What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. Well, no one is more shocked than this portly punter that the people who actually run the United States allowed Trump to win. I can only think they’re planning to crash the economy and blame him. And/or they’ll JFK him before January. Leftists have already started protesting, and stupid American clams are saying they will withhold sex as punishment for the election. Their logic is, Trump banned abortions so now they won’t do the dirty. Never mind that it was the Supreme Court, not Trump, and they only returned the issue to the States and everyone can still get abortions. Their grand plan to rebel is to not have sex. So if Trump did actually want to stop abortions, he succeeded. Yes, women in the US really are that stupid. Meanwhile, I’m busy bedding five women weekly and doing all I can to enjoy this Thailand life—this redlight life.
Monday I was out for a quick Pong and ran into Saa on her way to work. She dances at Kinky Girls, which is a bar I don’t visit because the mamasan would like to slit my throat. She gave me a bear hug and I smacked her ass, which is the traditional greeting for a bar girl and monger in BKK. Crazily, later in the night I ran into another KG dancer—Mint—who’d been barfined and was taking her customer on a gogo tour. We met up in Virgin where she gave me a knowing nod. Normally I’d never see either of those chicks in the redlight. Today, they’re like a living museum exhibit of pre-Covid gogo life. Saa is a former Electric Blue dancer. When it closed, she switched to Black Pagoda, and after the cops shut it down, she moved to KG. Mint used to dance at Kiss Bar. She was a prime piece off ass till her Thai bf knocked her up. Childbirth messed up that body for good. But from 2012 to 2019 there was no one hotter in the redlight. She came to my place a couple of times and posed for some of my Patpong Dangerous artwork. The best rendering I have of her is her kneeling in a pile of giant hard candies while sporting a katana.
Five days into high season didn’t feel like it, at least not on Monday. Tuesday was a whole new ballgame. Holy shitballs, mongers, what a difference a day makes. I don’t know ow if you ventured out midweek, but Tuesday was the start of what amounts to a 2-month clusterfuck of unwashed foreigners. And I mean that literally. After dodging slow meandering crowds of families and Sino clusters along Silom road, I crossed over t’Pong amid a horde of idiots, all stinking like a summer day in Paris circa 1980. Either these Eurodouche (the plural of douche is douche) still don’t wear antiperspirant in 2024 or they didn’t apply an amount sufficient to combat the Bangkok autumn heat. Because the entire night market stank of BO. As I squeezed through the crush of dirt balls, I felt my gorge rise, and fought the urge to vomit.
All terrace tables were taken up by more lowlife farang, so I popped into kings for a wee cocktail. It was only about 30% full at half 8—a blessed contrast to the masses of asses outside. The girls seemed in good spirits, and why not? The place was rammed. Collectively, the Thai staff seem as though a weight has been lifted from their shoulders. It’s a sign that high season has kicked off, and the financial strain on the residents has already begun to wane.
When I shifted to the terrace, the barmaid was frantically searching for a cunting Nipon who’d skipped out on his bin. It’s becoming more common these days, unfortunately. As I stated, judging by the stench I guesstimated the ratio of Franco-Prussian to UK-American tourists to be 80-20. That said, I wound up perched next to a mid-60s solo yank who tried his best to make friends with yours truly. I said, “Ich ferstia nua eine bis hien” (I’m teaching myself German with audiobooks) and that worked like a charm. Then I got the come-hither eye from a solo faram (farang clam) who likely was younger than me, but looked to my eyes like an 80-year-old troll that had crawled out from under a bridge. Time is certainly crueler to women. A moment later, I was joined by two dancers in bikinis who smoked and yammered at me in Thai and saving me from the ill intentions of the old gross farang lady.
New2 was barely a quarter full at half 9. So for this initial start of fucking cunt season–my new name for high season–the herds of human cattle are mostly in the kitschy areas as opposed to the redlight. I plan to confirm that in a day or 2 with an excursion to cowboy. None of my fave girls were on the clock at kings 2 so I planned to beat a hasty hustle to Virgin, when suddenly the most captivating creature I’d seen in months took to the stage. She was tall and skinny with a tattoo that went from her shoulder blades to her ass cheeks. I’m sure I’ve seen her before, but a few weeks on the pole had begun to transform her from an unassuming waif to a toned sex goddess. She had a pair of brand-new bolt-ons that, judging by the shape and where they sat on her ribcage, would settle into a set of perky funbags in a few months. The expression on her face was at once nervous, shy, and fierce, as though if one could manage to get her home and de-robed she would transform into a hellcat. I watched her through the whole rotation whilst the gal next to her tried in vain to get my attention and then bailed.
