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…
When I first made the decision to move from Silom to Pattaya, my fellow mongers warned me against it. “You’ll die,” they all said. And I’ve always known I’d die in Ptown, but in my vision of the future, it was at least a couple decades from now. But after being here for just over six weeks, I think I’ve already got one foot in the grave. Here’s my evidence:
First, I’ve had a nagging cough and sore throat for over a week. My brother caught something similar the last time he was here on holiday. I just thought he was a pussy and lacked the proper immunity to fight it off, but goddam if this thing doesn’t hang on like a barnacle. Second, I’m exhausted all the time, despite not doing anything all day. Maybe it’s the heat, or maybe it’s something to do with the existential funk of this place. Third, I’ve lost all interest in mongering and posting my exploits to the interweb. And lastly, I’m bored with the clunge. Jeez, I never thought I’d say that. And so I’m stagnating, and I’m not sure how to reverse it.
The week started out great, with Saturday to Tuesday spent in my room, sick as a dog. I just couldn’t shake the cough. On Tuesday I didn’t eat, slept all day, and then forced myself to go out, walking the beach from the beer garden to soi 6 and stopping briefly for kow pad kung. There were fewer tourists about, which was a welcome relief. Actually, there were fewer of everyone…freelancers, Indians, scammers.
After 3 days away from the scene, i wanted to say hi to all my concs and possiconcs. Anwar had a customer. Joy was MIA. So was Nan, and May was getting shagged. So I bailed on the 6 after 1drink with zacream in Miso Bar, and baht bussed to ws, where the girl I usually tip in Pin-Up was also missing. In Atmos, a gal I tipped a month ago and then didnt see again was back. She kept stealing looks from the stage. We met eyes and I smiled. She sported an involuntary grin at being recognized. The childlike thought process and easily emotiveness of Thais is still enduring, even after all these years.
In Chick, the manager came over and said, “You’re back in the gogo!” I told him I had a cold but I’m back to 100% which was a lie. I felt like death warmed-over. As I tried to make my way to Jisoo, a chubby gal from Fahrenheit chased me down and tried to drag me inside. Clearly, she knew me but I didn’t recognize her. I tend to dump any mental cache of fatties at the end of each night. I was able to escape her by telling her I’ve a galpal who works there and if I go inside, she will expect to sit with me, so she let me go. In Jisoo, I sat alone in the corner. Within minutes, a whole rotation came and sat around me. I handed out candy and tips to everyone and was every popular for about 5 minutes. They bombarded me with questions. Where you from, why you come alone, why you can speak Thai, you want lady sit with you, you have Thai wife…I fielded them all. Then one little chubster decided to make a play. I shut her down with a 50b good-luck bill to the forehead and bailed. Whilst sipping a Dude (white ruskie) across from 808, I spotted a Tholo (Thai Cholo). It’d been a while since I saw one of those. That’s a Thai dude who dresses like a Mexican from East Los Angeles: black bandana, white knee socks, white Adidas, sagging shorts, gang tattoos…what in the everloving hell would make a Thai person think that’s a good look is beyond my understanding.
The next night I still didn’t feel great, but id promised a galpal I’d go see her at oasis on LK. She doesn’t work often, plus I really like that joint, so I forced myself out of bed at 18.00 and schlepped over.
There was treachery in the air that night. The first i dictator was a motorbike crash outside my building. A whole family. Then on the walk over, the cars, baht busses, motorbikers, and pedestrians seemed keyed-up, as though a fight could break out at any moment. I often felt the same vibe on nights out in Los Angeles. I’d be in line at a liquor store, and the collective tension between customers was thick as smoke. When people are on the verge of violence, the ambient noise seems to shrink, and something like a silent alarm goes off in my head. Then, a coming crescendo, like a breaking wave. I sped up my walking pace and slipped between the throng, stopping for pad thai kung and cha manow at Craft Cottage, where the tension subsided. When I rocked up to Oasis—an hour before the girls start work—the wait staff leapt into action, grabbing a glass of cabernet and a lighter for my Liga Number 9. An old white dude lumbered up the soi with his luggage and gross wife in tow. The son of a bitch booked their Thai holiday on fucking LK Metro. You could almost smell the impending divorce. Cheetahs is one step closer to opening. They’ve replaced the old sign with a new one: Spicy Saparot, which I will heretofore refer to as Pedt Pineapple. The Liga lasted exactly one hour, one glass of cab, and half a whiskey sour. By 20.15 I was flying, and girls in every direction held their noses against the smell of the cigar.
Then I got dragged into Las Vegas by the doorman, who recognizes me now. I opened my mantchel (man satchel) for inspection, but these days nobody really checks anymore due to the familiarity of my ugly mug. I could smuggle in a severed baby’s head and they wouldn’t be the wiser. There’s a handful of fetching lasses in Vegas at the mo, but since none of them compare to the gal I used to go there for—Zaii, who disappeared almost a year ago—I can’t bring myself to settle for any of the rest. ‘Twas bogo again so I got stuck in with two b ruskies.
I experienced something new in Vegas that night. Everywhere I go in Thailand I always have my headphones in. Mostly it’s music of the soundtrack of my life. Depeche Mode, the Police, the Killers, Joy Division, the Cure, Roxy Music, Jeff Buckley, the Smiths, James, pre-fame Kings of Leon, The Verve, Violent Femmes, Cocteau Twins, Stone Roses, Pixies, Talking Heads, The Cult, Concrete Blonde, Adam Ant, The Clash. But sprinkled into the playlist are songs I wrote and rendered using Suno Ai. And while sitting there, watching sweet coco-butter tits, one of my songs, called “Secret Heart,” the lyrics of which I wrote when I was 17, came on. It was, for lack of a better description, weird. I’ve come to accept the fact that my creative genius won’t be discovered until after I’m long dead, but for a brief moment, pretending the girls were dancing to my track, I could imagine what my life would be like if fame found its way to me.
