What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession.
I left the United States permanently in 2008 for several reasons. First, I couldn’t keep my head above water financially while living in California. The cost of living just breaks the backs of the middle class, and I was one of them. Second, realized I didn’t want to pay taxes to a corrupt govt that used my money to start wars overseas. Third, I realized that both political parties are on the same side behind closed doors and their unified goal is to screw the American people. And finally, when World War 3 inevitably kicks off I wanted to be far away from where the bombs drop.
My first foray overseas was to the UK, where I lived and worked in Essex. Then I moved to Seoul, then Panama. Then I finally found a forever home here in TLOS—the greatest country on Earth. Today, as wars are poised to kick off in Taiwan and the Middle East, a proxy war between NATO and Russia continues in Ukraine, culture riots explode in the US and Europe, and the FBI plans an insurrection if Trump wins, and a national collapse if Kamal-face wins—all while global currencies are close to plunging now that the Petrol-Dollar has ended, and UK citizens are being arrested for what they share on Facebook, it’s hard not to get pessimistic. I hope you’re living your best life, reader, because we teeter on the edge of a cascade of world-shattering events. Yes, we in Thailand can hope that it won’t affect us as harshly, or at least not as quickly. But whatever continental shifts take place in the next year, it will cause permanent and devastating changes to the “live-the-dream” status we’ve enjoyed as expats up till now. I know I keep harping on it, but it’s worth repeating: get busy livin’ while you still can.
This portly punter does so by example. I’ve decided to live high on the hog by eating well, smoking well, and saying ‘yes’ to every clunge that may lunge my way. Speaking of, a gogo dancer I’ve known for years who never consented to banging suddenly messaged out of the blue last week to ask for a playdate. I’ve wanted to nail her for so long and had given up on it ever happening, so when she reached out, I jumped at the chance. Long story short, she was absolute shit in the sack. What a fucking disappointment. Still, I’m glad I got to scratch that itch, though. Now I know, and I can tick that chick off my to-do list.
Early in the week I schlepped out out to look for food and also smoke a DE Kentucky Fire Cured Chunky size cigar. I wound up at Derby King for gai medmamuang and got my order in just seconds before a dozen squawking Chinese tourists blew in like a tornado. Moments later it started to piss down and I was fucked for where to go next. My options were limited as I can only drink a Southern Comfort with that type of stogie and in the Pong area it’s exclusively available at Shenanigans, Virgin, and G’s. I opted for Shagz and waded out onto the flooded terrace to try to keep my smoke from the other patrons. Five minutes later, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had started. After three SoCos and a rich, mellow smoke session I paid my checkbin. As the barmaid went to get my change, two cars on Surawong collided head on, flipping one on its side. That was enough excitement to cause the staff to completely forget to bring my change. If China wanted to invade Thailand it would be so easy, because anytime anything beyond the routine happens, the Thais get brain freeze. Eventually, they clicked back into work mode and ran my 500b over to me.
Then I sped through the 3 Kings like shit through a goose. I don’t know why I was in such a hurry, but I did slow down in New2 for reasons I mentioned in last week’s post: there’s currently a surge of hot chicks in that gogo and it’s a sight to behold.
In Virgin there were two girls I previously put bait on hooks for. One sported an attitude. The other balked completely. Now I play them off each other by alternating my attention. I tipped one while ignoring the other. Virgin’s boss has removed the high-top tables from outside the bar, ostensibly to kill 2 birds with one stone. First, it declutters the gogo’s entrance, forcing the off-duty girls to vape and eat their krapow somewhere else and second, the somewhere else is now 30 meters north at the front of Dok Bar. I assume the boss is trying to draw attention to it in hopes of luring more tourists inside.
Any man who’s spent time around herds of females knows that when girls are besties, their menstrual cycles tend to sync up. And if you’ve ever wondered how that affects an entire gogo bar’s worth of pole kitties, the answer is: profoundly. Last week, several of King’s 1’s best dancers were at the door in hostess dresses. When I asked one why she wasn’t dancing, she said her period had her nearly paralyzed. I got similar responses from 3 other chickies. Not coincidentally, I had three cancelled harem appointments last week for the same reason. Thankfully I was able to talk one into a bj and another into cleaning my apartment, proving that even a bleeding clam is still useful.
