What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is what I found in my phone’s notepad at the end of the week…
In the mid 90s there was an indie film called Swimming with Sharks. It was about the corporate side of the film business, and how awful the “suits” are in that sleazy industry. Normal people who get jobs in Hollywood are figuratively swimming with sharks. Thailand’s redlights are not dissimilar—there are some nefarious characters lurking in the shadows and corners of the gogos, beer bars, and various other lascivious places of commerce in the Asian flesh-peddling arena. But even worse than the bad apples are the stupid, brain-dead, mentally retarded assholes that are even more prevalent than the “sharks.” I have a story to share on this topic, but I’ll save it for the end of the post. Here’s how the week shook out.
Early on, I was still battling an arthritic foot and spent several days just lying in bed with my leg elevated. But Ptown conc number 1 kept messaging, asking to come over and screw. I told her “no” on Sunday and Monday but by Tuesday she wore me down. I told her I was still convalescing and so she’d have to do all the work. And boy howdy, did she ever. The remainder of the week was marked by two more visits by lesser concubines, and I barely lifted a finger. It was how I imagine a real harem works with the fat sultans of yore, who had their maidens wait on them hand-and-foot. The only thing missing was girls waving palm fronds and dropping grapes into my mouth. Instead, I was sustained by a cocktail I invented called a kiwitini. It’s vodka, lemon club soda, and kiwi juice—shaken, not stirred—over ice. I must’ve crushed 20 of them over the course of three days as I waited for the swelling in my metatarsals to go down.
At midweek I couldn’t spend another arthritic night at home so I squeezed my Adidas over a swollen foot and Bolted to Walking Street with a new plan for getting around the no-Line policy for gogo dancers. Stop 1 was Windmill because I was too early for anyplace else. After one 99b Chang draft and not a single clam worth ogling, I grabbed a Japanese Gatorade at 7-11 and hit XS. I was the first punter in. Rota one had three 10s, two 9s and two 8s. I never did find the girl I want so badly in there. Thank Buddha there’s a plethora of other pulchritude to drool over. Chick had one 10 on each of their two stages. My old Patpong galpal wasn’t there, but the dancer who bears a striking resemblance to my number 1 Bangkok conc (Bangkonc for short, copyright BKK7) sauntered over for a drink. I sprang my new no-Line get-around on her, and it worked like a charm. I’d like to tell you what it is, but if I did, you’d use it, and then the bosses would catch on and shut it down. So, sorry-not-sorry, I can’t give away my idea. I’ll say it involves finding each other on a different platform. Maybe you can figure it out from that.
There were only two 9s onstage when I arrived in Pin-Up, but they have three rotations, so the hotness is more spread out. The gal I’m after in there was MIA, and my backup strolled in halfway through my cocktail. By the time she got into her bikini I’d be gone. I bailed with 9 minutes before the end of happy hour, so I slid into Atmos, a joint I don’t hit as often these days. I recognized a 9 and an 8 onstage, plus two 8s waiting for their rota. One of the other bosses told me something interesting about Atmos. Apparently the purchase was strategic. The Pin-Up Group is competing with the Indians for Walking Street real estate. If you venture past Eden, you’ll see the soi has been overrun with stupid Indian clubs, to the point where other businesses visibly suffer. That’s what happened to Peppermint. It used to be this awesome gogo…I think Living Dolls was down there as well…but when the Punjabs started taking over, they ran off the mongers and punters, and there weren’t enough venues down that way to make it worth wading through Little Mumbai go get to them. So in some ways, the Pin-Up Group is the last line of defense against the onslaught of haka-laka on WS. Without them, the soi’d likely already be ruined for anyone other than Slumdog Hundredaires.
After that I popped into Shark for a Wednesday 105b gin and tonic. A security guard walked around holding a pizza, clearly looking for the punter who would enjoy it whilst lowering at hot tits. It reminded me of when id order Domino’s delivered to the strip in Patpong. Back then I had two concubines plus a bunch of pals in there who’d pounce on my pie like hyenas after a kill. But their gratitude and attentiveness were more than reciprocation for a couple of slices of pizza.
