What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession (with a corresponding photo gallery at the bottom of this post).
Well reader, World War 3 has started. That cunt Biden began bombing cities inside Russia. Putin has stated he will respond with nukes, and already sent a naval assault group to Cuba and named the US an enemy for the first time in history. Also this week, Saudi Arabia abandoned the Petrodollar so look for the US to go to war with all the BRICS nations in the next year. Hug your kids. Tell your wife and gik that you love them, and cork a beer because we don’t have a lot of time left.
I’m celebrating the end of civilization in Phuket on a nostalgia tour of my 2nd home in TLOS. I spent the whole 2012 on this crazy island, got familiar with a few beautiful women, and lived a carefree, flip-flop life. And though a lot has changed in 12 years, I hoped to retrace some of the best parts-known from that time.
I departed Silom at 5 am–actually 05.10 because I forgot my phone, not a good omen for the start of a trip–and cruised to the airport with zero traffic. Air Asia is no one’s favorite but at least they fly out of Suvarnabhumi. Don Muang is pure hell. The flight was 66 minutes and painless. The airport taxi to Patong a criminal 800 baht. Sure, a minivan is 180 but who wants that headache?
The old familiar drive t’Patong brought back a flood of memories. The lush green jungle pushes in from all sides. One glance and I clicked back into Southern Mode. Time slowed down. All negative thoughts seemed to seep from my pores and drain away. I was too early to check in so I took a walk and was sunburnt in under 5 minutes. Patong in the morning is just young Chinese tourists, most of them hot females, taking selfies. The area has changed a lot, notably on Bangla Road as well as a Central across from Jungceylon with an awesome Tops food court. I found a bar across from soi sea dragon that sold a humble breakfast and so I ordered one with a tequila sunrise. The barmaid said, really? It have alcohol, you OK? In my former Phuket days it wasn’t uncommon to have beer instead of coffee in the mornings. Maybe the place is going soft. 400b for the cocktail and food.
Phuket smells the same. It’s a mixture of sea air, fruit, grilled fish, car exhaust, wet or burning foliage, and hot pavement. I was instantly comforted by it, and struggled to wipe the stupid grin off my face. Goddam, I forgot how breezy it is here—both literally and psychologically. Well, for the most part. Every 5 meters along Bangla there’s a weed shop. The entire soi reeks from end to end before noon. Every 10 meters is a goddam east Asian foreigner aggressively pushing airsoft shooting, suits, or knock-off watches. Oh, and white people with their shirts off—even in the bars and malls. It’s easy to forget the crappy stuff.
It’s Pride month, so Patong is awash end-to-end in gaudy rainbow crap. At least the Thais didn’t adopt the new all-inclusive flag, with blacks, browns, trans and pedo colors. It’s just a fucking rainbow on every wall, window, street corner, drink coaster, napkin, and work polo.
I stayed at the Days Inn, for 3 reasons: 1–Agoda gave them a high rating, 2–it’s 60 meters from Bangla Road and 3–as a yank, it’s a familiar brand. The room was nice enough. Good aircon. Plus they had a fitness center and a rooftop pool. Wifi took a few failed attempts and my first key card didn’t work, but things smoothed out after that. I napped until 19.00 and then struck out, too early for anything fun, of course, and found a little eatery at the end of soi sea dragon called Alien Taco. But the name is misleading. First, the only alien in there was me. Second, tacos were just the tip of the menu iceberg. They had burgers, burritos, hot dogs, pizza, buffalo wings, gyoza, spring rolls, calamari, fish and chips, steak frites, chicken and waffles, Philly cheesesteak, doner kebabs, nachos, and chicken parmigiana. I mean, why bother supping anywhere else?
I got an Aussie beef taco and 2 fish tacos for 200b. They were small but good. The only misstep was the Thai cook putting the same toppings on all 3 tacos. Fish tacos should have cabbage, lime, and crema, not lettuce and cheese. But they were still quite tasty.
