What’s up, reader, how’s your summer humming along? I can’t believe it’s already August. We’re sprinting toward death at alarming speed. Hopefully you’re in Thailand and living the dream while you can. Speaking of, you’ve probably heard of YOLO. It stands for “You Only Live Once” and it’s used as a kind of excuse by Millennials who want to shrug off responsibility and jump a plane for a credit card holiday that they never pay back because they can’t, because they’re deadbeats. Well, this summer in Thailand, which is typically low season (meaning tourist traffic tends to slow to a crawl) could be called NO-LO season, because there’s been no perceivable slowdown thus far. On my last 3 trips to Pattaya, the place has been in a state of utter madness. Cowboy and Nana are teeming. Patpong is crushing it (despite reports to the contrary that will also come out today in reports by dudes who don’t know what they’re talking about), as in if you go there you’ll get crushed by the crowds. Patpong has been an absolute circus for the past few weeks. Somehow I ended up there two Mondays in a row and both times, the Night Market and beer garden were slammed with tourists. Late last week, they moved the Garden to directly in front of the Thigh Bar ping pong show, and the staff there rolled out some huge speakers and pumped obnoxious music at ear-splitting volume, which did cut down on some of the foot traffic. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were trying to drive people away. It’s as if Thais are predisposed do the exact thing that will ruin their business.
Even the python photo-op folks were back, which is an indicator of improved numbers across the Pong. Overall, Soi 2 bars experience wild swings in customer numbers. On a given night, Pink Panther and Bada Bing go through slow and busy periods that ebb and flow like a human tide. The Soi 1 bars, which I now call The 3 Kings, do steady crazy business from half 8 to closing every night. Radio City continues to languish in quasi-obscurity.
Most Pong locals have abandoned the old redlight. Where I used to see the same set of faces every night, now I only catch glimpses of one or two old Pongmongers a couple times per month. Nobody Pongs like Seven. When everyone else has forgotten it, I’ll still be there—partially out of nostalgia, but mainly because, despite its sad state, it’s still the best redlight experience in Thailand for sheer volume of hot girls. Walking Street Pattaya has two good gogos. Soi 6 currently has none. LK Metro has two. Cowboy has two. Nana has four. Patpong has five. Even as it falls to pieces, it still rules.
Last week, a milk-soaked slice of bread passing himself off as a nightlife blogger was in the Pong, specifically to report back to a dude who no longer lives in Thailand, yet still churns out a weekly post on the topic of Bangkok nightlife. At one point, he walked into and straight out of Bada Bing, spending a total of six seconds in the bar, so just FYI, whatever gets said about the Bing in his blog this week is completely made-up. Conversely, have a beer in there three times a week, so you can rely on me when I say the hands-down hottest gogo dancer in BKK works at Bada Bing, but only when she feels like it. Spotting her is like seeing Bigfoot. She’s flat-chested, but it doesn’t matter. Her bottom half looks like it was molded by the hand of God himself. She always wears bikini bottoms and thigh-high leather boots that adorn a pair of spectacular, reality-defying legs. It’s a spectacle unlike any other. I’d add a photo of her to this week’s slideshow, but she’s begun refusing to let me shoot her. If you comb back through past slideshows, though, you’ll be able to pick her out. She’s a revelation.
My new Pong routine is to hit 3 Kings first, usually with a song ringing in my mind (“We 3 kings of whorient are, buying beers in every bar. Something, something, something, something, smoking a fat cigar”), usually opting for a snack in K1, delivered by the folks at Derby King. I’m partial to cashew chicken and pad thai.
Kings 2 has a new bold strategy. They’re not getting as many customers as K 1 and Corner, so they’ve started stacking it with the hottest hitters from those two bars. The Corner is now so full of newskinnies, I get whiplash trying to ogle them all. On one visit last week, six Japanese tourists (three couples) stumbled in and sat behind me. I didn’t look round, but one of them was so drunk they began puking. The staff hustled over with a trash can. In the West, if someone enters a bar already drunk, they get cut off. Not in Thailand. As soon as the sap was done heaving, a barmaid was on hand with beers and tequila shots. Keep it rolling. That’s the business plan in a redlight.
In the continuing trend of weirdos in the gogos, K Corner also played host to groups of farang women, teams of frat guys, and couples of all ages apparently trying to spice up their sex lives. As the puker behind me regrouped, a foursome of fat farang femmes sat across the bar, brooding like angry snakes. It’s impossible to fathom why they come. Are they liberating themselves from the patriarchy? Or paying into it? Even they don’t know, hence the storm of complete emotional confusion they seem to be captured in.
