What’s up reader, my name’s Seven and this is my blog. As we face down the onset of another global war and the leaders of Western nations frog march their citizens into worldwide communism, let’s take a moment to appreciate the soft totalitarianism of Thailand, where instead of a boot stamping on a human face forever, they’re merely building a 15-Minute City (Google it) next to Lumphini Park. For monger expats, the New World Order takeover will be as smooth and relaxing as a jacuzzi slowly getting dialed up to 11.
For now, at least, this redlight life’s a bowl of cherries. It’s just eat, smoke, bang a harem girl, hit the gogos, sleep, repeat. And sure, the party will be dampened for the next six months by overflowing mobs of twat tourists, but that nuisance is tempered by cooler temperatures and holiday buffets. And this hungry hippo cannot wait to get grubbing. I’ve already mapped out the different locations around town between 23 Dec and 1 Jan, plus a Thanksgiving precursor to whet the mood and tempt the senses. Keep a lookout for a review of that meal on my Substack toward the end of the month. Speaking of the holidays, the condo complex next to my apartment is made up mostly of AirBnB joints, and the building is completely dark for most of the year. This week, it lit up like a giant concrete Christmas tree. The pretesidents (pretend residents) are back for their yearly wind-down/wild-out. I’ve found that if I surround myself in a cloud of cigar smoke it keeps them at bay.
On Monday, I was in NanaP to 1—attend another photo shoot with Jack Nites in Geisha and 2—return the smart watch of a harem girl who left it in my place at the weekend. The girls at Geisha are good fun, and the support staff are all very gracious and infectiously optimistic. Plus they have a nude soapy show later in the evenings. On my way out the Plaza, I got waylaid on the Lollipop terrace by a couple of BKKVIPs and there was a new hostess—wild curly hair and dark, cocoa-colored skin that was tatted from toes to chin. She was too shy for a photo but goddam what a sexual force of nature she presented to the world. She stirred my loins like an Old Testament story. A Bangkok Bathsheba if there ever was one.
On Tuesday I headed out for a late dinner but accidentally wound up drinking in the 3 Kings instead. None of my usual galpals were working so I was forced to make new friends. And by that I mean, chat with girls who all know me but I don’t know them. Four stupid drunk Japanese dudes knocked over a table of glasses, shattering all of them. It’s amazing to watch the staff go to work in that instance. In less than a minute the entire mess was gone like it never happened. And then the boss bought me a drink for no reason. The Kings Group rules Patpong for good reason.
For the first time in years, though, they’ve got competition. Thanks to the new Virgin Bar on soi 2, the Pong has gone a little way towards getting back to normal, because it’s pulled many Pong-to-Nana girls back where they belong. Thus far, Nat, Jane, Luktal, Best, Ning, Beer, Nuchy, and Earn among others who don’t want to be named for fear the bosses from the bars they abandoned will come looking have taken re-root on Soi 2. If XXX and Black Pagoda were to reopen somehow, the ole Pong’d be firing on all cylinders again. Also, it’s nice not to have to pretend to enjoy those middling-appeal Nana bars like Whiskey-N-Gogo anymore. Most 1st string formerPongers are back home now, which means so am I.
On a breezy Thursday afternoon I was in Shenanigan’s for a Black n’ Smooth and a Drew Estate Fat Bottom Betty. The terrace was packed with shitty foreigners. One was a group of five enormous American clams and one dude. The dude and one of the chicks sported nose job bandages. Call these bovines ‘cosmetic tourists.’ Lost of people come here for that. Their friends will all be shocked when they get back to the tailer park with smaller shnozzes. I’m not sure why the other four heifers tagged along. Moral support, maybe. They should’ve gotten liposuction.
Then I popped in to G’s for sausage & sauerkraut and a Westmalle Trappist Extra, followed by a black russian outside King’s Corner. A 20something American dude sat down at the next table with a waitress from a local restaurant. She had at least 10 years on him. Good for that youngster for chasing an older woman, though I suspect it was due to a lack of confidence. Me myself, I exclusively chase 19-year-old tail. If they’re lucky, they’ll secure a spot in my harem and get to stick around into their 30s. I moved away from the canoodling couple in order to smoke an Acid Blondie and was accosted by two hostesses. They were both from Vietnam. I was floored. I asked if they were the only foreigners working onPong. She said there were also girls from Laos and Cambodia. I had no idea my favorite redlight employed clunge from other countries.
Later, I parked in my usual spot outside K1 and watched the local cops harass the owner of Derby King for some retarded reason like a scene out of Goodfellas. For years, I looked the other way when local Five-0 acted like criminals, so grateful was I to even be allowed to stay in this country. But one can only ignore corruption for so long. These days, it eats at my guts. Don’t get me wrong, cops in the US have more than their share of bad apples. It’s one of the reasons why I left. Police are no different from you and me. They’re just regular blokes, except they have a gun and a badge and can step on your neck whenever they feel the urge. It’s a fact of life everywhere. I just hate seeing it here, in the country I love.
