Hey reader, how you livin’. This worn-out whorrior (whore warrior) is tuckered out. I’m tired because it turns out flitting between Bangkok redlights all week is frigging exhausting. For anyone who doesn’t regularly read my posts, I’m referring to the new normal of seeking out former Patpong girls who’ve relocated to bars in Nana and Cowboy, thanks to police corruption-slash-incompetence (corrupetence for short, copyright BKK7). And if you don’t know what I’m referring to here, then go back and read my past posts. I don’t have the energy to repeat the story.
This new practice of stretching my baht between Twister and WhiskeyGG in NanaP, Rainbow on Cowboy, and PinkPantherKingsCornerKingsCastleBadaBing in Patpong has me feeling like not enough butter spread out over a large, sexy piece of bread. Here’s how my weary week worked out…
On Sunday, I boarded the BTS intent on hitting Cowboy, but when the train reached Nana Station I hopped off. I knew what Cowboy would be—Bee and Aom in Rainbow, happy hour beers in Dollhouse and then jettisoning to NanaP. So I skipped stop 1 and went straight to Nana to hang out with the crew at Twister. Oil kept me company while we watched Puy and Luktal put on a dance clinic. Then I slid up to WhiskeyGG to hang with Sai, Beer, Pu, and Joy who’d come over from Pink Panther Pong to check out Nana’s customer base and to catch up with her ex-XXX cohorts. I lit up a Herrera Esteli Habana (the closest an American can get to smoking a Cuban cigar without breaking the trade embargo), paired with a French Connection (cognac and amaretto) to the girls’ dismay, who hate the smell. After a few puffs, I returned to the Twister patio so as to spare the girls the discomfort, and ordered a Godfather (scotch and amaretto) and the Thais pitched a fit. It wasn’t listed in the register so no one could figure out how to charge me for it. They even said ‘no’ initially. Imagine being so inept and lazy that you’d rather deny a customer a drink than find a way to punch it into the computer. I ended up buying two separate shots and pouring them over ice myself. I polished off the drink before finishing the cigar, and so kept smoking it whilst mo’taxi’ing t’Pong. I had another Godfather at French Kiss, which made for a nice ending to the stogie.
There were at least as many tourists onPong as in NanaP (an observation I’d make multiple times in the week), refuting any cunts’ assessment that the Pong is dead. I expected the RLD to be quiet, since after all, Sundays usually are, but I guess the previous night’s Buddhist-holiday-no-booze closure changed the Sunday dynamic, because every gogo was a veritable asylum riot. The Pong party was at a fever pitch (a trend that continued throughout the week).
In King’s Castle, my buddy Ice asked me to buy her dinner, so we retired to the terrace and watched 3 Asian tourists take 10 minutes to talk themselves into going inside. I can’t conceive of dudes who’re such vaginas that they make the effort to hit the redlight but then stop short of entering the bar. I get that in most parts of the world, the redlight life is taboo. But once you’re here, it ain’t. Fucking grow a pair and do what you came here to do, for fuck’s sake. I had paw piet and moo taut. Ice scarfed down a plate of krapow moo sap. She’s always fun to hang with. Her smile can light up a room, and it’s entertaining to watch passersby stare at her while she sits there eating rice in her lingerie.
On Monday I set out ‘tPong after a last-minute harem girl popped by. As reported, the former BarBar location reopened under the name “Octopus.” It’s still a BDSM bar and the doorman is the same—a Thai dude named Lucky. He says the new owner is a Thai woman (rumored to be Som, a former BarBar hostess) who’s been backed by a wealthy farang benefactor.
After a quick hotdog at the Snack Shack, I scooted through Bada Bing, King’s 1, K Corner, and Pink Panther. I skipped Radio City. I like the girls in there but I wouldn’t call any of them ‘friends.’ Panther boasted two rotations of 15 each. There were only six customers when I was there but that’s not unusual for an early Monday night. Lookked was there, with her fantastic fake tits. She always gets mad when I don’t buy her a drink, but in my defense, she never asks.
King’s Corner had two very nice rotations of 20 girls each. These days I get wai’s from 30 people and yet have not a single chick in there to talk to. In K Castle it’s always 30 wai’s and a lap dance from Ice. Or we pop outside for dinner on the terrace. Monday she was MIA. Bada Bing was the same. My galpals are rarely there on a Monday. And I lied about Radio City. I did pop in. They had two rotations of eight each and was half-full of customers for a change. And that was Monday done. I didn’t have the energy to hit Nana or Cowboy.
On Tuesday, I popped over to Shenanigan’s for a late lunch—fried pork, a Black ‘n’ Smooth, and a Drew Estate Factory Smokes stogie. It pissed down for a good hour. Then I made my way home to shave the ole nutsack in preparation for that night’s harem girl. She arrived two hours late, thanks to typical BKK traffic, and so I gave up on rePonging.
