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:
A crotchety old German jogger with both knees taped up, barely moving faster than a brisk stroll, stopped to ogle every Thai female he passed by. He didn’t say anything to them—just stopped and stared as if waiting for them to say something. And these weren’t freelancers. They were just regular Thais on a beach excursion. But I think he thought all he had to do was stop and gawk, and that would somehow result in a shorttime tryst or maybe a phone number.
The beachside of the road was already lined with white tents in preparation for the food fair that accompanies the Fireworks Festival scheduled for Friday and Saturday. By midweek, folks were already selling all manner of snackable fare starting around midday. It made walking a lot more hazardous.
I started off the week with a cold—sneezing like crazy and a runny nose. I guess my Thailand-acclimated body doesn’t like the recent cooler temps. I still haven’t bought a blanket. I’m using beach towels instead. According to my lifelong string of bad luck, the day I buy a blanket it’ll get hot again, so if you’re enjoying this mild climate…you’re welcome. I was fine for my morning walk…I think I sneezed once. But by 16.00 I’d nearly thrown my back out sneezing, and my eyes were red and watering. It was then I wondered if it was allergies, though I hadn’t had any since 2008. Logically, I should’ve climbed in bed and waited it out. I didn’t do that. By 16.00 I was taking a lap around Soi 6 before heading to Toscana with my last Liga Privada Number 9, a glass of port, and a glass of claret. Midway through the stogie my nose stopped running, proving either wine or tobacco cures the sniffles.
As the sun set, a dude ambled in off the street and approached. I thought he’d ask where to buy cigars since a handful of folks ask every time I light up in Ptown, but instead he inquired if I was British. I said no, and then he launched into a tall tale about how he had his wallet stolen after punching out a guy who improperly touched the little girl who sells roses on The 6. I paid him a hundy so to go away, but I felt like he earned it with his creativity.
It took 90 minutes to finish the stick. Then I wandered back to Soi 6 to hang with whichever galpals weren’t already engaged. Whilst having a drink with a lady in Seduction I spotted a lass next door who looked more my speed. Or that my current companion wasn’t a fuck machine. She was slim, tatted, and amiable bit she let slip that she has many giks already and that soured it. So a hopped over to have a drink with Beem, 24 from Nakhon Sawon. Five minutes into the conversation she suddenly said, “I know you. I drank with you before.” “Bullshit,” I replied. “I would remember.” “You’re Seven, ajarn from Bangkok.” I nearly fell out of my chair. Beem was sweet and also perverted in the way that so many Soi 6 ladies are, meaning she’s up for anything and regards coitus with the casualness of a game of badminton. That kind of devilish nonchalance is the glue that holds my mongering life together.
After our drink, I baht bussed to Walking Street. The beach was absolutely stuffed with tourists. It was busier than the daytime, and traffic was at a crawl. Pin-Up had the goods, per usual. There were half a dozen new fuckbots with great tits and acceptable faces, so business must be good. The girls keep rolling in from the countryside to clock in and strip down, thank Buddha.
‘Twas BDSM night in Atmos and holy fuckballs, friends. It was boner city in there. I’ve never been that horny in public before. Maybe the first time I saw The Body Shop in Los Angeles as a teenager, but nothing that hot since then. There was a ton of new flesh, all adorned in black pleather, with bare tits galore. Ann old man next to me tried to order a Coca-Cola. He kept saying it over and over. Dipshit, thais don’t understand that word. It’s a “Coooke”.
After Atmos, I was super excited to check out Shark Bar, now that I know they cut ties with that shitty cunt Bob James. I’ve always been a fan of Frank, the originator of Shark in BK. He even opened a version in Patpong, though it didn’t last. Today it’s where Shenanigan’s is. Some of my fave ex-Electric Blue girls worked there before it closed. Shark Pattaya was off the chain. The vibe was loose and sexual. The ladies straddled the line between performative and pornographic. I wanted to pay everyone’s rent and also ejaculate on all their faces. Happy hour cocktails were 105b.
I missed the end of happy hour in Chick by 30 seconds, and so tried to order a b ruskie, but the barmaid couldn’t understand me. I ended up with a vodka cranberry, which is almost as good.
I’m not an alcoholic. I simply enjoy the application of booze to my psyche. As a libation enthusiast, I’m always aware of what kind of buzz can be attained though the combination of different drinks and other sundries. On Sunday, I achieved something close to intoxication perfection (intoxifection for short, copyright BKK7). So the formula seems to work like this: two glasses of wine plus a glass of port plus a cigar, followed by two bottles of light beer, and then vodka for the rest of the evening. This combo puts my brain on the tracks of a roller-coaster that never gets too twisty or scary, though it does give one the predisposition to tip hundies in the undies of random fuckable gogo dancers. And if that’s the worst side effect, I think we can all agree it’s the best possible outcome of a life less ordinary.