As I finished my 2nd b ruskie I witnessed an old bald fucker barfining a skinny little PYT. She could hardly mask her excitement and all the other girls watched in envy as she went. I’ve fucked so many Thai chicks that I could envision exactly what having her would be like…and now that I think about it, that could be reason for my lowered enthusiasm for finding new concs. I already know exactly how it’ll go, and what fun is that?
After Vegas I popped over to look in on my buddy who just had hernia surgery. He was already back at work, in pain he said, but on the mend. I was relieved to see him. So much can go wrong when a doctor cuts into you.
Heaven Above is a testament to customer loyalty. When they moved from Walking Street to the obscure Soi Boomerang, many wrote them off. But goddam if they didn’t retain the same fervent base of seething horndogs as before. On that quiet soi, where half a dozen bars struggle to lure punters, H.A. is always rammed. I love to see it. The whole spectacle is a blueprint for how to successfully run a gogo. For me personally, it doesn’t hurt that I’ve a BJ conc who works there. She’s more or less claimed me, so the other gals leave me be. I know it’s a place where the ladies are meant to shower customers with attention, but personally I don’t go for that.
Thursday was Thailand’s official first day of winter season, and shivering me timbers if the morning wasn’t cool and breezy. I did a little work and then walked to Tops in Central for beetroot juice. On the way back, I stopped at the beach for a lime shake with the exceptionally hot lounge chair vendor. I’m starting to think this is how I should be spending my days—reclining under an umbrella on the beach while a beautiful young Thai lass brings me beverages.
The Chinese tourists were out in force, getting massages and playing volleyball, walking in clusters around markets, and crowding around coconut vendors like eager children. Walking back home, I passed an Arab trying to pull money out of an ATM while a fat angry ladyboy yelled at him. As I made my way up the road, the couple motorbike all over, trying every bank. With each failure, the two became more volatile. I didn’t get to see the endgame but I bet it was spectacular.
Friday morning was another cool-breezy (dare I say, windy) one. If this is how high season weather is gonna go, I’m going to be a happy camper. The downside is an increase in tourist riffraff, like the three Chinese assholes in my local 7-11. One strolled around the shop shirtless—nearly a mile from the beach. What a cunt. My friend, who used to work in China, calls them “the savages” because they’ve no couth, no manners, no courtesy or sense of decorum. The 7 is small, so at the beer fridge, there’s only room for one customer at a time. I opened the glass door and had just grabbed two Singhas when someone swung the door wide from behind me, as if he would squeeze past me to do his shopping. I reacted by stepping wide to block him completely, then slowly filled my basket with three more cans before turning to see another cunting sino. The third was trying to buy cigarettes, but he didn’t speak Thai and the counter girl didn’t speak Mandarin. He resorted to pointing and grunting, which wasn’t enough information. To her credit, the girl wasn’t rude, but once he started grunting, she didn’t go out of her way to be helpful. He kept pointing at various packs with an “Ungh!” each time. Eventually he gave up and bailed.
The Dusit Thani is exactly a 50 minute-walk from my apartment, and at 8 am, the Beach Road north of Soi 6 is much busier than the south side. And it should be. There’s a slew of nicer hotels and restaurants up that way, with couples and families chowing down on beachside breakkies like good little tourists. The closer you get to Walking Street, the breakfasters are replaced by old punters sipping beers. Wherever I walk along the beach, I get sporadic freelancers saying “I leememba youuu” as I pass by. The boardwalk is ruled in the mornings by old farang and their middle-aged Thai gfs, solo fat shirtless dudes with stomach hair and sagging tits, the odd beefcake acting like he’s the prettiest thing in Ptown, and mobs of Chinese. The media keeps reporting that their numbers are down, but you couldn’t tell in this city. They’re easily the 3rd largest demographic after Thais and Indians.
On Saturday the Thai Media officially announced the passing of Her Majesty the Queen Regent. This meant a mandatory cancelling of all parties and a countrywide damper on loud music, dancing, and the like. So I headed out to see how Ptown would respond. Sure enough, the beer bars and love music bars were quiet as churches. My buddy Kack Nites of bangkoknites.com was in town for a party at Jackass on Soi Pothole. At least, it was supposed to be. The most they could put on would be a solemn get-together. I walked through myth night. Only one bar dared to play Thai ballads. Tree town had maybe 4 or 5 bars playing tunes. Buakhao was perry much as normal. Soi 6 was more or less the same, and in the beach road, the Duwali Festival concert main stage was empty but the side stage was on like Donkey Kong. Walking Street was somewhat quieter but by no means somber. There was a lovely tribute to the Queen on the big screen, but music went on per usual in all venues.
I missed Jack back on Pothole so I said I’d catch up with him on Walking Street, but as I got drunker, the prospect seemed less and less feasible. I managed to hit Pin-Up, Atmos, Chick, and Dragon before 21.00 for four 95b vodkas. I was flying. Then a bar boss over near LK asked to chat about Patpong so I motaxi’d over there and never did meet up with Jack. Such is the redlight life of a Thailand whoremonger.
Some good news for the four or five of you who used to read these posts for Patpong updates: for the foreseeable, I’ll be heading to BK a couple of weekends per month on business, so of course a quick dip t’Pong will be in order…maybe even a run through Cowboy.
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.
Pro Tip Post-Script: The closer we get to December, the more damn pleasant Ptown’s weather becomes. I don’t know why I never noticed before, because I’ve been here on holiday in winter, but this cool-breezy season is a real pleasure. If there was ever a time to come here….it’s now.
