[sic] from the records of a mate... R.I.P., P.!

"Three coaches roll on the express way ____ from Don Muang airport, BKK to the inner city. In front police choppers & police Camris, behind them the same scenario. They all got their headlights on. Not because of the dark. The Thai day provides sufficient sight. It is for show. To make the caravan of the beautiful look more important. And the competitors of the Miss Universe pageant sure are important.
In one of the feverously wild painted coaches, mainly comic characters to make it more difficult for people to steal the vehicles and sale them to Cambodia or Laos, sits Vulva Hopdivava. Not particularly excited, she tries to straighten her tracking suit as if it were the shiny baby blue bikini she was to wear during round 2 of the competition. For now she’s fine, can mentally rehearse her lines about how world peace would be better compared to war etc. and listen to Tool on her iPod. “No Quarter” from the Salival-EP is
playing. Vulva leans back as the lyrics burst out over a metallic wall of bass and drum: They ask no quarter
They have no quarter.
“Fuck you, you cunts”, she thinks. “I’ll be buggered up my arse, cummed down my throat and shot into space before I will give a fucking quarter!” Having been brought up in accordance with the teachings of some good religion, she shivers, shrugs and reassures her self by taking a look around that everybody else wouldn’t even go through her just imagined ordeal to win this. Her tits are nice and firm indeed, her hair raven black as that dick back in Belarus seemingly never got tired of telling her, her eyes watery blue; in short, it still was enough to beat those wanna-be Tyra Banks back there without too much effort.
Last year, she went through all the whole charade. She won and they put her on instant noodle cups, on billboards and made commercials at a cheap studio somewhere. They casted some middle aged folks who represented her parents. In it, her “dad” seemingly absent-mindedly went through family photo albums while her “mother” was trying to pick up the Thai language from her. It all got funny when her commercial father used female pronouns while repeating what she had just said. They all look like they were on a bunch of drugs while doing the spot. And, dear God, they were. All paid for by the production company whose chairman was trying to poke her for the whole term of that pageant. That fat, bloated fuck. How he tried.
At least, they had quality stuff, no kidding. So everybody on the set sniffed and kept it on the tongue as long as possible. “Was good fun, though, you know, like…”, Miss Canada proclaimed on that occasion before she fell over and drew a dark red line down the wall near the girl room’s basin in the Conrad Hotel at the Finalist’s celebration after hitting her nose job-nose on the tiles in authentic Sukkhumvit period style.
She really fancied…oh, crap! The coach bents down in the front, ploughing through the falling motorcyclists and the Camiris whose drivers didn’t expect an ambush like that. Screams might are heard, if you are of sadistic nature, and bones give in to the overwhelming force of masses of steel, paint and what else was involved, for sure.
SLIDDING, memory, a lot of rude words; f-f-f-f-finally. the metal monster has come to rest. The earplugs lost grip of her ears in the incident, her track suite still fits for some reason.
Vulva Hopdivava, Miss Universe 2005, unbuckles her seatbelt and crawls through the aisle to the nearest exit.

It later turned out, after the investigation into the incident that somebody had thrown a 0.6l bottle of water filled with urine out of the window of a black Toyota Pickup at approximately 150 km/h. The plastic bottle apparently hit the nasal bone of the foremost motorcycle policeman. The fracture caused by the impact caused his eyes to water which, then, caused him to fall of his motorcycle. The Honda bike gained momentum and shoved the engine of the following Camry back into the passenger compartment. So much so that the driver, Pol. Col. Ake Suvanpornpum, lost not only his legs, but also control over the car which made sparking contact with the concrete barrier and crashed into the coach which was carrying Vulva Hopdivava. Needless to say, the car surrendered. But not without a fight. Its mass caused the bus 500m to slow down and finally end its journey at high speed"