Early one evening I headed out at sunset for food and a quick run through The 6. Every one of the half dozen pieces of ass that I flirt with were taken up with customers. Thanks to high season and picky standards, I had no one to talk to. Then in one bar I got tricked. She stepped out of a crowd, grabbed me, and asked for a drink. From that angle, she looked petite, so I agreed. Once we went inside and I got a look at her ass, I knew she was over 40 kilos and something I side me died. Still, I politely endured her unwanted affection till my glass was empty. I say unwanted affection because she kept leaning in to kiss my neck, which is a thing I can’t abide. Physical expressions of desire make me ill. As I exited her bar, I whipped a U-turn, realizing I’d missed looking for Pang, who spotted me from 50 meters off. She’d just returned from two days at home with her parents and clearly didn’t want to be back at work. I cheered her up by massaging her minge.
Then I headed to LK, which was a logistical nightmare thanks to the mindless hordes of cunting tourists. Lord have mercy. I baht bussed to Soi 10 and hoofed it the rest of the way. Traffic was at a standstill everywhere. As I ambled towards my buddy’s bar I spotted a superhottie and swung in to buy her a drink. Mind you, this was a beer bar. I asked for her Line and she said the boss won’t allow it. So now the fucking sidestreet Buakhao bars have banned girls from giving out their Line IDs. Unfuckingbelievable.
Then I made a huge blunder and went to Oasis in search of my galpal Aussie. She wasn’t there, and hasn’t been for a few weeks. Instead I got sucked in by a different chick who ordered a 450b ladydrink. I got a Boulevardier so all-in it cost me 900b. She was a chatty thing. ‘You think I’m beautiful?” Meh. “Lady Pattaya beautiful.” Uhhhhh… “Lady sexy.” Yes, Lady sexy. After that I needed to feel like I’d made up for such a hefty checkbin, so I scampered to Las Vegas for bogo b ruskies. In the whole of the gogo, there’s one hottie, and apparently I’m the only one who sees it. Even she doesn’t know it. I hundy-tipped her and you’d think by her reaction that it was Christmas morning and she got what she asked Santa for.
Then I skated to Lady Love for a 90b happy hour vodka soda. Talk about a price spectrum: from 450b at oasis to 185 bogo at Vegas to 90b at LL. Overall I wasn’t impressed by any of the stages in those bars. The hottest chick I’d found was in that Buakhao beer bar. By 21.00 I was wrecked and had to go home. It wasn’t the least productive redlight night of my life, but it’s in the top 10. I struggled to get a baht bus to South Pattaya. When I did, it was wall-to-wall to wall cunts walking around and total gridlock on the street. South Pattaya road is a garbage dump. There’s no reason why that street should be crowded, yet here we are. Goddam shitheads coming out the woodwork.
The food stalls that were set up all the way down the beach road made a real problem for freelancers. There was nowhere for them to stand, and once the sun set, the seething throngs of human garbage packed every square foot of the street and the sand. I made mistake of walking South Pattaya Road at 13.00 on Friday. The beach was even crazier, as the food stalls for the fireworks festival were just opening up. The array of food was ridiculous, but what caught my eye were the strawberries. Thailand has a short strawberry season, and I couldn’t resist buying a tray. I took it to ruby club on soi 6 and ate the whole thing with a vodka soda. It was amazing. The street was littered with ignorant tourists who didn’t get the memo for 4 years ago that the 6 can’t officially open till 16.00. Around 1 in 10 bars were open. The rest were frantically cleaning up. Drain pipes like waterfalls as the girls all showered at once.
By 14.30 people were already staking spots on the beach to watch the fireworks. Not dozens but hundreds of cops and military made for a formidable sight. By 18.00 the br was closed and rammed with people. It felt like all of Chonburi province was in town. Temples and schools became car parks. At the ws end the cops set up a single metal detector for thousands of people. They gave up on using it almost immediately. It seemed silly, since none of the side streets leading from the 2nd Road had one.