At Pink Panther, my pal Beem came over and gave me a hand massage—the proper Thai kind where she cracks the knuckles, the whole nine yards. Best was back in the Panther after trying out Twister for a few days. She came over and practically molested me. I’ve known her since the Electric Blue days, and even though she’s pushed out two kids and been through the ringer the past five years, she retains an optimism that’s contagious. It’s impossible to be in a bad mood when Best is around.
Cowboy got my time twice last week. The fist trip started at Craft on Soi 23. I was hoping for some tasty beers and maybe a burger, but by the time I got there at 20.00 there were no empty seats. Slanted Taco was closed, so in despair I wandered into Whiskgars to find a room full of Cuban sticks. The last time I was there—I think it was 2016—they exclusively sold cigars that they made themselves. Today those nasty things are out, and overpriced Cubans are in. I dropped 4k on 3 small stogies, then trudged to Oasis for chicken nachos, forgetting the chef would have to swim to Mexico for the chips, or so it seems given the wait time. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em once they arrive but damn, do they ever need a second cook in there.
A veritable assload of locals were in Dollhouse when I walked in, on account of it being Jack Nite’s birthday. DH is such a comfortable venue for this weary wangslinger, for the simple reason that I don’t have a GOI (girl of interest) there. I can sit and sip a beer in peace, taking in the view without getting harangued (little did I know that by visit two, things would change). Another local mentioned he’d heard a rumor that the most beautiful girl in Thailand had taken up the pole at Shark. I was dubious to say the least, but popped over anyway to check out the dish for myself. Her face was quite fetching, and that’s all I’ll say. She didn’t light my fire. I bailed to Rainbow.
They currently have the largest collection of hot bodies on Cowboy. After grabbing Satang’s sweet ass I spied Bee, who spied me and fled the stage to sit with me awhile. I snapped a close-up photo of her new boobs. Later in the week, she Lined over a few selfies, which I’ll include in this week’s slideshow.
Night number two on Cowboy started again at Craft, and this time I found a seat. The place was rammed with hi-so Thais, farang families, and brand-new expat dickheads. I remember coming here in 2014 with work mates to “counter the culture shock of Asia.” The only problem was, I’d already been in country for five years, so what shocked me was actually the crowds of cunt Caucasians. There were dudes in khakis, brown belts, and forearm tattoos like they couldn’t decide which cliché to be. But thanks to Whiskgars’ Cuban humidor, the whole scene was tempered with wafting clouds of stogie smoke, which helped me get my head right. And the only time I had to endure their inane conversation was in between songs on my headphones.
And maybe this makes me odd, but I simply can’t stomach the thoughts and opinions of others. Growing up in LA, hanging with a group of friends, and watching TV shows like “Friends,” where humans blab at each other every retarded thought that runs through the pile of shit they call a brain is a normal thing, I spent my whole young life listening to stupid, vapid, pedestrian pedants spout mental diarrhea day in and day out. I even participated, out of a mistaken belief that this is what people in society should do–talk out their asses at each other. It wasn’t until I started a life of international solo travel and experienced the blessed silence of solitude that I finally stopped feeling crazy. It’s why I’ll never fit in with the ‘expat community.’ All my current best friends are Thai girls who barely speak English. Finally, I have found bliss. (Update: I typed this paragraph while smoking a Cuban on the terrace at Shenanigan’s and two tables away, a trio of fucking cunt American dudes all talked at each other at the same time at the top of their lungs. Not kidding, they were all shouting simultaneously. None of them listened to what the others were saying. It was a Caucacophony (Caucasian cacophony) of cuntishness.
On Fridays, Craft does a burger for 200 baht. I got one, plus two half-pints: Kronenbourg Blanc and Estrella Galicia, because in that moment I was missing Essex and Barcelona. Not enough to board a plane, but enough to down a couple glasses. From there I swung into Dollhouse at half 8, mere minutes before the place filled up. My fave girl was onstage, just standing there looking fuckcredible. I can’t tell if she knows she’s hot or not. A girl who’s beautiful and aware of it is one kind of thing. A hottie who has no idea she is, is a whole other thing. Victor Hugo wrote about it in Les Miserables. Give me a Cosette every time, I say. By the time she figures out she’s a catch, I’ll have done with her.
