What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and here’s what I found in my phone’s notepad at the end of the week…
One night I was on The 6 to hang with two concs—Aunwar and Tan—before making the BRw (Beach Road walk) to WS. ‘Twas the 2nd time in a row witnessing idiot farang parents dragging their clearly under-age-10 child through the clunge gauntlet. The level of stupid among the global plebes has gotten so bad, we middle-aged fuckers are doomed to be ruled over by retards and psychopaths. It’ll happen before 2030—a complete turnover of the planet’s reigns to brain-dead morons.
The hygrometer displays in BK and Ptown are demonstrably distinct. I left a bag of fisherman’s friend open on the kitchen counter and they turned to liquid in two days. The Big Red cinnamon gum that I brought back from the States and was using as a pseudo air freshener in my Silom apartment melted to goo on my fridge top. For the decade plus I spent in Bangkok, I got a red, itchy rash and flaky dry skin in my beard and between my eyebrows. After two weeks in Ptown, it was completely gone.
In Pin-Up an American asshole walked in, turned to the first girl he saw and tried to negotiate her out the gogo personally with her, as if she could just say “Sure buddy,” and leave with him. There was a clear language gap, and he leaned in close to her face to yap at her while she tried to direct him to a seat and to order a drink. He was 30s, husky, with long hair and a long beard, baseball cap and board shorts. The gal finally coaxed him to sit down, whereupon he was surrounded by mamasans and other dancers. His quarry sat in his lap and six ladydrinks appeared before him, and it was then he realized that they were the sharks and he was the chum.
Google Maps says Oasis Lounge on LK opens at 19.00 which is technically true, however there’s no hostess presence until 20.00. I didn’t care, though, as my motive was to sit on the terrace with a glass of wine and smoke a Cuban. The lights were on at Cheetahs, signaling the impending end of their long hiatus.
After the stogie I bailed on LK and walked to the beach, then turned left and strutted to WS. I overheard a fat freelancer quote an Indian 2k shorttime. I hope to Christ she was highballing him, and that the going rate for Beach Road street meat isn’t the same as Soi 6. Because that’s fuckdiculous.
Most of the Thai women whom I’ve met in the past 15 years have had a kind of beauty that is connected to innocence. They smile a lot. They laugh easily and with abandon. They assume the best of people. Even the trodden-on gals of the redlight manage to hold onto this quality much of the time.
But a woman who you can tell is persevering in the face of obvious pain possesses a kind of beauty all her own. I’m seeing this a lot in Ptown. The city on the whole is crueler to women than, say, Bangkok is.
Last week I forgot to mention that 1—I only got to Soi 6 once. I think it’s because I’ve accumulated clams there that stick like barnacles. It makes shopping for concubines a more complicated endeavor. And 2—all the wine, charcuterie and cheese I consumed the week before that had me back on the road to fat. 14 days later, I’m still trying to work off the pudge from that food folly. And so I walked the Beach Road every night that week, which meant I hit WS every night as well. And that trend continued into last week.
A Ptown local read last week’s post about being harassed on the beach road for my fat gut, and commented on X about it being a Pakistani scam. Or Pakiscam for short. And for a second I felt guilty for mistaking Pakistanis for Indians, then then panicked at the thought of learning to discern them. But then I remembered I want all nationalities to leave me alone, so it doesn’t matter. Lo-so tourism means lots of fat solo American firsttimers. They walk in circles around the Beach Road freelancers like children’s wind-up toys.
Apparently Tuesday was a Buddhist holiday because the Bangkok redlights were closed. Not so in Ptown, where business went on per usual. However, the next morning the Cha Mongkhon Temple was crammed with worshippers at 7 am and some businesses were slow to open. Except the beer bars along the Beach Road, of course. Those were freshly-wiped down and serving before 08.00. Chubby middle-aged freelancers patrolled the beach. I passed one dude arguing with an unattractive chunkster over 2,000 baht for short time. She wanted more, the cheeky minx. My walk took me to Soi 6, where some bars were washing down and organizing chairs already. Two gals who got longtimed overnight and came back to the bar where they sleep were locked out, what with everyone inside passed out cold, so they were forced to lie down on the ground outside and wait. The Beach Road public are an odd mix early in the morning. Redlight staff squat together on the sand, enjoying a post-work beer before the sun gets too high. Fat old pensioners walk up and down in their trainers, trying to keep their tickers ticking for at least one more day. Serious runners weave through the rest of us like health in stealth mode. …
One night whilst polishing off a plate of medmamuang on LK, a blafrican American rocked up with is barfine plus a little mamasan, ostensibly to translate, but the real reason was, the lady’d never gone with a chocolate man before. She seemed terrified. They walked up, and he stopped and pointed to his hotel. The lady froze in her tracks. I think she thought they’d go to dinner first. He couldn’t get her to take another step. Their was some furious translating with the grumpy mamasan. Eventually they reached a compromise and filed into Scooter’s Bar. He probably thought she needed some liquid courage.
