What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my blog.
Apologies to the 10 dudes who click on these posts every week hoping to get a taste of the Bangkok gogo scene, but I’m currently not in-country so the following tripe is not redlight-related. I’ve been in LA for just over a week, and so far it hasn’t been as awful as I expected. The food and wine are fantastic. The weather’s been mostly great. If not for the fact that my mother never stops talking, it’d be a pretty pleasant trip so far. And it all started with the best transpacific flight of my life.
I flew with Starlux—a new airline out of Taipei. ‘Twas my 2nd time with them, and based on both experiences, I will never fly with anyone else ever again. These folks are the tits. Here’s how the latest journey shook out…
On Friday I was on the BTS by noon for a 16.00 flight. A faram (farang clam) had her head wrapped in a pashmina, using it to cover her nose and mouth as though she might catch cooties from the other passengers. She looked like a lunatic. And sure, maybe she was trying to be polite because there were mask-wearers on the train and she clearly didn’t have one, but neither did her male companion and he seemed unfazed.
Transfer from the green line to the air port rail link went smoothly. I got up the stairs just as the train arrived. Watching the weary farang disembarking on their way to start their Thailand holiday broke my heart a little bit. I wished I was one of them, already back home in TLOS—the greatest country on Earth—instead of leaving it.
It’d been years since I last took this route, and I noticed something new. While the signs for stations have always been in Thai and English, they’re now also printed in Mandarin. I guess Thailand knows who currently butters their bean buns.
Suvarnabhumi is super easy these days, at least for those who’re bailing. I even had the added hiccup of 3 days’ overstay. I blame my lack of semiretirement forethought. It took two minutes to fix. The business class lounge is in the new terminal, much of which is still empty with lounges still under construction, which requires a one-minute jaunt by train through a tunnel. On arriving, the place was empty save for me and two sinos. There was a self-serve bar, sandwiches, salad, gang kiow wan, krapow, a roast pork dish, steamed veg, and spaghetti with bacon. I had the latter, which was uncharacteristically spicy. The chef went a bit nuts with the red chilis. I washed it down with a mimosa and guavosa—both self-constructed by adding the respective juice from the breakfast nook. After three of each -osa, I switched to black ruskies and fever trees (Campari and ginger ale). Those two do NOT go well together, by the way. Then it was time to board.
The trip to Taipei is a shorter leg, so the plane is smaller. There were only eight business class seats, thus we the BC were a minority of superiority. I’m kidding—mostly. I don’t look down on economy class people. In fact, several smoking hot Thai chicks passed me on their way to the back of the plane. I myself was stuck next to a middle-aged ladyboy who was on her way to Frisco to visit her farang husband. The stewardess nervously asked her how she would like to be addressed. The LB didn’t understand, so I asked her for her nickname in Thai and then told the flight staffer to just call her “Balloon.” To be fair, she was a lovely person, and crazily, only the 2nd Thai I’ve been sat next to after 14 such flights to the US. On takeoff, we both prayed to our respective deities that the plane wouldn’t crash.
Before takeoff, the flight staff asked if I’d switch seats so a mom could sit with her child. I of course obliged, and was rewarded with a video system that only showed kids’ content. Luckily, I’d downloaded Season 1 of “The Three Body Problem” on my laptop.
Dinner was braised tenderloin with veg and potatoes au gratin. I paired it with a red from Medoc. Dessert was chocolate mousse cake plus three glasses of champagne, followed by a short nap and then Taipei.
On disembarking, the flight attendant asked why I wasn’t staying a few days in Taiwan before heading onward to LA. I didn’t know how to respond, since the thought never crossed my mind. I thought about saying, “Well if I can spend the time with you, I’ll gladly stick around,” or “Meh, I’d rather not be here when China storms the beaches.” Instead, I kept my fat mouth shut.
The Starlux lounge in Taipei, which has been moved to Section D, resembles the set from a Star Trek movie. The toilets are the awesome Japanese Ai ones like in that one episode of South Park. The tables in the dining area had a QR code to scan for the restaurant menu, and there was also a small buffet with a few items. I got braised beef in truffle mushroom glaze, and deep-fried pork in Kyoto sauce. Both were delightful. And for red wine they served Stag’s Leap Petite Sirah, which retails for $40 a bottle in Cali.
On boarding the long leg, I’d never seen so many “special needs” passengers. It figures that a flight to LA would be rife with panty wastes who felt they were disadvantaged or marginalized. Fucking Americans are professional victims. My seat was pulled right out of an episode of Star Trek TNG. It had a door that, once closed, blocked out the entire rest of the plane. Once I sat down, I couldn’t see any other passengers. I threw off my shoes, donned the set of fluffy slippers provided, and that’s when a stewardess handed me a set of flannel pajamas, which I didn’t wear. But talk about luxury. I almost asked when to expect the complimentary handjob, but thought better of it.
