What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. Well the current cunt in the White House, warmonger-pedophile and Chinese bribe-taker Joe Biden started World War 3 last week when he gave the order for Ukraine to start using long range missiles to bomb Russia. Putin responded by firing an unarmed ICBM into Ukraine. Many experts say we’re on track to global annihilation. The chances our planet makes it to Christmas are around 50%, so if you’ve got a bottle of bubbly in the back of your fridge that you were saving for a special occasion, you might want to think about corking that bad boy. I’m personally worried I’ll get trapped in the US during my upcoming visit by either a world war, a civil war, a terrorist attack, or some other global emergency, and self-medicating with gogo dancers and redlight cocktails. I keep remembering a 1992 Robert Redford film that tried to explain the meaning of life through fishing. The quote is, “Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.” How very zen. But for this pudgy punter, all troubles melt into nothing, and a gogo runs through it. Here’s how my week shook out.
On Sunday, the Patpong Beer Garden re-erected the rain canopy, because as we all know, rainy season decides when it’s done, and not some number on a calendar. Speaking of the Beer Garden, it was packed to capacity and filled with ganja smoke by 20.00. The biggest attraction on Soi 1 isn’t the alligator kebabs, but rather the entrance to K1. Now there’s never less than 30 white people crowded around it, staring and/or trying to sneak photos. It makes sense. These rubes would never walk down Soi Cowboy or enter Nana Plaza, so Patpong is the only time they’d get a taste of the redlight, either by accident thorough ignorance or by fake accident, when dad/husband/boyfriend pretends to be surprised at the sight of a gogo, when in fact he planned the Night Market excursion precisely for it.
On the terrace with a Cuban and chivas the gay host of k1 came up to wai and engage in conversation. The old mamasan dutifully shooed him away. It’s only been high season for a week and I already hate it. Squeezing through throngs of dingdongs just to find all the seats taken in the gogo, pushing past fat stinking sunburnt farang and chainsmoking Sinos, brushing shoulders with strangely shaped Eurotrolls and loud stupid Americans and Aussies. It’s enough to drive a man to drink. The tourist ilk mix with us expats like oil and water. Regardless of where you came from, just a few years of life here affects a transformation. Not as drastic as a dude thinking he’s a lady, but a metamorphosis nonetheless. By the way, it’s my scientific opinion that Thai ladyboys are not mentally ill in the way that Western trans cunts are. Thai ladyboys do not think they’re women. They know they’re ladyboys. If the American psychos simply said, in the words of Prince, “I’m not a woman–I’m not a man–I’m something that you’ll never understand,” they’d get so much more acceptance and understanding from the other 99.9% of us. Instead, they demand we share their delusion that they magically transformed from a bucket of shit into a unicorn. Be sensible, is all I’m saying.
In Virgin, I sat watching the triplets (throwback to last week’s post) debating internally whether to bring one into my harem. It’s a #Thailandproblem. Do I really want another hotskinny messaging me every week begging to come over and fuck? Am I an asshole for even suggesting a thing like this is a problem? If you’re a monger like me, you know it’s a real quandary. All clams are crazy. Thais aren’t immune to this fact. So for someone my age to reel in a 20 year old lunatic, making her part of my universe, establishing her as a satellite orbiting my sphere, for the sole purpose of nailing her smoking hot body…I mean, I’d compare it to a govt cabinet meeting on whether or not to go to war. You have to weigh the pros and cons. Pros: caramel skin, thigh gap, shaved minge, an in-mouth finish. The cons: she’s locked-in for the foreseeable.
Yok appeared out of nowhere and came to sit with me for a spell. She’d spent the previous week with a customer in Taiwan and was eager to show me all her photos. I feigned interest to her great delight, and after around 10 minutes, I finished my drink and went home.
At midweek I hit Soi Cowboy out of pure boredom and mistakenly left the house before the end of rush hour. The streets were rammed, and I know that’s normal for BKK but for 10 years I commuted out of the city for work every day and now in retirement I rarely venture streetward during the day. Tourists in tuktuks clogged the avenues. The journey took twice as long as usual. I stopped into Barcelona Gaudi for Catalan sausage and a glass of tempranillo. As I sat down, a Spanish expat monopolized the attention of the server, and I almost bailed. But then a Thai staffer spotted me and scampered over to help. The taste of the wine immediately took me back to a small restaurant in Barcelona. I was there in the springtime, and it actually snowed one day. I lumbered into the joint wrapped in a hooded parka, but inside it was warm and welcoming. I was the lone customer, and there in that candlelit cozy basement had one of the best meals of my life. To be able to relive it 16 years later in Thailand is a privilege I don’t take lightly.