On Wednesday, I got caught up with another harem girl and stayed in.
On Thursday I could only Pong, thanks again to a harem girl who cut the night short with a 21.30 arrival. But I got to head out early—18.00 early, shaking from hunger, straight to Took Lae Dee for pad thai. Then I was faced with a dilemma. 18.30 is too early for gogo hopping, so I scampered over to G’s German for one of their new beers: Westmalle Trappist Extra. ‘Twas a golden delicious bowl of beauty. Then I took a stroll down Soi Thaniya where the hostess bars were only just flipping the lights on, and had a cigarillo on the Pink Panther patio. The music started up in there just as I snuffed out the butt. Best sauntered over for a 100b handout. Kaew put on a show, trying to catch the eye of a Japanese tourist. Beem came over and gave me a shoulder rub. ‘Twas a valiant effort but those tiny hands were no match for this pudgy punter’s tense trapeziuses. From there it was on to King’s Corner and a trio of new girls—all hot, and all smiles. On my way to Bing, I was accosted twice. First, the lady who sells dancer gear round the corner from Muzik asked me to find Lookked and chase her up for an unpaid bill on a pair of shoes. Then a hostess from the King’s Group hit me up for somtam. How I ended up settling monetary disputes and buying dinners, I can’t suss out.
I pivoted into King’s Castle for one SML. The stage was packed with 40 girls. Then I continued on to Bada Bing and was greeted by five new faces, one of ‘em with a perfect 10 body. And let’s face it, in this redlight reverie, a pretty face is a plus but the real meat and potatoes is a rockin’ bod. When I’m looking for a chick to roll over like a roller coaster, I’m not fussed about facial features. That said, no one in my harem is short of gorgeous. But that’s thanks to years of honing and pruning. Like a bonsai tree, is a harem. It requires time, patience, and TLC. Goddam, sorry for waxing poetic. The Bing takeaway on Thurssday was, there was a ton of sweet poon in the joint.
On Friday I tried and failed again to get to Cowboy. The original plan was to check out the “new and improved Shark Bar” with “30 new girls” that social media force-fed me all week. But then I thought, fuck it. I’ll be bored to tears in Cowboy and Shark will probably suck. So instead, I hit NanaP after a quick harem meetup. Twister had a schoolgirl cosplay theme going, and the dancers looked fantastic (see this week’s YouTube slideshow, link below). Oil and Puy looked particularly fetching. A gogo dancer from Pink Panther was there with a Japanese tourist. She must’ve been barfined long-time the night before and the dude brought her along to Nana. She spent the bulk of the time chatting with Oil and I. After two quick SMLs I jammed up to WhiskeyGG but most of my friends were missing. Sai and Ya were there, plus half a dozen other ex-XXXers whom I wouldn’t call friends, and a gang of overly-friendly strangers giving me the tourist treatment. Locals know what I mean: coy smiles, waving, tryina make eye contact, acting like I’m the best thing they’ve seen in a week. The usual gogo grift. One girl whose attention I didn’t mind was a skinny little newbie who couldn’tve been 5 minutes older than 20 with the best gogo body I’ve seen in years. She can’t dance to save her life but that’s likely because she’s fresh off the bus. My usual crew noticed my side glances at her, and it almost started a kerfuffle. In the end, I bounced Beer on one knee while grabbing Sai’s cooter for around half an hour and then bailed t’Pong…to find it an absolute zoo.
Once again, there were easily as many people onPong as there were in NanaP. I went to Pink Panther first, where I scolded Lookked for not paying for her shoes, and fondled Joy’s fake boobs for the length of a vodka soda. Lookked said she couldn’t afford the shoes so I said I’d buy them for her. She showed zero gratitude. The joint was lousy with—either Japanese or Chinese. I’m not good at differentiating in low light. There were no open seats in K Corner or King’s 1. Ice and I sat on the terrace and, for the second time that week, had dinner. She got something called moo sap prickpao. I got spring rolls. Then I pushed on to Bing where the only open seat was my usual stageside perch. It took a full 3 minutes for a barmaid to come over and ask if I’d ordered yet. The stage was awash in gash. I spotted Luktal who wai’d me from across the room whilst sitting next to a random customer, and then made a shocking realization. As I sat there gazing up at a chubster in a bikini, my eye passed from her tits to her hip tattoo—and it dawned on me that I was looking at none other than the formerly-hot Pop, one of the hottest dancers to ever grace the Bada Bing stage. The reason I didn’t recognize her is because she’d put on at least 20 pounds. She looked like someone stuck an tire pump up her ass and blew her up like a parade blimp. It was a little bit heartbreaking, seeing another hottie falling victim to junk food. American fast-food joints are responsible for ruining more gogo dancers than yaba.