The demographic that’s most curious about the goings on in the gogo are the Western female. I’ve documented this with nearly a dozen instances captured in photos which are included in this week’s YouTube slideshow companion (link below). Without exception, they linger outside K1 with a mixture of horror and wonder, and what I can only describe as envy. The situation in Thailand effectively renders white women useless. All their nagging, criticism, sense of superiority, and negative influence on men is completely neutered by Thailand, thank fuck. Recently I saw a YouTube video where a girl on the street in the US was asked to rate herself on a scale from 1 to 10. She rated herself a 10. She was short, fat, and ugly like someone hit her in the face with a carp. This kind of delusion is a direct result of deliberate damage done to Western culture. When Sports Illustrated and Victoria’s Secret replaced their hot models with obese, disgusting pigs they sold the lie to a nation of 3s that they’re 10s. Then those reptiles come to Thailand, look through the door of a gogo bar and are stunned by the realization that they are in fact, devoid of any value. That puts them in a bind. The slow sobering realization that their man could drop them like a deuce at any moment and get with a 20-year-old perfect 10 washes across their physiognomy like someone walking over their grave. I watch them wrestle with what to do with the information. Most will suppress it, go back to America, and warn all their friends off Thailand. I support it 100 percent.
A dude with two toddlers and a wife lingered outside K1, leering longingly in. He saw that I’d caught him staring. I gave him a smirk and he returned a scowl, probably because I had Som in my lap and he was facing down an inevitable return to the living death of family life in the States.
On Friday I had my 3rd favorite harem girl over, then mo’taxi’d t’Nana for pad krapow gai in the beer garden. When ordered from the Thai waitress, she replied, “Huh?” I repeated: pad krapow gai. She said, “Eh?” Pad krapow gai pad krapow gai pad krapow gai pad krapow gai PAD KRAPOW GAI! What fucking Thai person doesn’t know ‘pad krapow gai’? I said it 10 times with 10 different Thai tones. Finally, she said, “You want kai dow?” Do bears shit in the woods, of course I want kai dow. She doesn’t know pad krapow but she knows kai dow? The fuck?
Whilst awaiting my pad krapow gai kai dow, who should saunter up but Jack Nites. He was there hanging out with another Bangkok nightlife legend (name redacted), and Nana was just a brief stop on their journey to Soi Cowboy. Since I’m an antisocial asshole, I didn’t join them. Instead, I sat where I could see inside Twister, curious whether any of my old friends still worked there or if they’d all gone over to Virgin. A haggard-looking farang couple sat on the Twister terrace, ordering food from their meager menu. Interesting choice, going for a meal outside the gogo. I mean, I do it nightly but I’m a Bangkok Bukowski. These chimps were just rando tourists. At one point, the dude tried to say he was going into Twister to use the loo and his—wife? Mom? It’s hard to tell with white chicks over 40—grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him back to his seat. I finished up my gai and kai and went inside to chat with Oil. Puy was also on hand, so not everyone has remigrated back to the Pong. In addition to those two lovelies, I counted four newhotties in each rotation.
Then I headed to Angelwitch where four sets of tourist couples were sat. All but one pair were having a great time. A beta-looking dude with a rotund girlfriend were in crisis. She was clearly pissed-off to be there. Meanwhile her man sat bobbing his head to Bon Jovi, not quite looking at the stage, pretending to just be into the music, which was awesome per usual: Soul Asylum, Santana, Creedence, Seger. The dancers put on a new routine. ‘Twas the one I saw them practicing before opening hours the week before. After a few minutes I popped out to the balcony for some of the cool, breezy high season air and spotted three girls bailing out of Bunny2. Id’ve bet a thousand baht they were heading to Virgin. Down in the beer garden, a sad-looking fellow in a red L.A. baseball cap sat staring into Twister while chewing idly on one thumb. He sipped at a bottle of Chang in a condom (Styrofoam casing to keep it cold). With each swig, he took the bottle out the condom and then put it back in. He might as well’ve worn a shirt that said “First time in Thailand.” I wondered if he’d work up the gumption to actually go into a gogo but didn’t stick around to see. The garden was packed when I left, a trend that’ll continue until March.
Walking into Patpong from Soi Convent, a dumb farang clam stepped into the crosswalk/zebra crossing and almost caused a three-car pileup. Listen, cunts. If you’re new to Thailand: pedestrians don’t have the right of way here. If you step into traffic expecting cars to stop for you, there’s a good chance you will be killed.
