What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my blog.
After a week in BKK, my vacationing brother petitioned to return to Pattaya, where he’d left behind a trio of lasses who provided bedroom exercise for him during his stay. He found the Bangkok girls to be overpriced, overused, and overly-full of themselves. I was happy to have my old bed back in Silom for a few days, as were my harem, who’d been waiting around for me since taking my Cali holiday at the start of April.
We spent our days eating in various places around town—mainly Shenanigan’s and Paddy Reilly, plus a stop at Basket Case’s new location on Suk Soi 6. I’ll posted a review on my Substack last week. My sib spent his nights in the comfort of his hotel room with a former NanaP girl, leaving me free to pop out to Patpong a few times.
On Sunday, we had the roast at Paddy Reilly, then napped all afternoon. After sundown, we wound up chasing fat tail on Soi 7 and 7/1, where I was reminded why I never go to these locations. The Soi 7 beer bars resemble the town of mutants on Mars in the Schwarzenegger version of “Total Recall.” Soi 7/1 was the outdoor version of the Star Wars cantina from Episode 4. When an hour of drinking and walking in circles had passed, he gave up and went back to his room whilst I busted out T’Pong. King’s II was 90% full despite a quiet Night Market. For the brief time I was back in BKK, the city on the whole seemed subdued, maybe because it’s low season, and/or it was a 3-day weekend with Coronation Day on Monday.
A young solo Nipon snagged a short-haired hottie in a shiny red bikini. They sat negotiating a shorttime session. He gestured as if to say, “Is there a hotel nearby where we can just pop over and pound?” She consulted several other girls before nodding. Then they proceeded to finish their drinks, and I didn’t stick around to see if he closed the deal.
Every seat in Virgin was taken except the high-top where the mamasan typically sits, so I took her stool. The staff were once again overwhelmed with the number of customers. A gogo dancer offered to fetch me a beer but I declined, saying it wasn’t her job. It turned out to be a mistake, because a beverage didn’t appear for a full 10 minutes. In the meantime, I played with a tit or two, just to keep my hands busy. Then a seat opened up and I was finally able to order. After one sip of Heiney, half a dozen farang—men and women and their adult children—stormed the stage for a dance-off. Two members of their crew took video of the crime against puntanity (punter humanity, copyright BKK7).
On Tuesday, though, he insisted on coming with, so we landed on the K1 terrace for black ruskies and Dre Estate Papas Fritas. Then we slipped into the gogo where a girl practically leaped from the stage into my brother’s lap. Several of the staff commented on my haircut. ‘Twas a dramatic change for yours truly. I went from looking like Jeff Lebowski to George McFly.
King’s 1’s rosties (roster of hotties) has grown so big, you have to do that thing where your gaze lingers on a girl, and the longer it lingers, that’s time you’re losing out looking at someone else. Only in Thailand, baby. And it was just as well, because my sib got locked-in with the aforementioned big-assed stage leaper for three fucking drinks. I’d call it a rookie mistake but he had a blast with her and even got her Line. Then he asked about her shorttime fee and she quoted 4,000—par for the course in a Nipon-dominant gogo. He about fell out of his seat.
Then we went to King’s II where the girls again took an immediate liking to my bro. I don’t know what cologne he had on that night—if I had to guess I’d say pizza sauce—but it was a pole kitty magnet. And it was more than just his charisma. Everyone down to the last girl in KII was downright jovial. A girl took her top off and threw it at my sib so I told him to put a hundy in her undies. The rest of the girls let out a cheer, and he said he wanted to tip the girl next to her. I put the kaibash on that. Start tipping ancillary girls and the next thing you know, the whole rota is lined up waiting for cash. A gogo bar is like a black hole for your money. Once the gravitational pull takes hold, it can suck out the entire contents of your wallet into a dark oblivion.
King’s Corner was a raucous party as well. On the walk over, I was accosted by hostesses from King’s pool hall, who insisted the new King’s Castle “2” (actually KC4) would open at the weekend. But after a quick text to Jack Nites, he said the King’s higher-ups predict an end-of-the-month open. Hopefully someone swung by last night (at time of posting) to double-check. By then, I was back in Ptown so my bro could get his beach swerve on. There was so much newhotskinny ass in K Corner, my balls involuntarily grew three sizes, like a perverted Grinch on Christmas.