Virgin was empty of customers, as was the whole of that end of soi 2, bolstering the theory that the gangs of brain-dead foreigners were congregate around the night market like dumb, smelly moths. VirginX was also empty, except for a stage full of newhotskinnies. If I was a young monger building a harem, Patpong now would be the perfect hinting ground. I’d take 2 from k1, 2 from new2, 3 from virgin and 3 from VX. For the second time in a month, when I ordered a vodka soda in that would ass VX with their loud ass speakers, I got a whiskey soda instead. It’s a #Thailandproblem. My friends in the US are being poisoned by their food and water, priced out of owning a home, ballbusted by stupid entitled clams, and taxed into the poor house by their govt. Meanwhile I get a whiskey soda instead of a vodka soda. VX’s 2nd rota was even hotter than the first. There’s that old saying: if a tree falls in the forest, yada-yada. Well, if a gogo is rife with superhotties and there are no punters to barfine them do they get fucked? It’s not hypothetical. The answer, sadly, is no. And this old redlight rat can’t possibly bed them all. I mean, I had my balls drained by my 19-year-old before I even left the house.
A moment later, the VX manager came over and asked, “Is the music too loud?” I said, “nid-noi.” At least they’re on top of things in there, well done Thais. Unfortunately, the owner has jacked up the drink prices by 20b. A vodka soda is now 200b. Prices stayed the same in Virgin, thankfully.
The weekend was for couples on the Pong. Dozens of canoodling whites and Singaporeans walked the night market like docile zoo animals. One pair sat playing cards in the beer garden. The frail, feminine male deliberately sat facing away from kings doorway, so that his chunky companion wouldn’t pitch a fit later, but watching him look for reasons to glance gogoward was painful. There also were lots of families and more solo 60something fatrams (fat farang clams). One of the later sat at the table next to mine on the K1 terrace, yammering away on her phone. That’s just what your holiday needs–you calling all your friends at home to remind them you’re in TLOS. The routine of smoking Cuban tobacco with whiskey and beer in that chaotic public setting does nothing short of soothing my soul.
The beer garden didn’t assemble its plastic rain cover for the first time in months, signaling the end of rainy season. For the next two months, it’ll only rain a couple times per week.
In New2, a girl who’d spent the last year dancing in a different gogo (I won’t say where in case her boss reads this) has taken up residence. She saw me and waved, making a hand motion to say she was done with the other place. Then she proce3ded to insert herself into my redlight experience, as if the history we created at the other gogo was a slate wiped clean. It was not……
In the back corner of New2, a solo American was living his best life with 3 fit girls dancing on and around him. It gave me flashbacks to the early 2010s when my fresh, unassuming ass got that kind of treatment. It warmed the old cold cockles of my heart to see that kind of ecstasy is still being reached in the gogo. In an opposite corner, a wealthy Nipon bought drinks for the entire staff. He had 10 girls, 3 barmaids, 4 security guards, and a toilet attendant all dancing around his table. That’s not something I’ve personally experienced, nor would I want to. But I get it. If you have money to burn then fucking burn it.
On Saturday after giving my number 1 conc several orgasms I broke the news that I’d likely be moving to Pattaya in a year’s time. She did not take it well, bursting into tears and saying, you left me, you left me, over and over. I assured her that one year was a long time and anything could happen. She was inconsolable. I only got her to stop crying by saying I’d try to find a new job in Bangkok, which was a lie but it calmed her down. Then she said, “If I didn’t have you I don’t know what I would do.” Damn these #Thailandproblems.