Surprisingly, Gaudi had quite a few Sino customers. Maybe the place found its way onto a Chinese “best of” list of some kind.
Stop 1 on Cowboy was Shark Bar. I can’t remember if I mentioned it on my last visit but they upgraded their sign and reupholstered the seats. I think the stage is refurbish3d as well. The first rota was a string of 6s. The second, a gang of 5s. SML 180, which is the new going rate citywide, apparently. I assume that means Spankys in Nana Plaza charges 200.
There’s a new come-hither look some dancers are sporting lately. I call it the “kill look.” Unlike the normal smiling, hopeful, shorttime expression that garnered the love of sex tourists past, this new look is a mixture of lust and hate. The subtext is, “Oi cunt, barfine me or I’ll kill you.” And to be fair, I bet it works like a charm on those dickless beta cucks churned out in the West over the past 10 years. It’s a sign of how the gogo girl must adapt to the changing gender dynamic in the English-speaking countries, where misandry is having its day.
Of Dollhouse’s first rota of 12 girls, two were hot. Thank Buddha the happy hour drafts are cheap. Rota 2 had one perfect 10. Lord, she must clean up. She has no competition on that stage. In Rainbow, Bee was busy on a pole getting back to her pre-pregnancy fighting weight, but when she saw me she dove into my seat and ordered a beer. A fellow ex-Strip dancer gave me a wai. I noticed her big fake tits on account of her see-through top and asked Bee how long she’d had those. Bee said, “Are you going senile? She’s had ‘em for 2 years.” I’d no recollection of those voluptuous bazooms. As I paid the checkbin, Bee asked whether I was off to Patpong or Nana. I said I was banned from Nana for slapping a cunt there name of Shitbag Bob. She knew the twat because he used to sleaze around in The Strip back in the day. She laughed and said, “I hope you made him cry.” I said no, but he did whine like a bitch, and she laughed again.
On my way out of Cowboy I swung into Tilac as an afterthought, because an old Electric Blue girl said she’d started up there a month ago, but to date I’ve never seen her. Sure enough she wasn’t there. Instead, I saw a rota of 6s and 7s. Rota 2 had two 9s. The 50something barmaid asked for a drink, which is a thing I hate in the gogo. I tipped her a 50 and she seemed overjoyed.
Then I had to choose between a mini Cuban on the Long Gun terrace or a nightcap back in Patpong. I opted for the latter, and the traffic had barely lessened in three hours’ time. On the K1 terrace I saw something new: a dude in a hipster buzzcut, beard, black cocktail dress and heels. It’s not the first time a western trans came to TLOS thinking he’d find Xanadu. A few years ago, a 70something white dude used to strut around the gay sois of Pattaya, searching for a place to belong. Spoiler alert, trannies: Thailand ain’t it. The current cunt sauntered around the Night Market, hoping to accomplish God knows what. The Thai TQ scene is for Thai ladyboys only. That unicorn belongs here even less than it does Stateside. I imagine he spent the rest of the night peacocking all over Patpong, praying for attention and not getting any, then going back to his room, crying himself to sleep, and flying back to Denver defeated and enraged.
Adding to the strangeness of the evening, a drunk Polish bloke got into an argument with his equally drunk buddy. His crime? Buying meat on a stick instead of following his cohort to King’s Corner. The dude even tried grabbing his buddy’s food from him before giving up and walking on. That’ll make for an awkward convo at breakfast the next morning. But I totally identify with the guy who stopped to eat on his own. I fucking hate doing what other people want to do, especially because it’s almost never what I want to do. Being a lone wolf, an old solitary lion, a single pig in the redlight trough is truly the best life an unmarried hetero can hope for. No wingman, no entourage. Just me, the girls, and the night.
Speaking of, the night was again rife with solo sex tourists dripping the ball on the one-yard line. A greasy, sad short dude with a sleeve tattoo, earring, silver necklace and carefully sculpted haircut sat drinking alone in the beer garden and talking to his friend back in Lisbon via mobile phone. Yes, I’m in Bangkok….yes, there’s pussy everywhere…yes I’m getting lucky. No.no, buddy. You’re not. Out of the blue, a gogo dancer came to sit with me. She asked for a lighter and said, “You’re Seven, you smoke a cigar here every night.” I said, yes. How did you know that? She said, Everybody know.” We chatted for a bit about her life and working at King’s. She was cute, but not enough to reel in, so when she finished her fag I said adieu and went back to watching the unwashed masses in the Night Market. A crew of Nipons dressed like 90s rappers got talked into hitting up K1, which was already at capacity.