By Thursday afternoon we were back at View Talay 6 on the Beach Road in Ptown. After dropping my bags, I schlepped to the mall for laundry detergent so I could wash my brother’s clothes and as I was walking back, I almost couldn’t believe I was already back in Pattaya. I asked myself why I didn’t enjoy the previous visit, and realized it was because I was 99% focused on making sure my brother had a good time. I decided right then and there to not spend this whole beach holiday trying to keep him happy, and to spend at least some of the time doing stuff that I enjoy, which began that night on The 6 when the sib shorttimed a leviathan in a miniskirt. I did a lap of the soi, and the first thing I noticed was the uptick in fuckable girls (hotskinnies) in the bars. My eyes got wider and wider as I walked. Then I spotted a petite plain-Jane sans tattoos or plastic surgery in a cheerleader outfit buying moo taud. I followed her back to her bar and bought her a couple drinks. Her name was Rainy—20 years old from Buriram. She was sweet, laughed easily, and wrapped her arms around me like my pudgy gut was a flotation device in a sea of swarthy sex tourists. She told me she’d been on the job for five days after a recent move from BKK where she’s worked as a barista. She said she was still a little afraid of farang, but it wasn’t convincing. Still, I respected the game. Rainy was hot in that universal way where most men agree that she’s hot. I could tell by the half a dozen or so solo punters who took up stools all around us and watched her like hyaenas waiting for a lion to tire of its kill. The last time I experienced that was in The Strip in 2016 with my harem girl Bow. Back then, I took pleasure in buying her drinks all night, effectively cock blocking all other comers. It was fun to watch them slowly lose patience and give up, then try back the next night only to find me already there, monopolizing her time.
After two drinks with Rainy, and a renewed faith that retiring in Ptown wouldn’t be so bleak, I trapsed over to Benders to say hi to Jersey Dan. Four shirtless douchebags were on their 4th lap down the soi. They reveled in the girls’ screams, and anytime a lass grabbed ahold of them they responded by spanking and slapping them, as if the internalized rage they kept hidden all their incel lives made for an appropriate reaction to bar girls on The 6. Dudes like that should be forced to take classes on redlight etiquette. On Twitter, I called them Americans, but then many dudes commented that they couldn’t be Yanks because their tattoos and haircuts were a bit too douchey. Plus, they had manchels (man satchels)—something American tourists wouldn’t be caught dead waring. I agreed after the fact, realizing my mistake was assuming only Americans would go topless on The 6. And 99 out of 100 times, they are. This is because Yanks tend to think they can do whatever they want, whenever they want, wherever they want. If a chick takes bikini selfies in a temple, guaranteed she’s American. A dude in the mall wearing wet swimming trunks and nothing else? American. Twitter couldn’t reach a consensus on where they were actually from, though. My second guess was some former Eastern Block country.
As I walked down to meet my bro post-shorttiming, a former 6 girl who found a small bit of fame on Onlyfans during the scamdemic and left the beer bar scene, returned to The 6 with her Arab boyfriend, decked-out in a black satin minidress, grinning from ear to ear at the attention and catcalls by various girls in the bars. You might recognize her from the photo. Her name’s Ae, and she once ruled Wrath Bar like a boss babe, thanks to her pretty face, lithe bod, and superfun attitude. At first, I had the urge to stop her and say hello. “I’m Seven. You member me, na?” but I resisted the impulse and instead melted into the crowd as she bathed in the recognition of the unwashed masses. That sticky, underside-of-the-table attention. She still looked good, I’ll give her that, if only a bit tired. I can’t remember if I took the attached photo…if it’s not mine, thanks and apologies to whoever snapped it.
The next day, it pissed down all afternoon so my sib and I stayed in our respective rooms and binge watched TV. For him, ‘twas the last season of the Sopranos. For me, The Man in the High Castle. Then a Tree Town girl took up a few hours of my brother’s time while I skipped back to hang with Rainy on The 6. Whilst canoodling with her, a Yank got into an argument with the mamasan. He bought a drink for a girl, and she ordered fruit juice. So he insisted that the price should be cheaper than a regular ladydrink since there was no booze in it. Fucking hell, dude. The cost of the drink has nothing to do with what’s in it. You’re paying for the privilege of the girl’s time, and taking one step towards bonertown. Not the generic, low-end brand of whiskey in the glass.
When Rainy asked me to take her upstairs and I was faced with the nightmare of a Soi 6 shower, jizz-stained mattress, and her strange vagine, I took a pass, and instead jumped a baht bus to Walking Street. Traffic on the Beach Road was horrific. It took nearly 30 minutes to get to WS. I shared the baht bus with two Greeks (Greece is my go-to country when a farang is slightly ethnic and I don’t recognize the language they’re speaking) who were sat with their freshly-barfined ladies. The tension was slight but palpable. The men carried on yammering at each other while the women, who clearly didn’t know each other, tried to achieve a state of suspended animation that would last until they reached the hotel.
My first stop was of course XS where the hotskinny just about blew the doors off the joint. One good thing I can say, after this most recent visit to Ptown, is XS and Pin-Up no longer have a monopoly on hotness. Sure, they have more hot girls than anyone else, but now there’s plenty of sexy to go around. So the used tampon that writes for Dave the Rave can stop wingeing that XS and Pin-Up are evil for hoarding all the pretty girls. ‘Taint true anymore. On this trip, I saw rockin’ hot girls in half a dozen bars on The 6, plus a handful of gorgeous girls spread out across gogos on Walking Street–even one or two in LK Metro. It’s a really positive sign for mongoisseurs (monger connoisseurs, copyright BKK7).