My first gogo stop was Funky House, previously owned by my friend Michael who was famously framed for human trafficking and is now doing life in a Thai prison because the Thai mamasan in this bar was pimping out 15-year-olds. I had to see the place with my own eyes. They still had the neon M above the bar from when it was called Models Inc. It was quiet at 20.00 with 3 dancers and no punters except me. SML 160. A very nice young lady came over and asked “You want lady?” Which in this town leads directly to a shorttime tryst, do not pass Go. So I declined. They were all too big for Seven anyway.
90% of the soi’s gogos are owned by the Suzy Wong cartel. One of them is called Cleopatra. I tried to pull out my phone to type what you’re reading now and the place went apeshit. They told me I couldn’t even have my phone out and I started to remember the quirky, stupid, ridiculous rules that only Phuket has in its redlight areas. From there I hit 6 more gogo/stripper/gentlemen’s clubs on Sea Dragon. Among all those bars, there was only one hot girl, plus one fugly. 99b beer specials in all. My last stop was Bullet Hole, a western themed gogo with very polite gals inside. Lady drinks are upwards of 260 in these places.
Once I got off of Sea Dragon, the quality of dancer went up significantly. Wandering up Bangla I found a bar called Love Pumpui. In spite of the name there were a lot of hotskinnies on the clock. And attached to it was a gogo called x2o VIP, where I was set upon by 4 girls, one of whom said, “Seven, I leemember you from Black Pagoda.”
The rule about no phones is a cockblock. How are you supposed to get a girl’s Line if you can’t pull out your phone? There were more hotties in Pumpui and x2o than all of Sea Dragon. I wish I could’ve made some connections but it’s not possible in Phuket.
When I lived here 12 years ago, I was broke as fuck. I made 40k per month. It was an austere life. Today, I’m rolling through the gogos like a goddam pimp, though I stopped buying drinks in short order and instead tipped hundies to keep the girls quiet. On my way back to the hotel, I swung through the beer bar area that used to be called Soi Tiger. If it has a new name, I couldn’t find it. Most of the bars were sans dancer, and the ones where chicks were shaking it on a pole were—ahem!—not hot. On that sad note, I gave up and went to bed. My takeaway from Day 1 in Patong was, there are barely any hot chicks on Bangla.
On Day 2 I wanted to rent a motorbike and drive up to see my old place in Bang Tao but as I don’t have an international driving license the hotel refused me. They said the cops stop farang every few hundred meters and if you don’t have an international license, it’s a 1,000 baht fine. When I lived here, I rented a bike by the month and tooled all over the island without any problems. I remember reading that Phuket had cracked down but somehow it slipped my mind.
Grab wanted 671b (‘twas only 158 for a motorbike but it was cunting raining at the time). A random taxi driver said he’d do it for 600. So shlepping from Patong to Bang Tao and back theoretically cost more than the flight from BKK. Fucking ridiculous.
Everything in Bang Tao has changed, and then again it hasn’t. The owner of Heavenly Bar, where I used to drink daily, died (if I understood the barmaid) and his wife now owns it. Back in the day I would give her English lessons in exchange for beer. Her daughter, who was 13 when I knew her, is now working at the bar. Nok and Jo’s closed when Jo passed away. Nok tore down the restaurant and rebuilt a smaller version further up the soi. Many of my old watering holes are gone, replaced with hotels or motorbike rentals.
After one SML in Bang Tao I was ready to leave, especially since the greasy local expats started showing up to get their daydrink on. One tried to strike up a chat. I ignored him and scampered away. A 2-minute, 100b motaxi ride took me to Surin beach, a formerly awesome resort style area with tons of nice beachside restaurants. Covid made quick work of them all. Now the beach is a run-down bamboo bar-studded muddy walkway. Clearly it’s bouncing back but they’ve a long way to go. The only nice restaurant to survive is Tukta, at the southern end. I sat on their rooftop patio, had panang and a pina colada, and watched the rough surf for a while. Then for 60b I motaxi’d to Kamala (no relation to America’s cunt Vice President) Beach, half of which is now lined up to the sand with resorts. Then 100b for a motaxi back t’Patong. So for those who’re keeping track, that was 600b to get to Bang Tao and 260 to return.
