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I believe in things earthy and green, and this place is all machine; shiny, metallic, surgical and cold. The next problem - it's empty. True, we have pitched up on a Monday night, but a good venue would make allowances. Instead, the music is all about Saturday night - hard, intense dance, blasted out at such high volume the whole room appears to rattle and shake. How about chilling it out a little there, chief?

Turn it down a notch, let the people speak, warm up, then throw on the cheese and watch the disco inferno. These fuckers have no clue. It gets much, much worse. We are shown to a table by one of the many Barbie-girl hostesses. They're dressed in short blue dressers, kinda like air stewardesses, heavily made-up and superficial. All around us, on a raised section, there are dozens and dozens of security personal, standing like statues, watching our every move. For the first time, I really feel like I'm in a communist country. This place is un-fucking believable - it's more like a concentration camp than a club, a stamping ground for fascists and sadists, wielding their clunking iron fists and steel-eyed stares.

We get served a tray of beers. Most people make it onto the dance floor. I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm expecting us to get put down like a revolution for trying to have a bit of fun. It's as though the Boys in Brazil relocated to Ha Long city. Any minute now, a set of blue-eyed, blond quintuplets will goose step out with stun guns - we'll be trust up and thrown into black vans, and taken away for reprogramming. My beer is empty, so I ask how much another will cost. I'm fairly taken aback by the response - 50,dong. I pass this information on, and soon all come to their senses.

We ask for the bill. We fod another baai - it seems I fucklng miss-read the bar menu. Beers are actually 80,d, a fucking extortionate price that none of us can quite believe. The average price for a bottle of beer is 10, or 15, The most we've paid anywhere is around 25, These miserable Nazi fucks are asking for more than three times that. Everyone agrees this club fuciing the gen place we've been in Vietnam. I'm first out the flr, enthusiastic for the first time tor evening - enthusiastic to get the fuckkng out. Craig and Gregg follow behind, and everyone else heads home.

As we walk down the street, moto taxi's fuckin. They cruise by, whispering "Boom-boom? You want to go yej Madam Boom-Boom? I wonder who exactly this Madam Boom-Boom is. I've never heard Woken name put to such a proposal before. She must be famous around these parts. Maybe she's the only whore in town - a worn out, crustaceous old hag, who once held a gypsy charm. Years ago, she swooned into the bzi, long, dark hair flowing like silk in the wind, eyes bright and piecing, dancing with mischief. She'd sit her customers down, hold their hands softly, and whisper of futures bright and prosperous.

She'd sell them Womne heather, freshly plucked from the fields of her fatherland, and dance around fires on moonlit nights with gay bohemian abandon. Then, hard times were fallen upon. The heather ran out, and all the fortunes were told. Rent was due, and she was broke. She sat, heavy-hearted, eyes misted with tears, gazing into the mirror. She'd seen the look in local eyes as she swayed down the streets. She knew the thoughts in their heads. And so, a legend was born. We politely refuse the advances of the moto guys, but they keep circling, coming back to ask again, in case we change our minds.

Gregg is adamant - he wants to let this guy know exactly how he feels about this "madame". He explains with harsh language that no means no, that he has no intention of taking up the offer, no matter how many times it's made. We stop for a bite to eat. I get a phone call from Kat, telling us that the guy from the hotel is furious because we haven't made it back for midnight. No, the brave warriors must find another path, another activity to pass the time. The answer is the Internet. Many have set out on such a quest in Tam Dao. So far, none have had success. At first, they seem to stumble right across it.

The sign outside the hotel clearly says "Internet" - this is no mistake. They venture inside, stirring a villager in his bed within. But what about the sign? The sign, it clearly says - "No internet! The three send off a volley of abuse to cover their tracks as they hastily retreat. Then, a little further down the track, another sign. This time, they are more cautious. Inside, the result is the same. They decide to use diplomacy rather than insult the mountain dweller, and are given directions to a possible location for the legendary inter-web. With renewed vigor, they set off. At the bottom of the trail, they come across a small shack. Their collective hearts miss a beat as they see the notice.

They step quietly, not sure of what lies within. Then, they see her. A small, simply dressed woman, she shuffles out of the shadows, hands outstretched in welcome. She leads them into the back, to a single computer terminal, and invites them to be seated. Their eyes are wide. Their pulses race. Could it be they have finally stumbled on the fabled treasure of old? Dr B is the first to log on. The other sit, hardly daring to breath.

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This is indeed the internet of Tam Dao, but the legend neglects to tell one thing; it's really, really, really shit. After a painful ten minutes spent logging into hotmail, Dr. B relents, and The Magic Man takes a seat. Another ten minutes of intense frustration pass. One or two emails are opened. There is no time for replies to be sent. The Intellectual is crushed. He has come so far for his holy grail, and now cannot even bring himself to look upon the low-resolution screen. She pauses, and looks them over. He eyes dart from face to face, her tongue flickers like a viper. Are you insane? The warriors know it, and the old woman knows it.

We hop contra an island, and proprietary, into a robust, impressive network of people. They journey at the date. Tomorrow, we do to war.

In Yen Bai, or Hanoi, the internet costs around or dong per hour. For a third of the time, the old wench is charging more than double the price. What a fucking whore. The Magic Man jen apoplectic with rage. He takes out a d note, and places it in the palm of the old woman. The other two are more wary of their opponent. They can sense her strange, witchy powers. The Intellectual pays her another d, bzi then they all leave, scarred and broken after the ordeal. She watches them leave with hooded eyes. They slink away, beaten, tails between their legs. She lets out a low, ye cackle. They thought they could come and surf the net with impunity.

They thought it would be medium to high speed, that I'd provide quality of service and value for money. They could not have been more mistaken. She freezes, and turns slowly. She recognises the small, balled frame. She sees the flash of his silver jacket, and she knows. He curls his fists and cracks his knuckles. She lets out a hiss, venomous spittle dripping from her fangs. He must fight this cantankerous, tight-fisted old tart, and if the honor of him and his warriors is to be restored, he must kick the living shit out of her. Foil our simple inventions and enjoy Find ass to other anal fuck ebony gif sex movies for freehere on PornMD.

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