On Friday night, I was in a bar—I’m not going to say the name because I like the place—where a new ladyboy barmaid refused to leave me alone. She hung around and stared while I canoodled with galpals. I figured she wanted a drink but didn’t know how to properly handle the ask. Regardless of the reason, it soured the whole experience. Like a fart that doesn’t fade out. Eventually, she worked up the balls to ask for a drink. I said no, for several reasons. First, I almost never buy drinks for the barmaids. I’m not a fucking tourist, for fuck’s sake. Second, money’s tight this month. Third, she harshed my good time. Fourth, I don’t actually want to support ladyboys working in straight gogos. I’m here for vajay, not cocknballs. There are specific bars that cater to that, and I don’t go to ‘em. Plus, once I denied her, she fucking disappeared. I got no further drink orders and when it came time to pay the bill, I had to walk it to the register myself.
On Saturday I finally made it t’Cowboy and was in Rainbow by half 8. Upon entering, someone shouted my name from the stage. Turns out it was Bee. We chatted for a while. She’s very excited about her upcoming boob job. The doctor said she has to stay off booze for two weeks before the surgery and then must convalesce for a month afterward. There were many fit bodies onstage plus some familiar tattoos. These days, with all the plastic chins and noses, tatts are the only surefire way to identify some gogo dancers. And speaking of boob jobs, Rainbow is rife with fake titties. It’s getting so Bangkok chicks are more rubber than flesh. The final step will be when Google invents an implantable phone. Then it’ll be only a matter of time before cyborg strippers take over Thailand.
After saying goodbye to Bee, I made it to Dollhouse for happy hour. There were two very fit girls in the first rotation. I’m always shocked to see nude girls in DH. Being a mostly-Ponger, I ain’t accustomed to it. I find nude dancers unsettling, probably because I cut my teeth in the strip clubs of Los Angeles. In LA, all nude clubs are booze-free, and a girl wants 1,000 baht just to tell you her name. And if you lay one finger on her, a large Mexican will toss you out by your ballsack. I always preferred what Americans call “titty bars.” They’re strictly topless bars that serve beer, and the girls are way more laid-back. Thinking back over the years, I can’t remember ever having fun in a nudie bar. And so my early experience is tainted by that horrid LA strip scene. When I’m in Dollhouse, I sometimes get wicked flashbacks. The second rotation was the chubby team. I necked my beer and bailed to Shark. It turns out their “30 new girls” were only new to Shark. I recognized most from other gogos around Bangkok, going back nearly a decade. There were more scars and post-baby paunches than I care to see. I got a few “Seven!” shouts from the stage, but they came from girls I typically avoid. And to add insult to revulsion, I missed happy hour. Goddam, that’s a short HH. I didn’t break Rule 1, though. I stayed for the second rotation. I’ve nothing to report about it.
The mo’taxi ride to Nana was harrowing. On passing through security, a Chinese couple tried to enter the Plaza with their clearly under 10 years old daughter in tow. The guards sprang into action, blocking their path and shouting “NoNoNoNoNo!” After some confusion, the family gave up and wandered on down the soi.
In Twister, Nat was drinking whiskey in a corner with a Patpartner (Patpong partner)—I can’t recall her name. I sidled over and snapped some pics (see this week’s YouTube slideshow, link below). In WhiskeyGG the off-duty girls were hanging out in the men’s toilet, making taking a piss a weird experience. Trying to whiz while a girl stands right next to you, engaging you in conversation, takes the kind of concentration only a seasoned monger can pull off. Pu, Ya, and a couple other ex-XXXeres were shaking ass on a Saturday but most of my besties were absent. I had one SML and beat it t’Pong for another 3-RLD night.
King’s Corner was a circus. There were no empty seats but the bar staff booted out a drunk farang to make room for me. I couldn’t even get through the door in King’s 1, and so ended the night in Bada Bing where nearly every customer had a girl on his lap and the hottest ones hadn’t even been picked over ye. I’ll never understand why sometimes the fittest girls get ignored. I chalk it up to the average dude’s horrible tase. And look, more power ot you if you prefer a chubster over a girl with sixpack abs and an apple bottom, but this old cowpoke will never lean heavy. Give me a girl with zero body fat and muscle tone like a beach volleyball pro. That’s what I’m after, and thank fuck so many dudes aren’t.
NanaP again, with a Twister/Whiskey visit—again—and some casual time with besties in both.
In other news, The Strip is rumored to reopen next week—new owner unknown—while some of the most evil people in the redlight scene are in talks to reopen XXX Lounge, which means I’ll never darken their door again.
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/
Photos of everything in this blog can be found in the YouTube slideshow companion for this post 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 take Grab or Bolt to NanaP from the south or west side of the city, make sure your driver knows about the new shortcut through Benchakitti Park. Otherwise you’ll wind up schlepping all the way around to Phetchaburi Road.