It turns out the police shakedown at Derby King the previous night led to the closure of their outdoor seating area, effectively rendering the entire food court useless. New York mafia families ain’t got nothin’ on the Bangkok Po-Po. They make Michael Corleone look like Woody Allen. At the same time, they’re a gang of keystone cops, fumbling and bumbling their way through the redlight. I mean, shutting down the only public eating/seating area? How fucking retarded can you be? Of course, I know it’s an extortion attempt, but talk about shooting yourself in the foot. But that’s par for the course in TLOS. I sometimes think it stands for “The Land of Stupids.” For the record, I love Thailand and the Thai people. What the closure meant for me personally was, the seats on the K1 terrace which are usually free were packed with goddam cunt tourists.
King’s Corner was an absolute insane asylum. A girl I knew from K2 years ago who disappeared for a long time shouted my name, waved, and came to sit for a spell. She explained that her absence was due to squeezing out a kid. I checked her for stretch marks and she was clear. Then I put a hundy in her knickers and sent her on her way. King’s 2 was so crowded, it took three minutes to order a drink. The staff were in a frenzy. I moaned to the girls about the cunts taking up my seat on the terrace. They were completely unsympathetic.
My Saturday night began with stepping on a rat whilst walking t’Pong. As the global human population gets stupider, I guess the rat population gets less-nimble. The girls in King’s Corner were packed shoulder to shoulder onstage and only half-capacity with customers. Competition for drinks must be tough right now because girls I stopped banging six years ago hit me up. I opted instead to slip hundy’s in undies. In Virgin, 20 girls crowded onto a stage meant for 10. Someone’s going to have to open another Patpong gogo to accommodate all the chickies who want to work there now. After half a dozen wai’s from staff, I found a seat and two girls veritably leaped into my lap from the stage. They’re exXXXers and longtime friends, and so hanging with them was like revisiting happier days.
In other news, Patpong Soi 1 has a new bar, near the Surawong entrance, called Pakalolo. They serve craft beer, ganja, and edibles, and have a cozy upstairs lounge if you want to indulge on site. The taps weren’t properly hooked up when I visited, so I imbibed of a THC soda (150b).
For the past two weeks, I’ve been getting 30 less minutes of sleep per night thanks to binge rewatching The Walking Dead. Back in 2000, I was an extra in a movie directed by Frank Darabont, the creator of TWD. I wish I’d known then that he’d go on to make the show that caused a decades-long shift of good content from film to TV. Over the long arc of 11 seasons, the characters go from naïve, self-centered scaredy cats to caring humans who value life and kill zombies adroitly. I actually prefer them in the first two seasons, when they were blind, bewildered, and afraid. Because that’s closer to real-life people in our current world. And although the concept of zombies is supposed to be fictional, some folks aren’t far off. What with staring at their phones all day, not learning, not improving themselves in any way…that’s a kind of zombification. And when you look at the current collective retardation of the tourists around here, I mean…The Walking Dead seems less like fiction every year.
There are two things to hate about high season: tourists and higher prices. But there’s a lot to love. My condo sits high above one of the busiest neighborhoods in the city. On winter nights, I can open my balcony doors and fall asleep to the sound of the city winding down. From the drone of traffic and trains to inconceivable silence.
I’ve been studying the various types of tourist couples that visit the redlights, putting them in different categories based on appearance, temperament, and level of nausea-inducement. One such subset I’ve named “Jack Sprat and Brat.” It’s an enormous fat female with a soft, wiry beta male who looks like he’s spent 20 years suckling at the teet of a soy milk-dispensing robot. I spotted one of these mismatched pairs on soi 1 Saturday while sipping a black nyet’ro and puffing away on a Drew Estate Tabak. The crowd onPong that night was distinctly more eclectic than usual and at first I couldn’t put my finger on why. Then I saw a succession of five people in Morrissey t-shirts and it dawned on me that Saturday was the night of his canceled concert. I spoke with a couple from Malaysia who’d bought non-refundable plane tickets and a hotel room, and so came to Bangkok anyway. What should’ve been an epic pilgrimage to see their pop idol morphed into just a weekend away in Thailand. The only thing Moz is better at than songwriting is crushing the hopes and hearts of his fans.
If you haven’t yet, check out my MGThai video series on my YouTube channel. It’s strictly mediocre content from a Thai expat perspective.
Artwork and photo albums from inside the gogos are available for digital download at https://bentbox.co/bangkoksevenart at superlow prices.
And that’s all the monger that’s fit to ponder for now, friends. Check back next Sunday for another summary of this redlight life. 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
Follow me on Twitter/X @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 want to mototaxi from Cowboy to Patpong, the dude’ll charge 250 baht. But if you go from Cowboy to Nana, it’s 100, and from Nana t’Pong, it’s 100. So if you always go from Cowboy to Nana first, you’ll save 50 baht every time.