Then I pushed on to Soi Cowboy where 2 new additions appeared near the Asoke entrance: a new pizza joint and blafrican freelancers. I swung into Dollhouse first since the rest of the soi seemed slow to wake up, and the happy hour drafts are still cheap at 105b. Some chick waved at me from the stage. Not an “I know you” wave. Those I get all the time. This was the “Hey tourist, take me to your hotel room” wave. I didn’t recognize her. In fact, I didn’t see any familiar faces. Speaking of tourists, a chubby goateed first-timer next to me was getting the VIP treatment from two chunky lasses. He wore a pair of 1980s nerd glasses with hair parted down the middle. I could feel the swell of his self-esteem like a radio wave. His goofy involuntary grin was like a kid’s on Christmas morning. A dude next to him, also clearly a newbie, watched the first guy’s success and evidently thought he could duplicate it by dragging a random chubster over and groping her like a letch. Unfortunately for him, he picked a shy one. It was awkward and unsettling watching her squirm under the arm he draped around her neck. The 2nd rotation was the big girls, so I necked my beer and lumbered on.
Bad Beach was going off. The old Patpong mamasan who knows me said they’re doing gangbuster business. I cast my gaze upon two rotations of 11 each, and among them stood only one hotskinny. When I paid my bin, a barmaid hovered around me for the remainder of my drink, I assume hoping for a tip. But I’d already left one, leaving me all tipped-out.
Then I popped into Rainbow to hang with Bee and Satang, and goddam if they didn’t somehow acquire two 10s, a 9 and three 8s. Bee launched into a long monologue about girls from Patpong relocating to Phuket. I caught about half of it. Then I orbited to the Long Gun terrace where I had trouble finding a seat. In a week’s time I went from the only terrace drinker to one of 10. Then I looked up at the mass of humanity crowding the soi, and reality set in—high season is here. Reckless twats streamed in and out of bars like blood cells in a circulatory system. I felt claustrophobic on Cowboy, and I didn’t like it. So I scampered to a motaxi that stalled at the corner of Suk and Asoke. He said, “Wait 5 minutes while I charge the battery.” Yeah right. Instead I took off down Suk, curious to see how bad the tourist crush could get. The answer is, “28 days later” levels of rabid zombies. I passed Thermae—a joint I’d never entered—and decided to check it out. Holy fuckballs, what a degenerate hellhole of scum and villainy. It resembled a church basement rec room, except instead of old ladies serving up lemon squares and fruit punch, it was wall to wall whores. 200 girls lined the edges and inner section of booths. I don’t know what it’s like in low season, but there were so many dudes in there it was impossible to move. The customers meandered in a slow circle betwixt the ladies on display like bloated innertubers on a slow water ride, sans H2O. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of there, but I did a lap, stopping occasionally to ask a girl if she liked working there. They all said yes. “Why not a gogo?” I asked. Too lazy to dance, was the repeated reply. Shockingly, there were a few smoking hot hotties squeezed in between the slew of uglies. I guess if all you want to do is go shopping for a gash to smash, Thermae is the spot. But I struggled not to throw up in there.
Then I walked Suk up to soi 4, just to see the crazy circus of fucking farang polluting my city with their awful presence. A few blafrican dudes tried to sell me cocaine. The teeming hordes of stinking foreigners currently clogging the arteries of this city would, if Bangkok were a person, be life-threatening. Were I staying in town for December, no doubt I’d bitch about it the whole time. Instead, I’m headed to LA for Christmas. I’ll miss the cooler Thai temperatures but I will not miss the goddam tourists.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a pair of video montages of gogo dancers’ backstage TikTok videos. The link can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-ex-xxx-lounge-dancer-montage/
but only if you become a Member. The price tag is $1 per month, and new content is added weekly. I’m too dumb to figure out how to link the weekly posts to a single button on my website, so I post the links on my social every Friday, and provide a summary of all posts at the end of each month. Sorry for the inconvenience.
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 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:
@bar_thigh
@BangkokNightli2
Thai chick-related artwork can be purchased at
https://www.etsy.com/shop/ThailandNights
And until next time fellow BK 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: When you’re planning to meet up with a Thai girl, and you ask her, “What time?” her answer will not be the time she thinks she’ll arrive. It’s the time she plans to leave her domicile. She has no idea when she’ll get to you, partially because her brain can’t comprehend it, and partially because Bangkok traffic is impossible to predict. Oh, and as everyone knows, Thais are late for everything.