That afternoon, the sky opened up and drenched Phuket in a deluge. By 20.00 though, it’d dried, so I hit Bangla again, hoping for better luck in the hot girl category. I had a BBQ burger at Alien Taco, then zigzagged around the gogo barkers who all said, “You come back again?” but my plan was to find a perch somewhere on Bangla and just people watch.
The burger was a belly buster. The dude who owns Alien Taco is Muslim. It’s obvious from all the halal signs, and the fact that the bacon burger has turkey bacon on it. I think that’s why the western BBQ burger had a white sauce with green flecks in it like you’d see on a doner kebab. It didn’t ruin the burger but it would’ve been just as good without. At every meal in Phuket so far, the cook has come out to ask if the food was good. And not in a cynical way. They genuinely hope the customer likes what they made. I made no petty criticisms about doner sauce to him, and my thumbs up was enough to make him break out in a wide grin.
I ducked into one of the nine Wongs and got accosted by two very polite but very thirsty chunksters, then went back to the only bar where I found pretty girls the previous night: Love Pumpui. There was a tall, skinny, regal yet bored-looking gal who captured my interest. I asked her what she ate to get so tall. She pointed at the power lines, as if to say she was some kind of lightning-eating Godzilla monster. That kind of humor from a Thai girl deserved a drink. Her name was Nok, 20 years old from Chiang rai. That’s all I got from her before 3 Japanese youngsters showed up and she practically catapulted (practapulted for short, copyright BKK7) to their table.
Then when I paid my bill I was shorted 200 baht. I’m willing to call it a mistake, but shit like that never happens to me in Bangkok. As I walked off, a blonde shouted my name from the bar next door. ‘Twas a former Strip dancer from Patpong. She proceeded to talk my ear off about every thought that passed through her brain. I nodded along, listening to my mp3 player instead of her soliloquy. Then I tipped her a hundy and cartwheeled away.
Despite finding no hotties the previous night, I shlepped through the former Soi Tiger, and accidentally stumbled upon a youngskinny: Bell, 24 from Bangkok who one year earlier had graced the stages of Twister and Geisha. She was a chatterbox and a pussy slinger. She put the hard sell on for that fanny in a way that made me worry where it’d been. But she was cute, and fun. Just what the doctor ordered for this old redlight hound. Bell was very forthcoming about how bald she keeps her cooter, and just as I was about to tell her I’m too old to shorttime, she insisted we play pool. I hadn’t played since I last lived here over a decade ago but I agreed, just to make her happy. I beat her soundly in game one, and the next game had all but one ball in and then scratched. She happily said “We each won one.” Then she asked me to barfine. I said how much. 1500 short time plus 3k for her. I laughed so hard I fell off my stool. But left her my Line and told her if she missed me she could reach out and I’d circle back. Then I stopped into Crazy Girls because 12 years ago on two separate occasions I barfined a couple of extremely hot chicks out of there. Inside I was accosted by two chubs. It was an exact copy of every encounter I’d had so far on Bangla—too many overly friendly girls flirting and pumping for drinks.
After that I was still wide awake so I decided to check out what used to be Hollywood nightclub where a freelancer was easy to find and the music and dancing were worth a look. It’s now a place called Miamai and its–get this–a ping pong show. And even crazier, because I spoke Thai they wouldn’t let me in. They said, “You work here?” I said I’m a teacher in Bangkok. They were like, you can’t come in. I said “Why the fuck not?” They just shook their heads. I mean what in the cunt is wrong with the retards running Phuket?
Then I stopped at Madame Wongs, because they have some hotskinnies. A girl attacked me, then proceeded to explain the doesn’t like men, has a girlfriend, and doesn’t go with customers. Then why in the fuck did you sit down, honey?
