What’s up reader, how they hangin’? I hope you had a good week. If you’re in Thailand, I’m quite certain you did, because it’s awesome here. My last seven days were pretty typical. I spent every night in Patpong, per usual, with one very brief detour to Nana Plaza. Here’s how it shook out:
On Sunday, after my harem girl left I made it to King’s Castle by half 8. I’d recently drank all their Kahlua so black Russians were off the menu. I had to pair my Cuban Romeo Y Julieta with a Chivas rocks, a drink that gives me flashbacks to the time a karaoke bar in Shanghai tried to charge me $2,000 for a bottle. It was the dumbest shakedown I ever saw, and I couldn’t stop laughing as the lady manager said, “Why you laugh? It not funny, you pay you American you have credit card.” I tried to tell her my Thai debit card wouldn’t work in China and that she was scamming the wrong guy. They didn’t give up until a big dude in a leather trench coat followed me back to my hotel and ransacked the room for a nonexistent MasterCard. In point of fact, cognac would’ve been a better match for the cigar.
Back in the 90s, US states passed draconian anti-smoking laws, effectively making it illegal everywhere except in your own home with the windows closed and doors locked. Europe followed suit, and today it’s easy to tell which tourists came from these no-smoke locales. They lose their shit at the sight and smell of my stogie. They’re twisted up expressions and exaggerated coughing only strengthen my resolve. Thank Buddha Thailand never passed tobacco laws. While scanning the beer garden, I spotted an actress. I can’t remember her name but she was in a recent Apple TV series about Navy SEALs. No one else recognized her. One of the nice things for celebrities vacationing in Thailand—most famous or semi-famous people can walk around unmolested.
There’s a barmaid in a gogo on Soi 2 (I won’t say which one) who I’ve known for over a decade, who suddenly out of nowhere sidled up on Sunday and asked if I have a girlfriend. When I said no, she asked if I was looking for one. I couldn’t figure out if she was making a move or what. I was confounded.
By Sunday I’d already gone 10k overbudget (throwback to last week’s post). Not coincidentally, it’s the exact amount I loaned out to harem girls so far in February. And I know what you’re thinking and yes, I’m a blood-belching vagina, but I can’t say ‘no’ to my girls. They have kids and bills and sick family members. And by now they’re used to taking out loans from The Bank of Seven. Plus, I know they’ll pay it back eventually, in my bed. Nevertheless, I’m in the red again.
The only Perfect 10 inPong on Sunday was onstage in King’s Corner. And like so many Thai girls who don’t know how hot she is, she has no idea how to pose for a photo (see the evidence in this week’s slideshow, link below). That kind of sexual obliviousness is endearing. It’s one of the many reasons to love Thai girls exclusively. I call it a Cosette Complex, after the character in Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables. There’s a chapter about a time in the ingenue’s life when she doesn’t yet realize she’s beautiful. It’s a magical time, before the girl turns into a cunt, which is what usually happens with farang.
On Monday I was the taste tester for the manager at XXX Lounge, who was trying out the American hot dog from their snack shack next door. Pickle relish, fried onions, ketchup, mustard, mayo. It was really nice. And ‘twas 2 for 1 drinks at XXX, so I had two vodka rocks, and mixed in some pomegranate juice from Soi 1. I’m super-duper happy with everything on Soi 1, even as the vendors figure out what to sell and what not to sell. The pigeon rotisserie came and went last week. I’m excited to see what shows up in its place.
The rest of Monday was pretty quiet. I popped into Delaney’s for a whiskey sour, flitted over to Pink Panther, hung out with Pla in King’s Corner, had a cigar outside K Castle, and that’s it. The Soi 2 barmaid who asked if I had a girlfriend the night before came over and sat with me, sampling my drink and just being all around chummy. I hope she hasn’t got it in her head to date me. I ignored it, hoping it was just hormonal and would pass in time.
Tuesday was Valentine’s Day, or as it’s called in Thailand, Love Day. I had feared an onslaught of greedy requests from harem girls but they were all already busy with their respective Thai boyfriends and tomboys. My only expense on the day was for number 2 harem girl’s brother’s dengue treatment. After a blissfully quiet afternoon, I headed out for pinsa at Delaney’s and found it closed. So I downed a Babylone IPA and skidded back to XXX Lounge for a bratwurst on a roll, determined to try everything on their menu by the end of the week, whereupon I was accosted by half a dozen girls from The Strip—a bar I no longer visit—asking me to spring for their chicken nuggets and French fries. I made a mental note to order from inside XXX from then on.
Out on Soi 2, a dirty hippie and his unkempt girlfriend were strolling through the Pong and the dude had his shirt off. It’s a thing foreigners do when confronted by the Bangkok heat. On feeling a temperature more oppressive than any they’d encountered before, they feel justified in peeling off clothing in the middle of the city. Imagine walking through Soho or Barcelona and just taking your shirt off. It’s yet another thing that tourists do that repulses me, as well as any nearby Thai. I Tweeted about it, which for some reason sparked a reaction from a couple followers who said “Well, you’re fat so you must just be jealous.” Which is weird, because they don’t know what I look like. They only think I’m fat because I’ve described myself as pudgy more than once. But for all these cunts know, I could be lying. And trying to insult me by calling me something I call myself is—what’s the word—retarded.