Lots of father-son duos on LK. The old men seemed to be searching for that one joint where they got lucky in the 80s, meanwhile the youngsters looked interested in every open doorway. “What about this one, pops?” “Nooooo, that one’s no good. I remember from 30 years ago.” Lots of solo American dudes sporting “Midwest bar casual”: black slip-ons, beige cargo shorts, either black or navy polo, and a pregnant beer gut. One step down from that is the New Balance trainers, denim shorts, oversized short-sleeve button down, and ever bigger gut. Down from that is the old fogie in black Levi’s and Santana t-shirt, and scraping the bottom is flip flops, board shorts, and Leo tank top.I’m not faulting these Yanks for being dorks in their home environment, because this is Thailand, baby, where the loser is king. And thank fuck for that.
Midweek I ventured out in the daytime for 2 reasons. 1—to get new shoes. It turns out walking 1-2 miles per day in $9 Adidas knockoffs is bad for your feet and 2—to try Mano’s new sloppy joe sandwich. Long before Adam Sandler made them famous with a song on SNL, my mum—the wife of a public school teacher—would fix them for me as a “special treat.” Little did I know then that she was trying to stretch a dollar with peasant food. All these years later, it remains a heartfelt favorite, and needless to say, a near impossible find in TLOS.
They weren’t exactly like mom’s but they came close. I wished I had some Taco Bell hot sauce packets. That was the secret ingredient I learned to add, as the only one in my family to like a little tangy in my food.
Thursday I was out for a cigar, on the baht bus up to Toscana. 3 fat American dickheads got on. First they stood arguing whether it was worth the 10b, then they finally waddled on. A Thai dude with a busted leg who clearly couldn’t afford treatment was on with us. One said, “Hey what’s up dude, how you doing?” Then he noticed the leg. “Holy fuck, what happened? Is that the bone? How’d you do that?” Then he laughed loudly, pulled out his phone, and snapped a pic. Then when the dude exited they laughed again and shouted a bunch of English catch-phrases at him. Then three Iranians got on. “What’s up fellas, how we doing this evening?” “Uh?” they replied. “How y’all doing? How we doing?” They just stared, then went on talking in varsity. The one Yankee stooge says, way too loudly, “Aw God, what language is that?” “I dunno,” said another, “I thought they were Cuban.” This trio of Tweedle Dee Dumb and Dumber were the epitome of the classic American idiot. They assume everyone speaks English—and not just English, but the particular quirky dialect from their hometown, which I assume by their beards and matching back t-shirts was southern Los Angeles County. When I got off at the 6, they remained on the baht bus despite being prime candidates for the soi. Clearly they were flying blind in Thailand.
I did the gauntlet, stopping periodically to say hello to galpals, and then spotted the slimmest, cutest, youngest PYT in a long, long time. She was 18, from Buriram, in town 2 days, and lived at the bar, so I knew she’d get run-through like a rag before I’d ever get my hands on her. Such is the plight of the old lion. He no longer rules the pride, and must content himself with the easy-to-chase-down.
At Toscana I had angel hair with veal ragu, a carafe of claret, and a glass of port to go with my Drew Estate Liga Privada Number 9. It felt like a scene out of the godfather. All i needed was a pinky ring and a gun. On three separate occasions as I sat puffing on my stogie, trios of young women approached and asked where they can buy cigars in Ptown. I directed them to Cigarista on the second road because as far as I know its the only shop in Pattaya. When smoking at Oasis one night, the same thing happened. People wanting to know where to puck up smokes. I asked a server why they didn’t sell them there and he said they weren’t authorized.
Then I walked the Beach to WS and saw more freelancers tha ever before. Thursday is supposed to be a quiet night out, but high season has come early. WS was a total clusterfuck. Three separate tourist clams bumped into me while trying to take photos. I wanted to scream.
I popped into Fahrenheit, which was rife with newhotskinnies. I like that joint on account of 1—the 2010s memories, 2—the very nice staff, and 3—the clunge. It’s one of the few gogos outside the Pin-Up cartel that has hot girls. Then I went straight to Atmos and when I sat down I was face to face with a familiar onstage. The last time I was there, I recognized her by her arm tattoo, so this time she smiled and pointed to the tatt as if to say “You leemembah me?” I stood up and lightly tapped her bare ripples with a hundy till they got good and hard.
In the handful of days since I last visited Chick, they completely remodeled their stages and added more seats. I think it’s to accommodate the shows they’re putting on now.
As I walked home there were two fat bald Chinese dudes in front of me, strolling along holding hands and I wondered, is this a cultural thing? Or are they in love? And if it’s the latter, what possesses someone to want to fuck a thing that looks exactly like you? Is that what society has devolved into? So narcissistic that we just want to fuck ourselves?
