What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. I’ve got a short one for you this week, as I’m striving to stay out of the redlight and save money for an upcoming excursion to Vietnam. So I don’t have a lot of fodder to fashion into a worthwhile blog. What follows is less a blog than it is a random string of disjointed thought. Apologies in advance.
On Sunday I did a quick Pong and saw the most ungodly farang couple in Thailand history. Both short, fat, and unkempt. The dude sported green running shorts, rainbow socks, no shirt, and a backwards baseball cap. His Mrs wore a sundress and one of the spaghetti straps had fallen off her shoulder, exposing 80% of a fat pink teat. She seemed unaware, or worse, unfazed.
In K Corner, three portly well dressed Nipons sat with a trio of pole kitties negotiating a longtime price via Google translate. The dudes spoke into their phones in unison, then handed them to their respective lady who spoke into the phone and handed it back. This went on for some time, until everyone had settled on a number. Then it was all hugs and smiles and shoulder rubs. I’ll never get tired of seeing the patriarchy work in the favor of both genders the way God always intended. I think of my single and divorced friends in the US who have to endure the barbed-wire enema that is the white entitled female and my heart goes out to them. I don’t know how anyone makes a relationship work in present day America. The clams act like dudes, leaving the dudes with no place in the culture. No wonder they’re checking out. To all those dudes who’ve opted to play video games and watch porn instead of dating, I’ve one thing to say: sell your shit and buy a one way ticket to Thailand. The dream is real and you can live it.
In New2, all three VIP areas were taken up by groups of hammered Nipons. Four American assholes kept jumping up on the main stage and whistling that loud whistle that only white trash can do. I’m happy for any western dude who escapes the misandry of their home country and finds the poontang paradise that is TLOS, but for fuck’s sake, behave. Too many of these noobs let too loose. Rein it in, fuckers. One of my girls in there came to sit with me. She cuddled close, saying she forgot her jumper at home, so I popped out and got her a 100b pashmina. She about broke down in tears.
In current year there are gogos I don’t visit, because the owners and/or management were rude to me one time, and I don’t forgive. But the poor Thai hostesses don’t know that, so they always try to coax me inside and ask why I don’t go in there anymore. I don’t bother trying to explain, but I feel a bit bad for denying them. It’s not their fault the boss is a git.
In Virgin, Yok already had a customer, so I was liberated from her iron grip. It meant the continuation of a sexual tug of war between me and a ridiculously hot hotskinny. She positively oozes hotness, from the expression on her face to the way her hair falls on her shoulders to the connection of muscle, sinew and bone from head to heel. But she’s stupidly high-maintenance and so I can’t and won’t pull the trigger, and it’s making her crazy. She tries with all her might to catch my attention, and every time I see her do it I go out of my way to ignore her. It’s either going to end with the best one-night stand ever (because she could never join the harem) or with her knifing me to death on the soi.
I stepped out for a mini Cuban and a girl I used to buy drinks for came and sat at the same table. I tried to say hello but she ignored me, clearly mad that I don’t still spring for drinks. But it’s her fault. She got too skinny. She was joined by another girl who I no longer buy for because she got too fat. It’s clear my window of acceptable weight is uniquely small. And that’s because I went to high school in the 1980s. This was before aspartame, high fructose corn syrup, and the processed food that systematically destroyed the bodies of 99% of America and is presently doing the same to Thailand. So the body I respond to looks like those supermodels from the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues from 85 to 89. The pre-seed oil era. The pre-fat-as-fuck era. For any Millennials or Gen Zs reading this, that’s a real thing.
Speaking of hot bodies, my old galpal Ning, who now calls herself Nico, was tearing up the stage in Virgin the other night. She got her start in Glamour, the gogo that used to be in the spot where Virgin is now. So it’s fitting that she’s stayed put. Before covid, she had a body like a brick shit house and a cute little face no dissimilar to American actress Aubrey Plaza, but with a more punk rock edge, eg black eyeliner and tatts on her chest and thigh. During the scamdemic, she got knocked up, and on returning to the pole, had extra belly and post baby stretch marks along her midsection. In short order, though, she got that rocking body back in fuckshape. The stretch marks remain, but the sheer potency of her shouldering sexual prowess veritably hypnotizes the viewer (voyeur). I hardly notice her flaws, especially in the purple neon of the gogo. Nico has always denied my advances, I think because I’ve nailed all her friends. Though many girls don’t give a shit about stuff like that, she does for some reason. But she did take my Line recently, so maybe that icy cervix is finally melting. I don’t want her for a conc. Just a conquering.
In New2 a happy accident occurred. I was approached by newly-hired barmaid who didn’t know my usual drink order. She misheard me when I said “vodka soda” and brought me a Jack n soda instead. And goddam if it wasn’t a tasty beverage. I feel like as I age, I’m slowly being dragged away from vodka and toward whiskey. I’m off the b ruskies at the mo, mainly because I’ve been smoking Cubans. The BR pairs with almost any Drew Estate up for grabs in BKK (except the Kentucky fire cured–that’s strictly for matching with Southern Comfort), but Cubans go better with brandy, or if it ain’t available, whiskey. So the routine of late is a Chivas otr and a Leo chaser with the Cubans, SoCo with Kentucky Fire Cured, v-sodas in the gogo. Maybe Jack Daniel’s is just a natural evolution away from clear liquor and toward the traditional brown-tinted booze of a refined gentleman. (Full disclosure: I woke up the next day with my first hangover in years. Clearly, it’s not a good idea to mix Chivas, Jack, SoCo, vodka, beer, and tequila—I swung through Sunrise for tacos and a margarita—in one evening).