At half 9 I wandered into Bada Bing where all 10 girls onstage had red roses…V-Day gifts from some admirer who’d already departed before I got there. Love was in the air all around the Pong that night, from couples canoodling to gogo femmes flirting. I bounced a few gals on my lap and squeezed a couple titties. Overall, it was a pretty chilled-out evening.
On Wednesday, it rained in BK from 7 am to the late afternoon with a couple intermittent sprinkles around 19.30. It put a literal damper on the Pong food stalls and beer garden, where revelers fled the scene or moved tables under awnings. When rainy season comes, they’ll have to invest in some umbrellas. Delaney’s pizza kiosk was open so I grabbed a salami pie and a whiskey sour. Once the rain stopped, I hoofed it back to King’s Castle for my customary smoke.
For two nights in a row, a group of local farang have dragged their dog with them to the beer garden. This thing viciously attacks any passer by who attempts to pet it. It’s fucking hilarious. The quintet of white assholes are completely unconcerned with their mean mutt’s behavior. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if this family’s—grandpa, mum, dad, and two adult sons’—surname was Kunte.
On Thursday I ordered a Frikandel and a Ziguenerwurst from XXX Lounge’s snack shack in my quest to try the whole menu by Saturday. The former is an Austrian staple, the latter an old gypsy recipe. Both were good, but I leaned toward the Frikandel. After that I popped into Black Pagoda to take advantage of their 100b happy hour and to visit my friend Taitle, who was back on the pole for the first time since the start of the scamdemic. The first time I met her was back in 2012. She was dancing at Electric Blue at the time. 11 years later, she hasn’t changed much. Her booty’s a little bigger. Other than that, she’s exactly the same.
Bada Bing was quiet on Thursday, with only four girls onstage—ironically all fuckable. A smart punter looking to barfine would do well to prowl the bars of Patpong, where the girls are hot and the monger competition is sparse. It’s a fish-in-barrel situation.
Outside King’s Castle, they’ve employed a lineup of hostesses in cocktail dresses whose job is to lure in passing punters. There’s a homeless Thai guy that harasses the girls from time to time. When he shows up, some dormant protective part of me wants to jump up and defend the girls, but they don’t need my help. They handle him expertly, batting him away like a buzzing fly.
There’s an interesting gogo case in Radio City. One of the dancers there has gone from hot to not in the shortest span of time. Back in June, when the bars reopened, she stormed onto the redlight scene like a hurricane of hotness. She was so fine, she caused instant hard-ons from a distance. The photos I Tweeted of her got ravenous responses from guys. Flash forward to today, and she’s a shadow of her former self. I’m not sure what caused it. Yes, she’s packed on a few pounds, but it’s worse than that. She just seems…I don’t know…expired. Like that weird banana in the supermarket that shouldn’t still be on display. I feel bad for her. Hopefully she’ll lay off the booze and get some Jane Fonda workout tapes.
On Friday, I hit the Pong early because my harem girl declared a late arrival and I knew I could squeeze in some redlight time beforehand, and I wanted to see some of the Patpong Warrior bar crawl. World famous Thai OnlyFans star Fernie was there doing some PR for the Patpong Museum and preparing for her newest venture—a weekly podcast showcasing her line of sexual health products. She asked our mutual friend Jack Nites to chaperone her around the redlight so she could check out the bars, and he told me to meet them in Black Pagoda. But I stopped at K Castle first for a cherry cigarillo and vodpom (vodka and pomegranate juice). The Pong was an absolute madhouse. ‘Twas the busiest I’ve seen it since 2015. I hung out with Fernie and Jack in the Pagoda for a bit, but it was so crowded I had to sneak out the back and leave through the car park. By half 9, all seats in Bada Bing and XXX Lounge were filled.
In the Bing, a longtime local was putting the hard sell to a blonde gogo dancer. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but by his gesticulating arms I knew it was something like, “I have a sex swing in my house, plus Ecstasy.” Just then my harem girl messaged to say she was inbound so I had to bail.
30 minutes later I was on my way back t’Pong with a ravenous appetite. I had a hot dog in XXX, where all the hotties had customers except Ya and Blondie (I don’t know her real name but she’s the only platinum blonde in the bar). A dude walked in, leaning on a cane, with one paralyzed arm. I guessed he had MS. It was beautiful to see how the girls tended to him and the bar staff waited on him like he was a king. Thai people really are the kindest people on this Earth.
The Warriors event was a resounding success, bringing out redlight celebs like the aforementioned Fernie and Jack Nites, along with the owner of Spanky’s Nana and many Pong mafia dons. Later in the night, the guy who stands on Soi 1 selling ‘pictures with a python’ got roped in with a gang of drunk farang who trundled him with them into Radio City. One bald foreigner put the snake on his shoulders and spun around the gogo like a ballerina. I don’t know if reptiles puke, but if they can, it’s a miracle this one didn’t. I’m unhappy when I see farang abusing Thais. It’s almost worse when they abuse animals. The Bangkok redlight is a good litmus test for who should be culled from society.
