What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and here are the notes I found in my phone at the end of the week.
First up, a summary of the things I witnessed on my morning walks: After those first few hot, smoggy days in December, the cool wind has returned. Currently it’s a battle between the pollution and the breeze. If the wind stops, the haze instantly descends. But as long as it keeps up, the skies are clear and the weather is delightful. On Sunday morning there wasn’t a cloud in the sky—a sky that was nearly cobalt blue in color. I haven’t sparked my air-con in over a week. If this is what Ptown is like every high season, then I couldn’t be happier to’ve moved here. The downside of course is the teeming, seething hordes of unwashed idiots. More seem to appear every day. There are so many stupid cunting tourists on my street that freelancers have appeared. I can barely get from Friendship Market to the Beach Road, so crowded are the sidewalks with meandering idiots (meanderots for short, copyright BKK7). It’s the same for morning walks. Everyone’s either out for a jog or having breakfast at a restaurant with a sea view. I’m glad people get to come here and experience how we mad geniuses regularly live. I just wish somehow there could be an IQ test that that had to pass before receiving a visa. It would go a long way to relieving the annoyance of their presence.
Half the beach is under construction at the mo because both the SEA Games and Pattaya Jazz Festival are happening at the same time. Walking the sand is an obstacle course.
Every morning, I pass through The Buakhao Market. At the western end is a small food court-ish area where I often see bar girls grabbing a bite before going to bed, as well as old farang eating a Thai style breakkie, which means normal food like krapow. Some are alone, and give dirty looks as I pass, like I’m somehow encroaching on their turf. Others dine with their 50something Thai partners. The food must be good, though, because those old farts are always there.
Why do the hakalacas fly a thousand miles just to talk loudly on the phone to their friends back home? I mean, I understand the desire to make your familiars mad with envy that you’re in TLOS, but if all you do while you’re here is talk on the phone, then what was the point? Why stand on the Beach Road at 9 am blocking my path to talk to your neighbor in Mumbai? Go do something fun, jackass.
It’s been an adjustment, moving from BKK to Ptown. One glaring difference is, no one contacts me. In BK I fielded a dozen or so people a day for one reason or other—mostly concubines scheduling BJs. In Ptown, I get nothing, except the daily check-in from mum (she’s just making sure I didn’t die in the night) and the odd cigar-related message from my brother. Plus my one remaining Pattaya conc reaches out once a week for that petty cash installment. You’d think the isolation would be depressing, or at least unnerving. And for a normal person, it would be. But you redlight locals know what I’m going to say. A lone lion can appreciate a pride, but in the end, he stands alone, with a couple of hot lionesses on the side if he’s lucky. Nietzsche called us “Ubermeschen.” A more accurate name might be ubermongers, or puntermenschen—no no, that’s not right. The first one is. If I’m lucky, I can go an entire day without speaking to a single soul, or at least, not speak English to anyone, and only chat to a Bolt driver or a 7-11 cashier, or a bar girl or three. That, to me, is the definition of bliss.
On Monday night I walked Buahkao to LK. The clusterfuck of tourists is maddening. There should be a law against letting Eurofamilies clomp around the gogos and beer bars. The govt should step in and stop dads from pushing their toddlers past whizzing motorbikes, half-naked Thai girls, and gangs of horny nipons. It shouldn’t be allowed, goddammit.
I swung into Vice City for a couple vodka sodas and a chat with the boss. We commiserated about the dearth of intelligence among the tourist set. He shared a couple stories of retarded noobs from Russia and the Netherlands. I told him about the stupid Yankees that ruined my beach excursion (throwback to last week’s post). Then I popped into Las Vegas for BOGO black ruskies. None of the gals in there are what I’d call “skinny,” but a few have small waists and flat stomachs, and that’s not a bad combo. Lady Love was mostly chunksters, plus some buxom bodies, plus two 10s. Spicy Saparot, or as I like to call it, Pedt Pineapple was open so I decided to check it out. The stage was cut into the shape of a pineapple. It held a six-girl rotund rotation (rotuntion for short). A smaller stage had four topless chunksters. 150b for a vodka soda. Then I doubled back toward Heaven Above but got waylaid in a tiny bar on Buahkao by a very hot piece who randomly grabbed me as I passed. Her name’s Fah, 24 from Isaan. She had a tiny waist and beguiling smile, and my usual flirtatious shtick worked like a charm. I didn’t get her Line but I made her promise to recognize me if I walk past on a future night.