It happened that one of my fave k1 girls was off-pole so I had her over for a drink. Imagine my shock when she returned to the table with 2 sojus and 2 bills! Turns out that this week all 3 kings have instituted the same rule as vi4gin: when a customer sits down with a girl it’s an automatic 2 drink minimum. But unlike in Virgin where the staff said “it’s cool, you’re Seven, you don’t have to buy two drinks,” this hot little King’s girl just stepped right on my nuts. I asked to speak to the boss but he never materialized, which I’m sure was a move to save face. But I was determined to be burned only this one time. I knew to preempt any attempt (preemptempt for short, copyright BKK7) to do the same in the future. I ain’t no goddam tourist. But I used the rip-off to my advantage by guilting the girl, who up till then hadn’t added me to her Line, into doing so. So I’m one step closer to reeling in that fish.
Well, the new gogo policy of demanding customers buy 2 ladydrinks to sit with a dancer has the potential to cut my redlight spending. Now instead of getting a drink for Offy, one for Noey, and one for the new 18-year-old hostess, I planned to buy nothing for nobody. But then the next evening when I rocked up to K1 and Offy ran over, I told her “No drink!” She asked why. I said I already knew about the new 2 drink minimum and she and the barmaid said, “It’s OK because you are very VIP.” Still, I was irked from the precious night’s chicanery. I did buy her a tequila though. Then I stepped out to smoke a Cuban and the hostess I’ve got on the hook pretended to be sad that I hadn’t paid attention to her in a couple days, so I got her an OJ.
On Thursday I had my youngest conc over for a bj. She’s a deepthroat artist at 19, which to me is a paradox. How does someone so young learn the technique so well? I guess we have the internet age to thank for that. She likely got trained-up on Pornhub.
On Friday I was all set to go nuts in BKK. There was a party at The Game, and a Soi Cowboy VIP said he might want a tour of Patpong. My number 1 conc was supposed to come over first. It should’ve been an epic night. Instead, I bought a few cigars from Session, then wandered over to G’s and got wrecked. Two pints, a double SoCo, and a Kentucky Fire Cured later, I could barely walk. Because all that was on an empty stomach—because I’m back on keto and intermittent fasting. And before some bloke messages to ask me “what’s keto?” fucking Google it, I’m not a fucking search engine. I limped to the K1 terrace for a black ruskie and afterward when I went to pay the bin, three gogo clams chased me up the soi, enraged that I left without buying them drinks. I floated on a cloud of booze to K Corner and melted into a seat. I briefly wondered if I could get away with a short nap. Probably no one would bother me but I decided I’m not quite old enough to snooze in a gogo mid-monger, so I didn’t. 3rd Eye Blind pumped my headphones and I had a temporary flashback of cruising around Malibu in my convertible black-on-black Mustang Cobra. I had platinum blonde hair and a black goatee at the time, and wreaked havoc on the freeways of LA with drunken abandon. It’s a miracle I survived. Flash forward to a Bangkok gogo bar and that spirit endures. I feel indestructible.
After cocktails in K1, New2, K Corner, and Virgin I circled back to the K1 terrace to make a King’s hostess happy. She plopped down with her pad krapow gai and fed me a couple bites. Goddam if it wasn’t the best krapow I’ve ever had, in 14 years in country. I asked her where she got it from. She gestured at the Night Market, as if that was supposed to help me narrow it down.
Saturday after a bimonthly conc came by, I was famished. The only food in the fridge was a can of black coffee and a hard boiled egg, so I set out Pongward, bored as hell of it after 4 nights in a row. But where else am I gonna get grilled prawn and BBQ chicken on a stick? First though, I got my drink on. K1 had no open seats. I did a lap in there, fist bumping and wai’ing around 15 girls as tourists stared. As I made my lap, a girl I don’t know grabbed my arm and said “Seven, nobody bought me a drink yet tonight.” Jeez, the cheek of these girls. Just because I’m the Baron von Pong doesn’t mean I’m going to buy a drink for every anonymous clam who asks. I did slip her a hundy though, while half a dozen other girls I don’t know looked on hungrily.
Then I fitted to New2 where there was just one other customer ar 21.00. Then I had a quick one in k corner where I got one of only two open seats. None of my usual galpals were there. One girl who I auditioned for the harem a couple weeks ago gave me the side eye from the stage. I smiled amiably but she wasn’t having it. I guess she really resented not making the cut.