Then I had a mini Liga and a Leo at the outside bar across from Iron Club, with the tantalizing aroma of moo taut filling the air. The crowd on Walking Street on any given night is a beautiful trainwreck of the world’s riffraff. They want so terribly to matter. They’re all living an imaginary movie where they’re the main character. It’s a brilliant delusion of collective desperation. But because it’s Asia, intermixed with the turds are a smattering of drop-dead gorgeous chicks. Some of them know they’re hot, and it taints their luster. Others are blessedly unaware of their beauty, and they are the gold dust in the mine of human refuse which we live.
Then as I passed by Fahrenheit my old friend Mina happened to be outside. She dragged me in for a drink. The overwhelming contingent of hot clunge in there nearly knocked me out. Mixed in among the 5s and 6s were half a dozen perfect 10s that made my toes curl. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Mina leaned in and said, “Where you go already? I think you’re drunk.” What gave me away? Was it, perchance, my fervent attempts to get a finger in your ass? After that, I limped home and passed out.
Friday should’ve been a quiet night at home but Meena messaged to ask if she could borrow 2k to pay her own barfine as she felt like utter shit. I scampered to her bar on The 6 and had a drink with her before trying to hustle off the soi. Mingkwan spotted me from 50 meters off and started yelling my name. I ended up hanging with her for a bit, and as I left her bar, Mild was getting a bowl of noodles. I slid over and paid for it. She took my hand and led me to her bar. Mild is the one with a Thai boyfriend and so won’t fuck customers, and so I want her more than the others. I jokingly said a hand job isn’t cheating and to my astonishment, she agreed. So I pulled up her Line and she said “When did I give you my line? I never give that out.” I just smiled and told her when she needs spending money she can come by for a handy. “And 500 to clean your apartment, I remember,” she replied. Then I reached around and gently massaged her ass. She didn’t resist. The trap is closing, friends. Slowly but surely.
A fat Indian woman walked the soi with her toddler—a boy dressed in just shoes and a diaper. Mild said, “Why do people bring their children to Soi 6?” I know, right? “It’s not a place for kids.”
Then I baht-bussed to Walking Street to continue using my newly-discovered Line workaround. ‘Twas half 7 so I had a beer in Windmill where the girls are all no-gos but the drinks are cheap and everyone is very nice. I spotted a 9 in there maybe three weeks ago but never saw her again after that. Maybe she upgraded to a different bar. That always happens. There was a time when it was a sport to find a diamond in the rough on Soi 6 or LK and nail her before she figured out she was too pretty for that scene and graduated to one of the big WS gogos.
Stop 1 at 20.01 was Pin-Up and goddam if there weren’t three newhotskinnies in the fist rota and three more in the second. I didn’t see either of the two targets I’m trying for in there, so I just enjoyed the sight of newclunge before bailing. At 20.24 I got the last seat in XS, still searching in vain for Natti, the superhottie whom I chatted up a few weeks earlier. But looking for one particular gal in that madhouse is like looking for a needle in a stack of hot tits and fanny. It’s a cornucopia of clunge. A clungucopia. Or maybe clungutopia, a utopia of said vagine.
Chick continues to build its roster of hotties. I asked the manager about contracts. He said they have several, from one-day agreements to 7, 10, and 20 days. It’s all an effort to accommodate the girls. The Pin-Up group pays the best of all the gogos in Ptown, which is why they attract the best minge, and why they’re the most popular. High salaries and good contracts translate to hotter dancers wanting to work at your bar.
Then I ducked into Shark, but there were no seats, so I called an audible and ended up in Baccara. The joint was rammed with 99% Asians—and I’m American so when I say “Asian” I mean Chinese, Japanese, and Korean—not Indian. To Yanks, India is not part of Asia—plus two farang besides me and one fat Indian couple sat at the stage. The girls were mostly 6s and 7s but there were a few 8s mixed in and that made the stop worthwhile. The atmosphere in there is relaxed and fun, unlike the one on Soi Cowboy. That place is basically a funeral home with loud music and tits. After that, I Bolted home and straight to bed.
In other news, I hopped onto Thaifriendly for the first time in a month, just to check my inbox, and within an hour I had messages from 60 of the oldest, fattest, grossest women in Pattaya. It’s reassuring to know that, if I get to the point where I can’t game a harem, I can at least go fishing at the bottom of the barrel.