I hate when gogo dancers shout my name outside the gogo. Especially when they’re walking with their shorttime barfine. Then they have to lumber up the soi while explaining how they know me and why I’m not a threat. I appreciate the hello, but instead of yelling can you just discreetly wave? Or better yet, just raise an eyebrow. I’ll see it.
Tragedy struck on Wednesday when i went to session for a box of mini Montecristos and accidentally got Cohibas instead. I wasn’t paying attention, even when they rang up at double the price. Ah, we’ll. It’s a Thailand problem.
T’was a weird night on the Pong. None of my galpals came to work. Like, in every gogo. Except for the bowing and scraping of the staff, youd’ve thought I was a tourist. The one exception was Am, a little girl with big tits in K Corner who I once had terrible sex with sent, a Line message asking me to come buy her a drink, just as I was heading home. By divine providence, it started to piss down, so I headed over there to play with her nipples and suck back some vodka. These days, for a ladydrink, the girls guzzle a sweetened soju that tastes like cough medicine. When I lived in Seoul, nobody would’ve been caught dead drinking flavored soju. Everyone consumed it the same way: by dropping a shot into a pint of beer.
Whenever I sit on the K1 terrace and order a drink from the inside bar, a little old lady always goes and gets it for me. For that, I tip her 20b. Last week, I watched her give it to an even littler, even older homeless Thai lady as she passed by. To me, that’s the universe in symmetry. And it’s the opposite of socialism, which is why it works. Instead of the govt stealing your money for the lie of the good of the group, people help each other of their own volition. It is not compelled—it’s voluntary. Is it a perfect system? No. But it doesn’t murder millions like every communist and socialist regime that ever existed. If your kids or grandkids come home from school babbling about Marx and the evils of capitalism, you have my permission to 1–slap them in the face and 2–teach them the truth. Authoritarianism is death, and socialists swing the scythe.
I’ve said before that I’m not a nightlife “news” reporter. I’m also not a professional gogo photographer. Some dickhead commented on my X that my photos aren’t as good as professionally-done photos. No shit, Sherlock. I’m just a dude with a cellphone who by virtue of being a redlight pimpdaddy is able to whip it out in a few bars. God help Bangkok’s self-described “best nightlife photog”—aka Shitbag Bob aka Clungebob Twatpants—if I ever decide to buy a real camera. That’s the week his income stream dries up, as he can’t take a good picture to save his life. Fortunately for him, I’m too lazy to start a second side hustle. And I never want the redlight to become the place where I work. It’s always and only the place where I play. But a part of me does want to take all his accounts so he goes broke and kills himself.
In news that I’ll call “this week in stupid America,” I read a story about clams pitching fits over having to pay alimony. Women in the West spent the last 2 decades making men irrelevant. They got advanced degrees and girlboss jobs and became the breadwinners for their families. But because of the previous patriarchy, many states have no-fault divorce laws on the books. So now that the twats make more money, they’re getting hosed in divorce settlements, are forced to pay 50% to the ex-husband, and are fuming mad about it. I love to see it. To all those dudes getting free cash in the divorce, may I suggest relocating to Thailand? You can live like a king off your ex’s money. Get busy livin’ is what I say.
And look, I know I harp on it in almost every blog, but this truth haunts me daily: we’re all doomed. The Earth will explode before 2100. We’re living the final turmoil-free years of our species. Last week, Kamalface got the ball rolling to invade Russia along with the UK—a move that will surely start a world war. More importantly, Gen X is the last capable generation in human history. After us, it all goes to Hell. Allow me elucidate.
If you’re Gen X, you know your parents were smarter than you, and their parents were smarter than them. What you may not know is, in the 1970s, Western govts began to deliberately dumb down their populations. Morons are easier to control, manipulate, tax, and oppress. So our leaders began taking steps to make everyone a lot stupider. The first victims were Gen X but because it rolled out gradually, it missed many of us. Then in the 90s the plan went into overdrive (for receipts, read Charlotte Iserbyte’s book, “The Deliberate Dumbing Down of America”), and for the last two decades, the US has produced an entire population of brain-dead retards who can’t think to save their lives—or ours, and that’s my point. Right now, there are dozens of nuclear power plants around the world that require constant maintenance to keep from melting down. Humanity has not produced enough people who’re smart enough to keep these reactors running. Since Gen Alpha and their kids will undoubtedly be much, much dumber than their parents, thus there will be no one left who can maintain these nuclear reactors. Before the end of the century our planet will experience a catastrophic environmental disaster that’ll kill every living thing. And so, gentlemen, we are the last of humanity’s partiers. We’re the last expats, the last punters, the last mongers. We are the end. And that means we all share a heavy responsibility: to treat every day like it’s 2099.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is my first photo album from Virgin A-Gogo, Patpong—so far. The link can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-virgin-so-far/
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: At the moment, the price of silver has dipped from its all-time high of $45 down to around $20. In the next year or so, it’s going to go back up to $45 again, and possibly higher. If you live in BKK, you can go to the Bangkok Assay Office in Silom and buy physical silver. Do it now, while it’s relatively low, and hold onto it. Come 2026, you’ll be glad you did.
