to be there as well.

But more importantly besides taking pictures of the "Giant Sizzling Sisig" I had my own agenda. I wanted my own record. Not the biggest but being the first. Those Guinness guys were already there and I would take advantage of that.

The show dragged on and on with never ending speeches and dances.

It was also very hot. I got hungry. That stuff smelled really good. But there were so many people that the chances to get my hands on a handsome portion of sisig were slim. After 3 hours when they were still stirring those 600 kg of meat I decided to pack up and go have some beers and something to eat.

I phoned my friend Robert who, I knew, was coincidentally in town on a business trip. He apparently had been drinking since 9 am and was on his way to his hotel but he agreed to turn back and have a couple more beers with me.

I went to my usual hang out, a bar right along the sinful mile of Angeles. It is the pool pub where all those people I described in my little fantasy above are hanging out. There is one billiard table, a small football table and a dartboard.
The walls are covered with fake autographed posters of famous sports people. It's a sports bar. A family sports bar. There are always the same people in there. Angeles isn't big and there aren't many things you can do besides watching young, half-naked, nubile girls dance or shoot some pool.

When Robert arrived a few minutes after me, the situation was already getting a little touchy. Robert was apparently totally oblivious to it all. I told him: "Robert I have to leave, the manager asked me to go." Robert ignored me and just ordered another round of beers. "Seriously I have to go. I was asked politely to leave and I think I should." Robert answered me that I am full of shit and that we should just keep on drinking. I have to say in all fairness about the manager who is basically a nice Dutch guy, he did offer me that if I changed my T-shirt I am welcome to stay. I had to refuse. I have my principles.

Three older American GI's joined us at the bar and bought us beers. I was starving but the manager had canceled the Indian food that I had ordered. Slowly Robert realized that there was something sizzling in the room and it wasn't a giant sisig. But he hadn't fully grasped the situation. All he had figured so far was that there were some British guys and a Dutch manager who wanted me to leave.
Being Swedish, Robert assumed the reason for the hostility was I being German. He shouted that everybody is full of shit, pledged alliance to me and ordered some more beer. Only then did he notice the T-shirt I was wearing.

"Oh, I see…

"Andy you are such an asshole."

In the meantime I had already paid my bill and by then Robert agreed that it might be a good idea to maybe have another beer somewhere else.

One of the former GI's came over and gave me his card. "This is my club at the end of the road. You are always welcome there. I'll buy you a beer if you come over." His card indicated that he was a Special Forces veteran from Guam. I thanked him, explained to the manager that I can't possibly change my T-shirt and we left. Unharmed so far.

"Robert I need your help for my project."
Outside and visibly relieved he said to me again: "Andy, you are such an asshole"

"I know but it is all part of the big plan.
I need you to take pictures of me. Let's go to the Billy boys (transvestites) in the Blow Job Alley,"

"First let's go into a normal bar and have a beer."

We went into a small girlie bar and had lots of fun which mostly involved girls and my camera. Nobody had any problem with my t-shirt or me. The few guys who were in there were busy sucking on some nubile tits and the dancers wouldn't have noticed if I had their own mother on my t-shirt. I explained to Robert in detail my idea and he agreed to help. He thought I was nuts and that there will be some trouble at some point but he also knew that we had no choice. Robert lives a pretty normal life. He is a chef and he has a small business in Manila. I usually give him shit for being normal and he claims to be actually really crazy but he has to make a living. Yeah sure. So basically he had no choice now but to come with me because he wouldn't want to appear normal.

He insisted to take his car to the Blow Job Alley although his car was even further away. Walking along with me through a town where every other guy is a former GI made him feel uncomfortable.

Blow Job Alley is a small dirt road right next to the main red-light district in Angeles. It is lined with plywood shanties, which gives it the look and feel of a squatter colony.

Each of those creatively assembled establishments has a small plastic chair and table in front of them. Rough looking girls are sitting on those, each trying to out-shout all others praising their talents for sucking.
Hence the name of that little road. In two or three of those fine entertainment institutions the girls are slightly taller, slightly more muscular and occasionally they sport an Adam's apple.
That's where were heading. We were greeted by Shirley and Bridgette. Bridgette remembered me from the last time I was there. No, not what you think. I just took some pictures of the girls and guys in the Blow Job Alley, really. It was an art project.

"We bought them ladies drinks and joined them at one of those little plastic tables in front of : "WOW, On The Rocks, Cocktail Lounge.
" Those girls/guys are fun. We took some pictures and enjoyed ourselves.

An old British guy who just finished getting his knob sucked joined us.
He pointed to my t-shirt and said: "That's my hero."

This guy admires Hitler as his hero.

It was time for business, time for my record. I wanted to be the first guy who has a picture of himself making out with three transvestites while wearing a t-shirt with a giant Adolf Hitler portrait on it.
And here they are. Of course I can't show you everything since this is a family website.

Attention : Please don't try this at home. All people involved in this story are professionals.

See more of the SISIG & BAR photo series

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