Heaven Above is a testament to customer loyalty. At any given time in there, it feels like the clientele are around 90% regulars. That’s impressive. It means those old dudes followed the gogo after it moved from Walking Street, and Soi Boomerang is quite a ways away from that original location.
HA is the weirdest seating setup of any gogo in Thailand. For some reason it makes me think of the old Peppermill in Las Vegas, even though I’ve barely a recollection of what that joint looked like. The last time I was in there was around 1990. I’ll say this about HA—without Captain Hornbag running the show, they’re slipping. Nobody brought me a checkbin for my drink. However, the vibe is as festive as always, and the girls are very good at making a monger feel at home.
On Monday I walked Buakhao to LK again, looking to visit the two hotties I’ve befriended in that route. One—Nan—was already busy with a punter. Fah spotted me from 50 feet away, put down her fork, and jumped off her stool to grab me by the crotch and pull me into the bar. For the first time in my life, I had a nosy farang eavesdrop on a conversation with a bar girl. He knew enough Thai to follow our chat. The girl noticed before I did that he was listening. I wanted to punch him in the face, but he suddenly got up, paid, and bailed.
After Fah, I’d accomplished my Buakhao goal, so I Bolted to The 6 to commune with what has grown to eight or so chickies up and down that soi. I consulted my notes first, just to get all their names and bars right. The 6 was a clusterfuck. Like Lollapalooza for douchebags. It was wall-to-wall dickheads. Then I looked at the clock and realized why. I’d been late getting out the door, and after Fah only found my way to Soi 6 at half 9. I’m usually in and out of there before 20.00
The first gash on my list—Meenah—was stood outside with a trio of chunkies like she wasn’t a cool 8 out of 10. How am I the only one who sees it? Meenah likes to be touched when you’re drinking with her so I kept one hand up her skirt the whole time. A fat farang clam and her husband were in for a drink. It’s the first time I’ve seen a white walrus in a Soi 6 bar. She appeared to be…uncomfortable.
Anwar was otherwise engaged. I’ve definitely established too many acquaintances on The 6. Girls who know me give a “what’s up” gesture while sitting in a customer’s lap as I pass. It’s not a good look.
Pang had a customer. So did Linda. As I neared the beach, a skinny 30something jumped out of the crowd and said “I remember you.” I remembered her tight body, despite approaching its expiry date. She still looked good enough to rail in a drunken haze, so I got her a Sangsom and coke. We sat and watched the carnage on the soi. She tried to work her way into a concubine internship while I watched a poor sex tourist make an attempt on a hotskinny. Three of her fat friends kept cockblocking him and he couldn’t think his way around them so he just stood there staring at the hottie. Finally he gave up and walked 10 meters to the next closest skinny. His move was to don sunglasses and stand uncomfortably close to the gal, who immediately ran inside the bar. It’s more proof that even in a country where fucking whores is as easy as falling off a log, some losers still can’t make it happen. I don’t mean to mock him, though. I sincerely hope he learns how to pull easy women. But some dudes are just too dumb.
My companion clearly wanted to shorttime, but I’m not desperate enough yet to fuck a 30-year-old. Plus, she had the gall to call out my lack of a sixpack as if it’s my responsibility to be fit for her and not the other way around.
Beem was MIA. I slipped a hundy into J’s undies. She complained that no one has shorttimed her in three days, as if I’d step up and oblige. But I hit that once already and it didn’t merit a revisit. So I bade her goodnight and baht bussed to Walking Street.