Phuket has changed for the worse since 2012. Back then, every single bar had at least one hot chick. Some had upwards of half a dozen. Today, there’s half a dozen hotties on the whole of Bangla Road, and finding a few skinny needles in a stack of fat ones.
Earlier I mentioned being stiffed 200b on a checkbin and chalked it up to human error. Well, later on it happened again, only this time I was double charged for a lady drink. I think if I didn’t speak Thai I would’ve been fucked in both cases. But when they hear the argument laid out in their own language, the Phuket thieves back down. It reminded me of when employees at The Strip took a couple months to come to Phuket and work in bars there, then returned to Bangkok with a completely transformed work ethic. It was all about pumping for drinks and padding bills, and it wasn’t just for tourists. They fucked over the locals as well. It’s unconscionable behavior in Bangkok but it’s par for the course here.
The stuff I forgot about living here is slowly creeping back to the forefront. Everywhere you go in Phuket, you get hungry eyes, the hard sell, and checkbin ‘mistakes.’ Sidewalk barkers in Bangkok are polite and persistent. In Phuket, they’re aggressive and rude. There’s an undertone of hate with some of the Thais who work on Bangla Road. It’s obvious they revile tourists and foreigners, and tolerate them while grinding their teeth into a twisted grin. Not all of them, of course. I met many lovely Thais on this visit. I’d put it at about 4 to 1, lovely Thais vs hateful ones on this island.
The following day, Bell—the gogo dancer from Soi Tiger the previous night—messaged to say she was coming to my room. She didn’t ask to come. She just informed me she would be there at 5 pm and to prepare myself accordingly. She arrived at 17.00 on the dot, marched up to my room, stripped, and reclined on the bed. I joined her, and then began the weirdest coitus I’ve ever had. At the moment of entry, she launched into a story about how she’s going to change bars, and all the logistics involved with moving three doors down. She stopped every now and then to give an approving grunt or short moan, but mostly it was just her talking about work. I finally shut her up by bending her in half and piledriving her for a good two minutes before losing steam. At that point, I rolled over, handed her a bottle of coconut oil, and told her to finish the job. If I had to listen to her story like some kind of boyfriend, I should at least not have to exert myself.
Afterward, she bailed to meet her friend and I walked down to the beach for a sunset Mai Tai and king prawn thermidor, which was excellent, but as my view of the water was partially obscured, I popped next door where the drink prices jumped by 100b but my chair was right in the sand. I ordered a margarita as a Chinese lady two tables over puked her guts out. Her husband just kicked sand over it like a cat in a litterbox. Thankfully I was downwind. I watched the sun go down and the lights come up around the stretch of beach as day turned to night and the thumping din of music began to emanate from the Patong party zones. Then I lumbered up Bangla and found a seat at one of the outdoor bars that line the soi. Dudes were pushing shisha for 500b, a thing that was banned from Pattaya years ago. The weed shops fit Phuket like a smelly foot in a dirty sock. Finally all the Bob Marly, Job-To-Do reggae stuff is apropos.
I’ll say this for Bangla: with the exception of maybe The Pizza Company, which always appears empty, the bars and eateries are making money hand over fist. It’s like Patpong, Nana, Soi 4, and Soi 11 all combined into one tourist catch-all. At 19.55, the gogo dancers started showing up for work, and the soi was awash in young clunge like a human rainbow of poontang. After too many cocktails, I tried to go home, but as I passed Oscar Sport Bar, I noticed a particularly talented pole dancer performing for no one and stopped in to tip her a hundy, and that’s when the craziest thing happened. I put the money in her bra and went to the bar for one more drink, and was surprised to find the dancer had followed me. She asked to sit down and I said yes. Then I asked her name. “Jeda,” she replied, and my brain went DING! Because I remembered a girl named Jeda who used to pole dance on Soi Sea Dragon 12 years ago. We were casual friends back then. I probably saw her two or three times. She had a massive butterfly tattoo on her back, so I said, “Jeda! You have a butterfly tattoo on your…” and she turned to show me the shoulder-to-shoulder butterfly on her back, her eyes wide with surprise. I said, “You’re not going to remember, but you let me take a photo of your tattoo 12 years ago. My name is—” “Seven!” she shouted, and started bouncing up and down in her seat. We spent the next hour catching up, joking and laughing, and for a moment it felt like the Phuket I remembered. Then the mamasan brought me a long island iced tea and the next thing I knew, I woke up in my hotel room.