XS has three rotations of 40 girls each, and a rota lasts around 10 minutes, so if you order a draft beer and drink like I do, it’s gone before the 2nd set of chicks even take the stage. It’s an ingenious plan for keeping butts in seats and beers flowing. At Bangkok-punter speed, three rotations equals three downed drafts. On Saturday the three rotas were broken into 1—hotskinnies in white schoolgirl cosplay, 2—medium-sized chicks in purple bikinis, and 3—buxom-chunkies in black lace. Bravo, XS. Bravo.
From there it was an easy jaunt to Fahrenheit. I immediately sought out my galpal Mina, who like last time seemed to be M.I.A. But then I spotted her, and understood how I could’ve missed her on my previous visit. She’d dyed her hair blonde and got a Thai nose job (in Thailand, girls get surgery to make their noses bigger—not smaller). I bought her a few drinks and we chatted for around half an hour. The girls in Fahrenheit are hot, flirty, and dangerous. They’re a bunch of sexy pickpockets, only instead of stealing your cash, they seduce from you using their sensual wiles. Before they could get all my money, I skipped over to Pin-Up. I said a quick hello to former harem girl Som and grabbed a seat between the two stages. Across from me sat an old, fat, bald farang with a goiter and a Jimmy Durante nose. On either side of him were the two hottest girls in the place. Thank God for Thailand.
Then, like a fish down a flushed toilet bowl I got sucked across the street to 79 Agogo where a large group of Nipons were having the time of their lives with shots all around for dancers, barmaids, bouncers, even the DJ. That crew of lunatics (crewnatics for short, copyright BKK7) turned the place out. There were two rotations, 5% of which were hot. But the party was rowdy, and even the fat girls appeared to be having a good time. Then I had what I call a Monger Problem. I departed the previous bar without taking a piss, which meant I’d need to stop in somewhere, order another beer, take a leak, and get caught in that catch-22 of pissing and drinking. I chose to duck into Opium because I’d never been in before. There was a 10% hottie quotient in there, and the vibe was suspiciously similar to XS. I wondered if it’s the same owner. I raced to the toilet, which was unisex and packed shoulder to shoulder with hot, bikini-clad dancers. I locked eyes with a smoking hot hottie mid-stream, and had the strangest feeling of falling in love while evacuating my bladder.
And that rounded out my little brother’s third week in-country. After posting this, we’ll head out for either a weekend buffet or a Sunday roast, and that’ll be the highlight of the day. Then he’ll have his afternoon Tree Town girl over and I’ll rewatch the John Wick series. He flies home on Thursday so I still have to chaperone him around town for a few more days, which will likely make next week’s blog as brief, bland and uneventful as this one. Apologies in advance.
In other news, after taking photos in the redlight for 10 years, I’m going to stop making the effort. That doesn’t mean I’m stopping completely, but it’s not going to be a priority going forward. For a long time, it was fun, as well as a privilege to be allowed to do it. And it allowed me to capture moments in the gogos and preserve them for all time. But lately, it’s garnered me nothing but aggravation. I feel pressured to produce content for free, when the price I pay in current year is the duplicitous ingratitude of bar owners. Plus, other Bangkok bloggers are stealing them and using them on their own social media, the fucking cunts. I want to go back to being a barfly, without hassles or the injection of stupid fucking retards into my world. 90% of the people on the planet are brain-dead. The concentration is even higher in the Bangkok gogo scene. Shout out to the cool blokes: Dennis in Dollhouse, Joey D in Angelwitch, The Bangkok Prince, Chris from XXX, and of course Jack Nites and his friends. They keep me from losing all love for the redlight. But I’m fed up with assholes who’re too stupid to know when to just say “Thank you for the plug” and the jealous, no-talent bloggers that constantly try to rain on my parade.
Over the course of the year, I’ll be putting my entire catalog behind the Members Only paywall on this website. So if you want to steal my photos, or if you just wanna see what the gogos were like from 2014 to 2024, you can—you’ll just have to fork out $1 per month. I’ll add new content every Friday, including lots of other gogo dancer-related content, just FYI, so it’s well worth the tiny price tag—especially for the fuckwits who plan to copy and paste them to their websites.
And that’s all the 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-centric stuff on my Substack: https://bangkokseven.substack.com/
Slideshows from previous blogs going back several years can be found at https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
My buddy Jack and I host a growing Facebook community with lots of nightlife-related content at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/thaiagogo
and I’ve got a small but robust group of pervs posting photos daily at a group called Super Hot Asians here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/374120690195407
Follow me on Twitter/X @BangkokSeven for daily monger material, along with these other profiles that’re chock full of photos of hotties:
@bar_thigh
@BangkokNightli2
Thai chick-related posters and prints on canvas can be purchased at
https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
Here’s a sample of some recently-added stuff:
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.
Pro Tip Post-Script: No pro tip for today. Except maybe, non illigitimi te carborundum.