In a week’s time the number of cunting tourists has quadrupled. As a result, the population of Beach Road freelancers has doubled. I jumped off and walked at Soi 13 because traffic as at a standstill. The boardwalk was claustrophobic with unwashed masses of human refuse. WS was even worse.
Atmos was on fire. It’s hard to think of a better lineup of pole kitties in Ptown. Maybe Pin-up. Speaking of, I skipped their bar for once and instead slipped into Shark, thrilled as ever that they severed ties with the biggest, stupidest, most pathetic cunt in all of Thailand, better known as Bob James, aka Bob he Knob, aka Dave the Rave, aka The Retarded Albino. In Shark there were maybe 6 girls that I’d call stupid hot. It means, a chick that’s so fucking gorgeous, it lowers your IQ to look at her.
In Chick there were 3 cunting farang in bathrobes. They walked around and threw handfuls of 20-baht bills at the girls. We locals call twats like that one-week millionaires. They save for years to come here and act like P Diddy for a few days, then go home and live off those memories until they die. Meanwhile, the smart ones moved here and live permanent vacations in this adult candyland.
I found a kindred spirit in Chick, in that she was a skinny whore who wanted a regular fuck. But we were blocked by the stupid “no Line” rule. So I bought her a drink and rubbed her clit for 20 minutes, and then paid and left. What a fucking waste of time, money, and effort. In Jisoo, a half a dozen topless vixens shook their asses. But what’s the point when a local monger can’t get a Line ID? These gogos have cut off the revenue readily provided by locals, hoping the sex tourist one-off barfines will make up for it. It’s goddamn retarded.
My midweek was pretty low-key. I mostly stayed in, with brief interruptions by a couple of BJ gals.
On Friday I didn’t want to go out, but I caught a two-hour nap in the afternoon so I knew I’d need some booze encouragement in order to sleep later on. I walked Buakhao to sit with Fah and Nan. Fah’s bar has seats right on the road. Every dude that passed gave her the hungry eye. It’s not something they’d dare to do in BKK—make eyes at a girl who already had a customer. But I guess that’s Ptown for you. Everyone’s a dirtbag. Fah begged me to stay for second drink but I shoved off. But it’s important to 1—never give a bar girl what she wants and 2—leave them always wanting more.
Nan didn’t come to work so I again Bolted to Soi 6 to see how many potential concubines were thirsty. At the moment, I’ve got Linda, Meenah, Anwar, Pang, Beem, May, Pai, Mint, Guitar, Sun, another Nan, and Pupae. For anyone who isn’t a seasoned monger, let me say that’s way, way too many. If I bought a drink for all of them on a night out, I’d be skint in a matter of days. But since I won’t sit with anyone who’s at least an 8, half or more are usually taken up with punters before I arrive. It’s the yin and yang of Ptown clunge. The hot ones get wrung-out on the daily.
Meenah was on hand. She gave me attitude because I turned her down for an afternoon BJ at my place the day before. I just couldn’t be fucked to clean and put out fresh towels. Linda and Anwar were already upstairs. Pang, who is arguably the prettiest girl on the 6, was sat alone picking at a box of strawberries. She saw me, frowned and made a flick with her hand as if to say ” get the fuck over here.”
Beem was yet again at McDonald’s when I passed by so I pivoted to May. May is 18, hot as hell, and never in the bar. I assumed it was because she got fucked every minute of every day. It turns out she bailed back to Isaan to care for her sick mum. We had a blast, mostly because I’m still a teenager in so many ways. I charmed her right out of her shorts, and for a brief moment, considered taking her upstairs. In the end, though, I couldn’t muster up the urge. It’s more of a hassle than it’s worth, and these days I’m not impatient. I can wait till she’s ready to check out Seven’s apartment.
When I stepped into Beem’s bar she immediately stripped to her underwear and started grinding her minge in my lap. And that’s the kind of customer service every respectable monger should expect. Thank God for goodtime gals like Beem.