The next morning, I was so hung over I laid in bed till 14.00, then took a walk around junceylon for a bit of exercise and lunch at the Irish Times: an Irish cheese steak (they called it a Philly cheese steak but it was definitively an Irish cheese steak) sandwich. Then it was straight back to bed until 19.30 when I took up the same soi-side seat on Bangla to watch the human zoo. A Thai kid, still in his school uniform, was singing karaoke for donations. He sounded remarkably similar to Adele, and belted out her songs along with Miley Cyrus and Sia to the butt bouncing, toe-tapping delight of every white chick within earshot.
Then I embarked on a ridiculous quest for–get this–earbuds. For 14 years, I bought cheap ones from 7-Eleven, but as of, I guess right now, they’ve stopped selling them. Maybe because of the popularity of wireless head phones. But I don’t do wireless. Wireless are expensive, and I abuse my earbuds. I’d be dropping 3k every month for new ones, or losing them in the gogo constantly. Plus I don’t know what kind of tumors bluetooth is growing in people’s brains. So I spent half an hour walking around Patong, bought 3 different set of earbuds, all of which sucked ass, and finally found a pair in a Tops Daily. Then I struck out along Bangla and was spotted by Bell, who had switched locations as promised, and who insisted I buy her a drink. Which I was happy to do since she was the only hot girl in sight. She was mid-rotation on the pole so I sat alone for a while. Then I hit the toilet and when I returned, she was sat at my table like that scene from Pulp Fiction where Uma Therman returns from doing coke in the loo to find her burger waiting. But, y’know, with clunge instead of beef. She was weirdly shy, I suppose because I was inside her the day before. I necked my beer and got the fuck out of there. Then I had one in Oscar where I was accosted for drinks by bartenders and employed clunge. I didn’t even finish my beer. Then ip popped across to Tai Pan. Now, when I lived in Phuket 12 years ago, it was a wellspring of hot poontang. The dancers were incredible. I made 2 of them part of my harem and loved them as much as this heartless lothario could love anyone. In 2024, the joint is a sad joke. The dancers are disgusting. There are no customers. I was thoroughly searched on entering. The pr girls hand out cards for free shooters, but your choices are either tequila or sambuca. Gross and super gross. I handed the cards back and ordered a b ruskie. 380 baht. They’re 220 in Patpong. Fuck, this island is expensive. I pounded it and went back to the hotel.
The next day, I suddenly tired of Phuket and took the ferry to Ao Nang, with thoughts of low season mishaps like sinking in rough seas. The alternative is a minivan hurtling through Phang G na like a scud missile. Death is possible no matter which way you go. Did i survive? That’s for next week’s post. All in all, I’d call my Phuket revisit a positive experience. The dearth of good looking women was a letdown, as were the old familiar quirks that make that island somewhat inhospitable. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. I might even go back in another 10 years or so.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is a bunch of pics of gogo dancers in and out of the bar from Patpong to Pattaya. You can view it here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-tons-of-gogo-dancers/
but only if you become a Member. The price tag is $1 per month, and new content is added weekly.
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 and @BangkokNightli2
Thai chick-related posters and prints on canvas 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: If you used to live in a different part of Thailand, and then you moved to a new place and stayed there for years, when you eventually go back to check out where you used to live, lower your expectations. Expect it to suck. Expect the motto “You can’t go home again” to be true. That way, you might be pleasantly surprised if it turns out to be ‘meh.’
