Hey reader, how’s ya balls hangin’? Mine are low and pendulum-like. And it’s even worse right now because I’m not in Thailand. My harem is going unfucked and my balls are going on 3 weeks undrained. At this moment, I’m typing on my laptop in a bar in the Cosmopolitan Hotel in Las Vegas, USA. I’m here to see the Depeche Mode show, after catching them in Los Angeles two nights prior, and am casually absorbing the American culture shock of this melting pot of morons, trying to reconcile the shit pile of humanity that exists here.
I used to think Bangkok was the worst when it came to tourists. The dregs of humanity, the lowest of the low, an endless throng of foreign cunts cluttering up my space and making a smelly, crude, rude, stupid nuisance of themselves. But nothing holds a candle to Las Vegas. This place is an absolute cesspool. The actual scum of the motherfucking Earth come to Vegas. Even in this upscale hotel, where you wouldn’t expect shitbags to be, they are here, and here in spades. Someone actually took a shit on the floor of the lobby last night. As bad as the tourists in Thailand are, I ain’t never seen that. Las Vegas is a giant steaming unflushed toilet of humanity.
And the people who live and work here are no better, though who could blame them? The kind of behavior they have to put up with is shameful. But that doesn’t excuse their money-grubbing nonsense. Earlier, I had two beers in a bar. The checkbin was $30. I handed the waitress a $100 bill, and the bitch actually had the gall to ask if I wanted change. As if I was going to give her a $70 tip on a $30 bill!!! It really puts into perspective the earnestness of Bangkok gogo dancers who put on the hard sell for $5 because they need to feed their kids.
Later in the night, I got dragged to Sapphire—a popular Vegas strip club—and holy fuckballs, reader. Nothing will make you appreciate the gogos and beer bars of Thailand like visiting a Western strip joint.
First, there were a hundred girls on the clock, all scantily-dressed, all hideous but for one singular girl. 99 out of 100 had a huge, lumpy ass like the big fake Styrofoam booties in the “Baby Got Back” video from the 1990s. They were gross, weird-looking, and made me throw up in my mouth. In a room the size of a convention center, there was only one girl dancing on a solitary stage. The rest roamed the room, hassling customers. Within 10 minutes of sitting down, 20 girls took it in turns to try to extract a private dance in the VIP room for $400. Imagine that, Bangkok mongers. $400 to have a naked girl grind on your lap for half an hour and then send you on your way. I mean what the actual fuck?
Over the course of two hours, I paid four girls $20 each to stop bothering me. That’s $80 just to be left alone. One girl was from Arizona, had a great smile, small tits, a huge ass, and several cool tattoos. She wiggled around on my lap for half an hour whilst telling me all about her life, which she divides between a small club in Flagstaff and the one here in Vegas. My wingman, meanwhile, had the time of his life, dropping over a grand and fingerbanging a girl in the VIP. Did he get laid for that shocking price tag? No. But that’s the Western strip club experience. It costs hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars to NOT fuck.
And that’s not all that sucks. Runaway inflation hasn’t helped fix the problem of food prices in Vegas, which were already obscene before the dollar started its crash. Hotel beers now run $9 to $12. A cocktail is $17. A glass of wine is $19. A sandwich is $20.
So here’s the clear distinction between Thailand and the US. In Vegas, the cost of a fun night out where you don’t have sex, including food, drinks, and rubbing elbows with chicks in the club will run into the quadruple digits. For that same amount, you can spend a week in TLOS and bang a chick every night. Not a weird-looking alien with a huge fake ass, but a fit young hottie with a heart of gold. In less than a week, I’ll be back where I belong: on the sois of Patpong. And I’ll appreciate the checkbin, the kow pad, and my longsuffering harem girls even more than I already do. Nothing like a holiday in America to remind a monger that Thailand is a truly unique and magical place. Let’s hope the dirty fucks filling the casinos of Vegas never find out, lest they haul their sweaty asses out to ruin our Bangkok nights.
The following evening, after seeing Depeche Mode at the T Mobile Arena, my buddy dragged me to Treasures, another famous Vegas strip joint. There weren’t as many girls as Sapphire—I counted around 40. Out of the lot, I saw one hot girl. She wasn’t a stripper, she was a barmaid. I was accosted by a Ukrainian, a Cuban, and a Vegas native, and paid them all to sit on my lap for a bit before going away. The Vegas native was hot, except for the overly large booty that every American stripper seems to sport these days, and she was a fun conversationalist. Plus she massaged my neck the whole time and was happy to bounce on my lap with one tit cupped in my hand. My wingman found a Rubenesque lass the size of a harbor seal and closed out the night with her while I smoked a cigar. We limo’d back to the Hotel at 3 am, had a late dinner, and then drove back to LA, arriving a little after 8. And that was the end of my Vegas adventure.
In Patpong-related news, the corrupt Thai authorities have seized the assets of the dude who owns the museum and leases on Black Pagoda, XXX Lounge, The Strip, and BarBar as retaliation for the underage girl fiasco in Phuket two weeks ago. The locks have been changed on Black Pagoda, ensuring it will remain closed pending new ownership. It’s unlikely BarBar will find a new leaser. The folks at XXX are moderately confident they’ll be permitted to reopen at some point. The future of The Strip is uncertain, as is my artwork, which was in storage somewhere in the Black Pagoda building. I’m not holding out hope of getting it back.
And so the Pong has lost 4 gogos. They’ve joined Glamour and solidified a darkened block of Soi 2 that will hurt everyone who works in the neighborhood. One thing’s for sure—when the Thai cops want to destroy someone, they don’t give a fuck about the dozens, nay hundreds of people who get hurt in the process.
And that’s all the monger that’s fit to ponder for now, friends. I’m back in BKK in a few days, so my blog content will be back to awesome by next week. In the meantime, you can read more about Bangkok life on my Substack: https://bangkokseven.substack.com/
Like last week, there’s no YouTube photo companion for this post, but I did upload a couple excerpts from the Depeche Mode show in Las Vegas. You can see them and a few years’ worth of pics and vids in the gogo bars at: https://www.youtube.com/@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 ever find yourself in a Las Vegas strip club and you don’t want to pay the $400 for a 30-minute blue-balls session, keep $80 in 20s in your pocket. You can get away with shooing off two or three girls but all the rest of them will watch you do that, and each will take a run at you in turn. At some point, you’re going to have to converse with one or three. When a decent-looking one approaches, pull her onto your lap and chat with her as long as she’s willing to chat. Then when she asks to go to the back room, say “No thanks, but I’m happy to pay you for your time.” Then slip a $20 in her bra. Then repeat the process until you leave the club. Yes, it’s a ridiculous price to pay for a chat. But it’s cheaper than the alternative.