Although speaking of, in an unexpected twist on the night, I fell in with a smoking-hot DH girl through no effort on my part. Y’know that thing of when your regular girl comes over with a friend to pass off onto your mate? She’s usually ugly, and your friend hates you for being the catalyst for foisting her on him. Not this time, friends. This time, the girl who came to hang with my buddy (another DH regular) brought her friend over and shoved her into my lap. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d put her at 9.8. She was a vision. And she spoke perfect English. And she laughed liberally at my jokes, and didn’t pump me for drinks. She effortlessly charmed the pants off me. Had I been in the market for a new top harem girl, or even a girlfriend (yes, she was hot enough to briefly consider monogamy), I would’ve been all-in. As it was, I just got her Line for hopes of future slideshow selfies. We’ll see how it pans out.
After spending too much time in DH, I skipped Rainbow and sped to Nana, arriving just as Oil returned from either a barfine or from grabbing food. She said she had to change into her schoolgirl cosplay, so I went to WhiskeyGG to hang with some exXXXers. One of my besties said the cops nailed her for yaba. She was really stressed out by the experience, and asked to come to my room at the weekend to “relax.” I of course obliged, because as you know I have a heart of solid gold.
Speaking of XXX, there were a couple of former loyal customers in Whiskey last week, trying to recapture the old feeling. Of all the joints that got shut down, the dudes I talk to miss XXX the most.
Back at Twister, I spotted half a dozen new hot girls. Their set of succulent succubi continues to grow, with no end in sight. The current state of the redlight reminds me of when I first saw it in 2010. Back then, new faces would just appear night after night like they were coming off the assembly line in an Isaan sex factory.
As I sat with Oil, gently massaging her fake tits, a stupid farang in a child’s cap and tank top (what Brits call a vest) walked slowly around the stage, stopping here and there to inspect the girls like he was buying a cow at a cattle auction. I get it. When a beta cuck first escapes the misandry of the West and finds his way to this bastion of male dominion, his pendulum swings too far in the wrong direction and he starts treating women like meat. But the right mental space is in line with traditional gender roles. That’s where men rule the roost, and care for their women as if they were made of gold, because when a woman treats her man right, she’s the human equivalent of gold—precious, sought-after, and rare. When women act the cunt, they turn men into assholes. ‘Twas never meant to be that way. And so I hope for his sake, the tank top tit stays in TLOS long enough to find his malequalibrium.
And since the Pong is on my way home from Nana, I had my mo’taxi driver drop me there for a nightcap lap. Radio City’s lineup continues to improve despite a dearth of customers. It’s a true bastion of untapped talent. Five ex-Strip girls are among the crew. It’s inspiring to see they didn’t abandon the Pong.
In other news, I stopped in at G’s German last week for a beer-in-a-boot and a pretzel. A Chinese journalist was interviewing Guido, the owner, at the table next to mine. At one point, the exchange went like this:
Journalist: “So this restaurant for gay only?”
Guido: “What? No. Anyone can come here. Nobody cares who you sleep with.”
Journalist: “But this soi only for gay.”
Guido: “What? No. Everyone is welcome here, and everybody comes to this soi. We don’t discriminate.”
Watching the dude’s communist brain try to comprehend the concept of social acceptance was painful. But the boot-full of beer sure hit the spot.
This week, I posted a new photo album of gogo dancer Earn’s (from XXX Lounge and current WhiskeyGG regular) cosplay photo shoot at https://bentbox.co/bangkoksevenart for digital download. It ain’t cheap, but them titties are worth it, I think. Plus I threw in pics from half a dozen other Patpong girls.
And that’s all the monger that’s fit to ponder for now, friends. Check back next Sunday for another summary of red-light events. In the meantime, you can read more about Bangkok life on my Substack: https://bangkokseven.substack.com/
Photos of everything in this blog can be found in the YouTube slideshow companion for this post at https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
Follow me on X @BangkokSeven for daily pics from the redlight, and until next time, keep your balls warm, your beer cold, and cheers to another week above ground in the greatest country on Earth: Thailand.
Pro Tip Post-Script: For updates on tasty food and bev around BKK, mostly close to redlights, check out Eat/Drink Bangkok’s X profile @eatbangkok777 where no one’s paid to hype certain places while shitting on others. It’s just honest photos of real grub.