In what can only be described as great news for local expats, the war in Iran is affecting tourism, with estimates of 300,000 fewer visitors in March. I actually stood up and danced around my apartment when I read the news. The downside, of course, is the potentially devastating impact of the war on things like the price of petrol, food, and mongering. Because Thais don’t understand basic economics. When the tourists stop coming and revenue dries up, their reaction is to triple the price of everything to keep profits the same. We might all be in for some belt-tightening for the foreseeable.
In retard news, Bob James—aka Bob the Knob, aka Dave the Rave, aka the biggest pile of shit in all of Thailand posted a video on DtR’s X account of security guards outside Pin-Up beating the shit out of a Thai guy. Above it, he wrote “There’s a reason why Pin-up/XS bars have so many 1-star reviews.” Of the skirmish, he said “a Thai customer had the audacity to question why staff threw away the belongings he left while partying.” But I spoke with one of the bosses and he said the guards who got in the fight were not from Pin-Up, but rather had chased the dude out of a different bar (I won’t say the name). He said any security guards working for their bars who openly fight on Walking Street would be instantly fired. But Bob hates Pin-Up and XS because they refused to hire him for photos and PR, so he slags them off every chance he gets, and blatantly lies about all other bars that won’t hire him in an effort to hurt their business. If that sounds childish to you, it’s because it is. Bob has the mentality of a five-year-old with Down’s Syndrome.
Regarding the former quote about 1-star reviews, I wanted to see that for myself, so I looked up XS and found a wide split, with the majority being 5-star reviews. Of the 1-star reviews, many were written by the same person under multiple fake accounts. You can tell because the wording is exactly the same. Then there were a bunch about not being allowed in (mostly by Indians). This isn’t a review, since the person never made it inside. Still others were about bad shorttime experiences. I’m not sure how stupid you have to be to think the job performance of a gogo bar extends all the way back to your hotel room, but that’s a load of shit. If your game is so bad that you can’t close the deal on a sure thing, that reflects on you, shitbird. Not the gogo. As it turns out, in their effort to be as accommodating to the girls as possible, they let her take care of the barfine and shorttime fees, trusting they’ll bring the bar’s cut back to the mamasan, and it turns out some less-scrupulous girls flee, stealing the bar’s money, never to return. But Google doesn’t have a place to leave reviews for hoes, so a few idiot customers took their anger out in the bar review.
Then I looked up Pin-Up’s reviews. They had more 5s and fewer 1s than XS, and the 1s were just pathetic. “I bought a drink for a girl. She drank it and went back onstage to dance.” I mean, what the fuck is this? “The mamasan kept asking me to buy her a drink.” Just say “No,” dipshit. Fucking hell, was it your first time in Thailand? The reason I took the time to check is 1—I love both bars and have never had a bad experience in them, and 2—I want my readers to understand what a lowlife scumbag Bob James is. And I want to warn people that when they read Dave the Rave now, that’s not Dave. Dave went back to the UK, and the Nana Group bought the website and gave it to Bob to promote their bars. So everything that website puts out now is 1—low IQ drivel and 2—utter bullshit. Bob is a mentally retarded, self-important dickhead who takes mediocre photos and spends his free time talking shit about his betters because he can’t improve on himself.
Before he was given Dave the Rave’s old handle, and Bob the Knob became the obvious nickname choice, I used to call him Shitbag Bob. I even wrote a song about him and had Ai render it. I’ve pasted it below for your listening enjoyment.
For any old Members who miss my photo albums, or for anyone wanting an eyeful of redlight content, it’s been brought to my attention that the link to Members Only Content on my homepage is broken. Bear with me while I try to fix it, though fair warning—I’m internet retarded, so it might take a while.
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/ and I promise to post new content over there soon. I’m just lazy at the moment.
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.
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: The other day I watched a YouTube video of a guy using an Ai platform where you could switch between a male and female voice. He asked the female voice to count to a million and it hemmed and hawed and ultimately said no. Then he switched to a male voice and gave the same instruction and it immediately did it. The moral of the story is, any dude who thought he’d be getting a robot Ai girlfriend in the near future will be getting an argumentative belligerent cunt. So basically, the same as what we have now.