In New2, none of my favorite gurls were on the clock, for the 3rd time in a row, causing me no small amount of distress. A tall, lanky bald farang in a backwards baseball cap sauntered in with a picture on his phone of the girl he wanted. She wasn’t there, so he pissed and moaned to the barmaid before ordering a club sofa. Another foreigner returned with his barf8ne who tri3d to get him to stay for a drink, but he walked and ran.
In K Corner I was sat next to a fat Nipon with 10 rum and cokes on his table. He systematically drank each one while hiccupping like he’d vomit any moment. Miraculously he held it down. Even more miraculously, he ordered six more. The joint was full up so a mamasan took my drink order and passed it to a staffer who dutifully brought me over a cocktail. The best part of being a redlight stalwart is how well the bar staff take care of you. And while a whiskey soda appeared at my table despite me ordering a vodka, it’s a forgivable mistake from a culture defined by its mistakes. Thankfully I can gulp down vodka, whiskey, and beer on a night and be none the worse for wear.
Late in the week, I tried and failed to stay home. After a particularly hot session with conc number 1 I was too amped up to sleep, so I Ponged at 22.45. Back when I had a day job, that would’ve been 15 minutes past bedtime. Sleep when you’re dead, I guess. On the K1 terrace I saw something new. A smarmy Middle Eastern dude tried to bring his newborn into the gogo. He was politely steered away, proving that even Thais draw the line somewhere.
For the 2nd time in 2 nights a farans (farang trans) made a spectacle of itelf in the Beer Garden. She was easily 6 feet tall with a giant platinum blonde curly wig that looked exactly like Twisted Sister from the “We’re Not Gonna Take It” video. And her makeup was also comparable. I don’t know why this is becoming a trend. Are they here hoping to get laid? Because if anyone’s going to buggar a butthole, it’s going to be gay on gay or tourist on Thai ladyboy. No one and I mean no one wants a farans. Are they searching for acceptance? Again, ain’t gonna happen. Thai LBs are a breed of their own. White trannies fit into this culture like a tit on a forehead.
I wandered over to New2 hoping to see one particular dancer whom I’ve decided to reel in, but for the 3rd time in a row, she was absent. She has Cosette syndrome which if you’ve read Les Miserables you know means she doesn’t yet realize how hot she is, and it’s only a matter of time till she figures it out and is ruined for all time. I wondered if I’d waited too long, if some other monger hadn’t snatched her up already and at that very moment was hypnotizing her into his personal Jim Jones sex cult. And then I remembered that’s my move, and not necessarily the norm. I decided to not give up just yet, and bailed to Virgin, which was crazy busy. A bunch of girls new to the gogo but veterans of the redlight recognized me from the stage, conjuring an embarrassing round of wais that too many customers noticed. As I value anonymity, it’s a dual edged sword. Do I love acknowledgment from the girls? Absolutely. But when foreigners take note, I get worried. I hope they don’t get notions of wingmanship in their heads. It’s happened far too often.
I think the reason Virgin was so busy is, the owner pulled all the chicks from VirginX and put ‘em in Virgin, which meant VX would be 100% ladyboy now. However, I wasn’t about to confirm my theory. Then Yok came over and confirmed it. So that’s a new gogo that’s now a no-go. And earlier in the night I passed by the old Kiss Bar location which has been stripped down and remodeled. All hopes of a new gogo are now gone. Two new shops are going in. Probably handbags or ganja. And so the available gogo space keeps dwindling, making a mockery of the once great redlight of Patpong. With all the vanilla shops, gay cabarets, and ladyboy joints, what hope does a regular monger have? It all rests on the shoulders of the King’s group. Buddha bless them and their herculean efforts (and that of Virgin) to keep the Pong alive.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is two video montages of gogo dancer Nuchy and a few of her friends, taking selfie vids at home and also backstage at the gogos where she’s worked since 2019.
The link can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-videos-nuchy-and-friends-at-home-and-backstage/
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: For anyone considering moving over to Bluesky (if you don’t know, it’s the leftist version of X for sad pussies who can’t take hearing about Trump), just know you won’t see anything remotely fun over there. It’s the most bummer party ever hosted on the World Wide Web. I made a profile thinking, what the hell might as well get a huge following of woke mongers, Millennials and Genz cucks. But Bluesky won’t let you post a photo of a girl in a bathing suit without flagging it as sexually suggestive. It used to be the American Right that clutched their pearls at the sight of a miniskirt. Now it’s the weirdos on the Left who’re policing everything you cast your gaze toward.