The flight was miraculous. After a lamb-and-Bordeaux dinner, the staff converted my seat into a bed and I knocked-out for five hours. Then I rewatched a couple of Equalizer movies and then the flight was over, at which point I entered the worst airport on the planet Earth. One good thing is, they don’t screen anyone entering the country anymore. They didn’t even look at my passport. They just took my photo and voila! Then on trying to board the airport shuttle, the driver announced passengers can no longer pay using cash. And since I don’t have an American bank card, I wasn’t permitted to board. Every minute of the journey was perfect, until arriving in the US. 10 minutes in America and I was already fucked up the ass.
The following day, I hit up the best burger joint in the world: In-N-Out. I got a double-double animal style, which means it came with heaps of chopped grilled onions, pickles, and extra sauce, plus animal style fries. I posted a pic to X, and some dickhead made a snide comment, so I of course blocked him. Note to followers: don’t shitpost on my content. I’ll block your ass instantly. Speaking of, I posted a photo of my buddy–gogo dancer Nuchy–last week and some stupid farang clam commented “Not impressed.” And so I blocked her stupid ass as well. How retarded are people in current year, who think that 1–their opinion means more to the world than a steaming pile of shit and 2–saying something cuntish won’t get a cunt blocked? Fucking retarded.
I also got to revisit some good Mexican places near my childhood home, namely Los Toros in Chatsworth for a margarita and a chimichanga, plus fish tacos at Neptune’s Net, a few miles north of Malibu. The plan is to pig out at as many of my old faves as my body will allow. I expect to return to Thailand much, much fatter than when I left.
And while I’ll always prefer the beaches of Thailand to those of California (who wouldn’t) it’s worth making the trip out to the coast, especially in spring, to see the stark, stunning beauty of the Pacific. The scenery from Malibu to San Francisco defies belief.
While here in LA, I’ve been able to sample the local radio once more. For anyone under 30, radio is how people used to listen to music. I was raised on rock alternative courtesy of 106.7 FM, KROQ. It introduced me to The Smiths, The Cure, Joy Division, the Buzzcocks, Depeche Mode, the Cult, X, Bowie, the Violent Femmes, Talking Heads, and on and on. In the early 2000s, radio was ruined by a company called Clear Channel (later changing its name to iHeartRadio) that homogenized all music across stations and states, causing KROQ to turn to shit. And every year when I come back, I check in on them to see what awful shit they’re turning out. Imagine my surprise when I heard 311, Foo Fighters, and Dramarama. I thought, wow, they just play “oldies” from before they turned to shit. But then the new song from Kings of Leon came on, and that was straight auditory diarrhea, followed by abominations from some cunts called “Lovely the Band,” “Dirty Heads,” and “Cannons.” I wanted to stick spikes in my ears.
A shocking but unsurprising sight in LA was the beautiful blue sky strafed by chemtrails. These days the govt doesn’t even hide it. A report goes out to people’s iPhones every time they change the weather now. A year ago, it was “You tinfoil hat!” Now it’s “Oh yeah, we totally do that, it’s fine.”
Since this post is straight-up boring for anyone not interested in transpacific business class travel, allow me to favor you with a slideshow comprised of some of Bangkok’s best back tattoos, imbedded at the bottom of this blog. Also, I uploaded a video of the highlights of Starlux Business Class to my YouTube channel–link below.
That’s all the non-monger that’s fit to ponder for now, friends. Sorry for all the typos. I didn’t proofread. Check back next Sunday for another summary of this redlight life. In the meantime, you can read more Bangkok-related stuff on my Substack: https://bangkokseven.substack.com/
Artwork and photo albums from inside the gogos are available for digital download at https://bentbox.co/bangkoksevenart at super-low prices.
Slideshows from previous blogs going back several years can be found at https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
Follow me on Twitter/X @BangkokSeven for daily pics from the redlight, and until next time fellow BK Bukowskis and Bathshebas, keep your balls (or tits) warm, your beer cold, and cheers to another week above ground in the greatest country on Earth: Thailand.
Thai chick-related posters and prints on canvas can be found at
https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
Pro Tip Post-Script: When traveling international, never ever check a bag. If you have too much stuff for just a carry-on, then you’re a woman, and you shouldn’t be traveling. Also, don’t travel overseas with women. Just you, a carry-on, and the world as your oyster. Leave the clams at home.