Then I went to the krapow place in the food court that made the best krapow of my life that I sampled from the hostess the night before. The lady pointed to a basket of chilis and asked “you can?” “Phet godai,” I replied. The plate was a satanic volcano. Chilis stuck out from the dish like corn kernels in the stool of someone on a corn-based diet. I forgot it’s the responsibility of the patpong night market to give tourists something to Tweet about, so any farang pretending to handle Thai spicy gets their ass handed to them on a plate. But after living in Krabi for years and regular meals at an Isaan style restaurant, I’m immune to it. Sure, I broke a sweqt, but that was as far as my suffering went.
Out of the families that cram into the beer garden to chomp on their chicken sticks and pad thai, the ones who spend the most time staring in the doorway of k1 are the fat, gross moms. They lean over for a good gander, then present a face of disgust, then go back to shoveling food in their bullets, then look back at King’s again, then shake their heads, then look at their husband’s who’re taking care to look anywhere except at the gogo. Then the heifers look back through the doorway. I’ve already given my theory about why this happens but here it is again: these clams are realizing that, although the West has been purged of patriarchy, and the women there have succeeded in catching all men by the balls, there are still places in the world like Thailand, where a man can have a hot, young, sexy girl in lingerie meet all his physical needs for around $60, thus rendering all farang women 100% useless. I can actually watch this fact dawn on them in real time. Their faces go from revulsion to realization to terror in a matter of seconds. It’s so beautiful, I get a little choked up at the sight.
Whenever I sit on the K1 terrace, random off-duty dancers come and share my table. I know why the do it. It’s so passing perverts don’t harass them. But for me it’s the other way round. They’re my bodyguards, because no one will fuck with me if I’m surrounded by sex kittens.
If you read these posts regularly you’ll know I got banned from Nana for smacking a wad of wet dick cheese named Shitbag Bob in the head. But that won’t stop me from reporting on it. If Stickman can blog about Thailand based completely on hearsay, I can report on Nana events from what randos tell me. So here’s a bit of that.
Ya, the tall, slim drink of water who used to be one of the main attractions at the now-closed XXX Lounge in Patong now dances at Bun Bun 2. She abandoned her friends for some reason, whore now divided up between Twister, Rainbow 5, Essence, and Tycoon. Geisha continues to draw crowds with its near-pornographic bath tub feature. Red Dragon should be the most popular gogo in the Plaza purely for its lineup of hotties but for unknown reasons it’s not. The best beer prices and drink specials (and most expat-friendly tunes) are at Angelwitch. And that’s about it. Nana continues to exude the kind of corporate, Disneyland-like vibe that attracts tourist and makes expats throw up in their mouths.
In other news, an additional reason for my choice to leave the United States 16 years ago—in addition to the list at the start of this post—was, I’m ashamed to say, because of a woman. My last farang girlfriend. When she abandoned me after two years for someone she perceived to be worth more (a manchild she left a mere three years later, by the way) I was paralyzed with despair, and would’ve drank myself to death in short order had I not ejected from America like a pilot from a crashing plane. Flash forward to last week. After nothing from the wench but silence for a decade and a half, she suddenly messaged me like a lightning strike on a cloudless day. Her specific line was “I think of you often, and hope we can rekindle our friendship.” Now you and I know that a man needs a female farang friend like a fish needs a bicycle. I’ve no intention of carrying on with a Caucasian clam (Cauclam for short, copyright BKK7). But I was interested to hear how the years’ve been treating her. In the time between seeing her last, she upgraded from the dude whom she left me for, got married and divorced, and is now a 30something cat lady with a career instead of a family. I’d like to say that the news of her failed attempts at love gave me a sense of equilibrium, as if the rotation of the world had finally been put right. But the truth is, this Bangkok redlight life provided all the healing my dead heart might’ve needed in the aftermath of a silly, selfish white girl. She asked me what I was up to. I replied from a seat in a gogo bar while an 18-year-old gently massaged my junk, and only said “Life in Bangkok is treating me well.” The slag doesn’t deserve a deeper explanation.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is The Strip’s Final Year Part 2 and can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-the-strips-final-year-part-2/
but only if you become a Member. The price tag is $1 per month, and new content is added weekly. I’m too dumb to figure out how to link the weekly posts to a single button on my website, so I post the links on my social every Friday, and provide a summary of all posts at the end of each month. Sorry for the inconvenience.
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 artwork can be purchased at
https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
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: If after a night of redlighting you find yourself too drunk to sleep, lay down on your right side. As soon as you start to get the spins, open your phone and start watching YouTube videos. After about 10 minutes, the spins will stop and you’ll be able to fall asleep. You’re welcome.