Thailand is a patriarchy. This might sound great at first blush to any man living in the West, which is a hellscape of misandry. But in a patriarchy, a man has responsibilities that he must never shirk. He must always look out for the welfare of women and girls—all of them. Friends, family, lovers, strangers. He must make every decision with the benefit of women in mind. He must always be polite, respectful, generous, complementary, and kind. He must pay a redlight worker for her mere beauty. He owes her that for looking as good as she does. He must strive to make as many women happy as he is physically and financially able. Now, some of you might be thinking, Hang on Seven, that sounds like simping. And it would be, in the West, because in the West, a man gets nothing in return for all that effort. In Thailand, as long as you’re not dumb enough to marry them, the women are deferential, submissive, giving. They’re happy to make you a sandwich, and let you tie them to the bedposts. That’s the trade-off, and its fair.
For about an hour on Friday I thought I was being followed by the same 60something bald goatee’d American. I saw him in four separate gogos, until I realized they were all different people who happened to look the same. Like every other old bald fuck in this town. On the night I hit Pin Up, Atmos, XS, and Chick. Patpong stalwart and longtime expat monger Simon was in XS. I gave him a hug and he shouted “Patpong!” as though my presence somehow brought a piece of that redlight with it.
Saturday newconc 1 came over for another physically exhausting tryst. Then I planned to stay in bed till sunrise, but sometime around 21.30 I got up, dressed, and hit the rainy street like a pre-programmed robot. I hoofed it to LK and Lady Love first. There were no seats so I perched on a stool by the stage. That place has a lot of locals who go religiously. I’m invisible to everyone and it’s a relief. And a 95b cocktail is always a plus.
Then I hit Las Vegas and again was relegated to a chair at the stage. I guess in high season you gotta get all your redlighting done by 9 pm. After that quick b ruskie I hustled to a beer bar where my buddy works. Things were festive, and for a moment I was suspended on a cloud of possibility, like the old days, when Thailand was a promise that always delivered, and a monger could have his Epicurean fill and go to bed happy, knowing the pleasure train would never end. But then I reached the bottom of my glass and remembered it’s 2025 and everything has gone to shit.
I lumbered on to Heaven Above to buy a drink for a galpal and had a chin-wag with another local. The topic always comes round to how things were better a decade ago. But look, the only constant is change, and a pimp has to morph with the times. Is the current state of the redlight crappy in comparison to the good old days? Yes. Are there diamonds in the rough in every setting? Also yes. It is not a monger’s place to compare the now to the happy nights of yesteryore. That is a useless endeavor. Instead, one must pluck the gems from the dross, like jellybeans from a garbage heap. We are all spiraling to the grave. The only thing to do is grab a fistful of daisies on the way down. If Chuck Bukowski could’ve seen Thailand, hed’ve said the same.
I’ll say this for Thai women—they’re not afraid to shoot their shot. She could be 60 years old, 30 pounds overweight, with six kids and a face like a tire tread and she’ll still 1—email you on Thaifriendly and 2—proposition you for shorttime on the Beach Road. I guess it makes sense. I’ve always said that in Thailand, the foreigner is the hot chick at the LA club. The hot chick in the club needs only to walk in and stand at the bar, and 30 douchebags will take turns hitting on her. And those douches are playing the odds. They know if they hit on 100 women, one will say yes. The Thai ladydross who do the same cannot be faulted. They’re just playing the odds. So when a troll crawls out from under a bridge to proposition you, monger, don’t clutch at your pearls. Respect that goblin for taking the chance, and be polite in your rejection. She deserves that much.
There’s no Members Only Gallery this week, because as I posted previously, Stripe—the paywall gateway—has closed my account, calling my content “sexual.” So I can’t in good conscience add any new Members, and current Members have lost access as of August. You have an Aussie named Greg Hawk to thank, because when he signed up and then decided he didn’t want to be a Member anymore, instead of canceling his membership he disputed the charge with his bank, causing a chain reaction that led to my account getting shut down. Greg Hawk, the cunt piece of shit, has done this to all of us, Members. I’m working on finding a new paywall gateway, so hopefully the MO content will continue, though those who already purchased a Membership will lose that $12. Thank Greg Hawk the retard for that kick in the balls.
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 and the redlight scene 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:
@superhotthais
@BangkokNightli2
If you’re feeling generous, you can leave a tip on any of the above X profiles. All proceeds will go to creating more redlight content.
I’ve started to sell my artwork in digital download bundles, so if you fancy some gogo dancer-related pictures, mostly nude Thai chicks photoshopped as paintings, you can get ‘em on the cheap at my Etsy shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
Right now I have several bundles of four to five pictures each for under $10 US apiece.
And until next time fellow beach 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.
What Grinds My Gears This Week: Periodically I’m going to replace the Pro Tip Post Script with a winge. Here’s one: Why are so many girls in Ptown bad at giving head? You’d think they would be goddam experts, but no. Or are they bad on purpose so they don’t have to do it? I don’t know. But my BK concs were much, much better at fellatio. Maybe I just got lucky there and unlucky here. Further research is needed.