On Saturday my redlight roust began in G’s. The owner messaged to let me know they had two new beers: Paulander Munchner Hell and Salvator. I opted for the former on my first go, and it was as delicious as I’d hoped it would be. From there I hit K Castle again, watching the tourists move like herds of brainless bovines. Suddenly I was struck with the realization that, since the end of the travel ban last summer, of the thousands of white Western girls I’d seen here in BK, all but maybe two or three have been horrifically ugly. Hideously deformed. When I was a teenager, three of every 10 girls in any public place were smoking hot. Now, that could have had something to do with it being LA, but still. What’s happened? Today, nearly every white woman is—not just fat, but misshapen, with twisted-up ghoulish faces. Is it GMOs? What the fuck is destroying the females in the West?
The owners of the beer garden smartened up and hired a couple PYTs in cocktail dresses to take orders and flirt with the customers. King’s Castle had half a dozen new hotties on Saturday. I don’t know where they’re coming from but they’re not new to the life, as evidenced by their extensive back tattooing.
A little after 22.00 an old local and former Pong photographer passed by. We recognized each other and said hello. He was shocked that so many businesses were still closed in the Pong. Scuttling along beside him was the old blind hobbit who works for several Nana Plaza bars, and who comes t’Pong to get his rocks off and send scathingly bad reports to his boss, who hosts a popular Bangkok nightlife blog. No doubt he will do the same again, maybe not in time for today’s post, but by next Sunday for sure. I love when this cunt slags off the Pong. It means that more sweaty assholes will opt for NanaP instead, leaving the Pong’s spoils to people like me. Although I did hear he was on a mission to beg for work in the Pong, so maybe he won’t be talking shit going forward. Though why anyone would hire a blind photographer, I have no idea.
Knowing that Bilbo Ballbaggins would be shitting on the Pong to anyone who’d listen, I decided fuck it, I’ll pop over to Nana and see what the scene’s like. On social media, places like Blondie and Red Dragon were begging customers to give them another try, so I thought I’d oblige. After a clear, breezy Bangkok mototaxi ride that reminded me how lucky I am to live here, I plowed into Twister to say hi to some friends. At first glance, NanaP looks super busy. But if you were to take everyone from there and spread them out over Patpong—an area more than double the acreage—the number of customers would be about the same. After Twister, where I counted six hotties, I hit Billboard, which had 2 rotations of 16 on the carousel and 2 rotas of 6 in the bath tub. I didn’t see a single girl I’d barfine, but the place was rammed. Then I checked on Blondie and Red Dragon. Both were utter shit. The same was true of Tycoon, Mandarin, and Rainbows 1 and 2. The Plaza was so devoid of hot chicks, I actually hopped back on a mototaxi and returned t’Pong. Despite XXX’s stage being at half capacity, there was a 9 and a perfect 10 onstage. I ordered currywurst from the snack shack—the only thing on the menu I hadn’t yet tried, and the one the manager is most proud of, since the sauce is his own secret recipe. It was mighty good, but my fave is still the American hot dog.
Delaney’s was out of control on Saturday for—of all things—comedy night. I haven’t seen that many white girls in once place since the Killers concert in Las Vegas last year. Needless to say, I didn’t go in. Instead I continued on to Pink Panther, got the last open table, and downed a vodka soda after counting three hotties on the pole.
And I’m just gonna say it: there are more hot girls in Patpong than Nana Plaza. Sure, pound for pound (literally) and pole for pole, there are a ton more girls in Nana than the Pong, but that’s just the thing. In spite of the huge numbers, there are still more hotties in the Pong. I have no scientific explanation for this. In fact, I think it might just be happenstance.
For live entertainment, Soi 1 now hosts a trio of child musicians—one violinist and two guitar-wielding singers. The Thai breakdancers that usually hang around outside the Burger King on Silom Road pop over to the Night Market after midnight to get some shoulder bruises and asphalt burns. Speaking of the Market, a couple new ganja booths have sprung up there, bringing the Pong’s total weed dispensaries to 7.
And that’s all the monger that’s fit to ponder for now, friends. Check back next Sunday for another summary of red-light events. In the meantime, you can read more about Bangkok life on my Substack: https://bangkokseven.substack.com/
Redlight videos and slide shows, including the companion for this post, can be found at
https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
If you’re in a generous mood, you can donate anytime at https://www.buymeacoffee.com/bangkok7
Follow me on Twitter @BangkokSeven for daily pics from the redlight, and until next time, keep your balls warm, your beer cold, and cheers to another week above ground in the greatest country on Earth: Thailand.
Pro Tip Post-Script: If you’re one of those insecure types who can’t travel alone and you have to bring along a buddy, make sure he’s in your same demographic. Last week onPong, a hilarious duo took to the soi. One was a plump hipster in a striped suit shirt, braces (suspenders), skinny slacks, no socks, loafers, and a manbun. His wingman sported camo cargo shorts, a trucker hat, and a NASCAR t-shirt. They couldn’t have been more culturally opposed if they tried. It was a woke-wanker-white-trash crash.