And that was soi 6 on Friday. All told I bought 4 ladydrinks for some 8s and 9s. I maybe have a chance of concing up 2 of them. But you never know.
Traffic on the Beach Road was absolute hell, thanks to the goddamn jazz festival. I had to get out and walk again. I saw Apple and her friend negotiating the price of bedding two short, pudgy Indians. I didn’t want to spoil it, so I slipped around behind her. She saw me and placed her hand behind her back. I put a hundy and a lollipop in it, smacked her ass, and kept walking. I don’t think the Punjabs were the wiser.
The last time I was in Chick, I was so hammered I actually had a girl over and got her a drink. I recall nothing about what she looked like, except she was skinny with tattoos. I rubbed her minge like it was a genie’s lamp, and she remained amiable, despite my intoxicated misbehavior. I didn’t see her on Friday, however I did spot the girl who I shamed for losing her sixpack. And yes, I did scold her again. I pinched her blubber and asked “What the fuck?” She replied “I don’t know.” I said, “I do. You eat too much KFC.” She agreed. I tipped her anyway but told her she needed to keep it tight. She said she would, but I got the feeling she wasn’t sincere.
In Atmos I spotted a gal who 99% of punters would overlook because she’s “plain.” But because I possess the ability to know what every woman looks like naked at just a glance, I can tell her body is a wonderland. The face is nothing special but Holy Lord, what a body. I tipped her for her mere physiognamy. Then I popped into Fahrenheit to check in with the girl I know there, and who should I run right into but Simon—Patpong stalwart and Thailand monger extraordinaire. We exchanged a hug and he asked when I was last in the Pong. I said it’d been a while. He shook my hand and moved on. God, I feel that vibe. There are so many farang in TLOS who I’m happy to have a two-sentence conversation with and then part ways. It’s not that they don’t have something interesting to say. It’s just that I don’t care. I’m here to get blown and walk on the beach and that’s it. My Fahrenheit friend sat for a drink and let me play with her tits, which is all I really wanted. Afterward, I Bolted home, ate half a CBD gummy, and knocked out.
Speaking of, whilst conducting my quest to find adequate insomnia-killing CBD gummies in Ptown, I stumbled into a joint across from Friendship Market and picked up some watermelon flavored ones. The gal in the store didn’t know if they were sativa or indica, but I took a chance. The first night I had half of one and it helped knock me out in short order. The second night I came home after a drunken outing on Walking Street and ate a whole one. I woke in the middle of the night needing a piss and was so—fucking—stoned I could barely walk to the toilet. Then I couldn’t get back to sleep because my dreams were a wild kaleidoscope of total insanity. I clutched the pillow because I thought the room was inverting. I’ve never been that high in my life and never want to be again.
In “what I’ve been watching lately” news, in case you’re hankering for a new series, I’ve started Season 1 of Space Force. I’d skipped it before because the entire premise was to mock Trump, and I’m not at all impressed by Trump Derangement Syndrome, but I realized 20 minutes into the first episode that they inadvertently made the entire US govt look more retarded than Donald, which isn’t only accurate—it’s a good message for viewers. It’s supposed to be set in Colorado but is filmed entirely in Ventura County, California, which is jarring. But the cast is talented enough, and for the most part the leftist politics are kept to a minimum.
For any old Members who miss my photo albums, or for anyone wanting an eyeful of redlight content, I managed to swap out a new paywall, so now, 10 years’ worth of redlight photos and videos are accessible with a $16 one-time payment for lifetime access. Click on the “Members Only Content” link at the top of the homepage and use the PayPal button. There you’ll find thousands of photos and dozens of videos of the redlight flavor for your visual enjoyment.
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.
Pro Tip Post-Script: In Pattaya, you need to know when various parties and festivals are taking place, otherwise your normal night out will turn into a nightmare. Plan around the Fireworks Festival, the Jazz Festival, the fun-runs, and of course, Songkran. If you can get out of town entirely, all the better. At minimum, avoid the Beach Road.