The beach was stuffed with chairs where folks could sit and watch the show for 100b. I ordered a big Singha and immediately began to worry when and how I’d piss it out. ‘Twas almost dark enough to whip out and leak directly into the sand. The night was perfect at a cool 24 with a slight breeze. I almost fell asleep, it was that comfortable. Three fat foreigners toked up next to me, providing a mild contact high. The coastline was bordered by a string of boats, all full of spectators. The show started at 20.15—30 minutes late. There were several 5-minute spurts of fireworks that went on for an hour or so. I watched some from a chair on the sand, thentwalk3d to the 2nd road to catch a baht bus to The 6. After 30 minutes we’d only got as far as Central so I hopped off and walked the rest of the way. The 6 was a clusterfuck of lookieloos. I didn’t even stop for a drink. Instead I walked all the way to LK. By the time I sat down in Lady Love my feet and back were aching, it was 22.00, and all I could muster was a draft beer.
Then I eschewed LK and hoofed it to Heaven Above to see what changed since my buddy Captain Hornbag stopped managing the joint. First off, it was 90 degrees in there. I nearly passed out. Second, there were more open seats than I was used to seeing. The place was still lousy with locals, but the atmosphere was more subdued. I kept sneaking looks around at the chicks, because a galpal of mine works there and I like bouncing her tits around. She usually spots me first and runs over, but no luck. Then a girl tapped my arm and said, “Your lady not come to work” which irked me because she’s been begging to come over and blow me, claiming she’s skint. You’s skint cos you don’t work, honey.
On the night, I learned my lesson about the Fireworks Festival. The lesson is, stay home. It wasn’t as bad as Songkran but it was still a nightmare. If you’re thinking of checking it out, don’t…unless you have a wife and kids. They’ll enjoy it. You’ll spend the whole time wondering why you spent hours rubbing elbows with the unwashed masses for a few minutes of flash and bang.
Saturday was even worse. I set out walking at 14.00 just to check out the carnage. The beach was a zoo again. I stupidly chose to hit Central for some cheap food court fare. There were a hundred thousand ruddy cunts in the mall. Every restaurant had a one-hour wait. It was an utter infestation of horrifically ugly people, with a tiny contingent of superhot Asian chicks mixed in. As people passed by, my brain said, “Gross, sick, puke, hell no, fucking gag, dog’s dinner, kill yourself, ugly, barf…Oh hello, darlin…Gross, sick, puke, hell no…” I put 300b on a QR coded slip of paper (because they’re not giving out food cards anymore) did a lap, found no open seats, gave up, got my 300 back and went to the only joint in the mall with no customers: Sunrise Tacos. I ordered fish tacos with salad and a margarita, chiding myself for not just going straight to one of the Buahkao taco spots. Ah, well. It wasn’t the worst choice. As a yank from Southern California, tacos are like pizza and sex. Even when it’s bad, it’s still good. And in this part of the world, Americans are pretty much the only ones who eat them. The Asians all want fish. The Ruskies and Euros want spaghetti or potatoes. The Indians and muzzies want haffa-khlaffa-havvavlalva. None of them even get the concept of Mexican food. The English think it’s called Tex-Mex, which is a Frankensteinian abomination that doesn’t resemble actual food. Afterward, I walked home and stayed there, missing the second night of fireworks completely. Once was enough. Never again.
In other news, those who read these posts regularly might recall a previous reference to Vince Gilligan’s new series, “Pluribus,” and how saddened I was that he copied a plot device from the cartoon “Rick and Morty” for the plot. Well, in spite of that, I’ve been watching faithfully and I like the show—but not for reasons that Gilligan likely hoped. It’s supposed to be a kind of sci-fi/horror story about the entire population of the Earth shunning the main character, leaving her totally alone in a city by herself, with electricity, running water, and a fully stocked supermarket. I mean, if that’s not the greatest ending to a story ever in the history of stories, I don’t know what is. The viewers are, I think, supposed to feel bad for the character, who can chill out at home and drink booze with no responsibilities or interruptions. Fucking fuck, man, that would be Heaven. The dude inadvertently created a love story for introverts.
While we’re on the topic of TV, the first half of “Stranger Things” Season 5 aired, and holy fuck how is it still kickass after all this time? Bravo Duffer Brothers for continuing to churn out top-end entertainment season after season without getting preachy or woke.
For any old Members who miss my photo albums, or for anyone wanting an eyeful of redlight content, I think 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.
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: If you’re lucky enough to have a spider in your apartment, don’t kill it. Instead, let it clear out all the other unwanted bugs. I’ve one in my bathroom, and I’m careful not to disturb it or damage its web. Every month, I sweep up a small pile of insect corpses from under it. Also, it feels like he’s a small metaphor for my life. Could he find a better location? Sure. But he’s making it work, so I’ll work with him to keep it that way. And that’s Ptown to me at the moment.
