What’s up mingemongers and moneyhoneys, my name’s Seven and this is my weekly confession. Well things appear to be back to Pre-Covid, pre-economic downturn levels of crazy in TLOS. It’s wall to wall idiots trying to recreate the Hangover movie. There’s a buffoon making a spectacle of himself in every nook and cranny of the redlight. When these yokels come here, do they leave their dignity back in their home country? Or does this bastion of abandon just attract the tactless? Maybe a bit of both. The worst offenders last week were of course yanks, with some Chinese and Aussies mixed in. The Nipons were goal-oriented. Barfine, barfine, barfine. I almost felt sorry for the noob farang who didn’t take the time to Google the process before leaving the West. The gogos were rife with lost dweebs trying to crack the code. And look, if you’re a seasoned monger you might think, it’s as easy as falling off a bike. But think back to your first foray in this adult candyland. We all had to crawl before we could run. That said, the number of poor bastards who’re here and failing right now is amazing. And maybe it’s worse in current year, when GenZ and late Millennials raised on 3rd wave feminism and beta cuck behavior must traverse this lascivious landscape with zero game and no pussy-grabbing skills. I guess in that light, we old fogies did and do have it easier, thank Buddha.
My week was per usual, except for the headache of extra douchebags everywhere. Whilst I roamed about town prepping for my Cali trip (buying Kamagra for my married middle-aged friends, Cuban cigars for my brother, a handbag for mum, and gold from the assay office), the whole of Bangkok teemed with sweaty herds of human cattle. Ironically, the only relief came in the form of slouching in a gogo booth, shoulder-to-shoulder with the riffraff, bookended only by this or that hot dancer.
And as if on cue with the arrival of the high season tide, the gogos are now smattered with white chicks. Some came along with dudes while others pushed in like boils on the ass of the redlight. Some were there out of curiosity, and I can forgive them. The gogo is an intriguing environ. It’s the ones who come with condemnation in their eyes–the kooks and cunts who just want to bathe in the patriarchy like a too-hot jacuzzi, and then report back to their brunching friends at home how misogynistic it is in Asia. Yes, it is, fuckface. So next time, go to the goddam Maldives.
I watched a co-ed trio–two girls and a guy–get suckered-in in one gogo. The mamasan had the dancers line up like they do for Nipons, and the ignorant farang didn’t know they could say no. The clams and the dude each had a girl over. I’ll say this for the redlight Thais. They understand the Barnum quote about a sucker born every minute, and they put it to work for them.
There are three girls in Virgin–I call them the triplets–who have identical physiognamies. All titless and boney with a thigh gap, caramel-colored and pretty, like they came off a sex robot assembly line. They all pay attention to Seven as if knowing there’s a gravy train to be got, if only they could figure out how to get themselves on the hook, like fish circling the boat and yearning to jump in. I’m happy for now to just ogle them relentlessly with no payoff for either party. Meanwhile, VirginX continues to attract very few customers, which is why they’ve bumped their drink prices to 200b, following the age-old Thai strategy of going out of business. Thankfully, Virgin’s prices remain the same.
New2 on the other hand is quite popular, so much so that they’ve hired new staff who don’t know how to take drink orders. I sat drinkless for nearly 10 minutes before someone noticed. First, I pretended to sip an imaginary hot beverage from the checkbin bin, to the delight of the girls onstsage. Then I put the bin on my head, and that’s when an old mamasan from K2 circa 2015 ran over and took my order. I didn’t mean to be a dick but I was a tad intoxicated and so prone to chicanery.
Early in the week, after a high season rain shower I skipped out t’Pong hoping the weather would mean less tourist traffic. Alas, to no avail. 30 stinking farang clogged the little 7-11 near my apartment, and the night market seethe with the collective low end of the global IQ bell curve. It was like being near an idiot convention at the dinner break.
I passed through the gogos like a video game on easy mode, returning wais and accepting the adoration of various gogo dancers like a redlight godfather should. To these hungry lasses, I represent an untapped well. There are at least 3 in every gogo who vai to become a conc. I scrutinize them with a quiet critical eye. Eventually, a duo or trio will get an audition, though I don’t know when. It depends on the current harem and whether one or more goes her own way. They’re all dug in like ticks though, so it could be a long wait. I’m eyeing two in Virgin, two in K1, and one in New2.
VirginX had some kind of drag queen collab going on, which is proper poison for a gogo bar catering to hetero foreign sex tourists. A manager came over and told me they have a cabaret show at 23.00. That was at 22.40 so I had precious little time to finish my drink. Never put it past a Thai businessman to make a terrible decision. A longhaired bearded solo American was engaged in discussion with a papasan about girls and shorttiming and barfining. The Thai’s reaction was to parade all the off-duty girls in front of him Nipon style, at which the yank recoiled in embarrassment. From what I could tell, he had his eye on a girl onstage but couldn’t communicate clear enough to seal the deal. Eventually he gave up and consoled himself with his beer. A barmaid tried to help him and he threw up his hands in despair. Imagine traveling all this way to drop the ball mere meters from that sweet sought-after vagine. It’s a tragedy. I gulped the last sip of vodka just as the drag queens paraded in.
The whole time I witnessed the aforementioned gogo failure, my number 1 conc was angrily texting because I’d cancelled on her for Friday, since it was Loy Krathong. I thought I was doing her a favor, but apparently having multiple orgasms was higher on her to-do list than Buddha forgiving her sins for the year. Obviously I don’t celebrate, but I do like when the dancers dress up in sexy versions of traditional Krathong garb and I wanted to check ‘em out. Eventually we compromised and the promised to come over early, leaving me time to monger afterward, to my mild satisfaction. The downside to being an old lion with a pride of purring pussy is, nothing is ever too exciting. It’s just one ridiculous sexual liaison after another. One perfect naked body after the next. How much pleasure can be attained in absence of want? A man was made to chase minge. But when it knocks on your door, strips, mounts the bed and presents itself, where’s the challenge? It’s a #Thailandproblem. And it beats the alternative, which is a life of constant ballbusting strife in the West, surrounded by fat, noseringed blue haired man-hating cunts. Gimme gimme gimme Thailand and it’s easy copulation.
I swung back to K1 for a misunderstood drink order (I again got served a whiskey soda instead of a vodka soda) and sat next to a drunk bald farang in a vest (tank top for you Americans) who got lost looking for the toilet and then made a nuisance of himself trying and failing to flag down the girl he wanted. But at least he tried, unlike the poor sap in VirginX. In both cases, the result was the same, proving the adage that you can lead a sex tourist to pussy but you can’t make him close the deal. In a place where the fish are in a barrel, some dudes still misfire.
Friday was Loy Krathong, a Thai holiday that thankfully doesn’t call for a booze ban and so the redlight remains open. The Pong gogos like to place tubs and inflatable pools near their entrances, and the staff dress up in traditional garb. After nailing conc 1, I meant to get over to Soi Cowboy, circling back t’Pong later, but as I went to order a Grab realized I was just too lazy, and so strolled over to the beer garden for a Cuban and double Chivas. The horde was out en masse, crowded crotch to ass in the food court and on down the night market. The breakdown was 50% couples and families, 50% sex tourists in groups, pairs, and brave solo poon hounds. I saw one other local. I saw something new: a Muslim woman and her husband exiting the Superpussy ping pong show. And I understand the dynamic there. The woman must do as she’s told. But damn, it’s cheeky of him, ain’t it? He could’ve sent her back to the hotel and gone in alone. That would’ve been the decent thing to do, in my humble opinion.
The flipside of a Loy Krathong mongering is, most of the gogo dancers are off somewhere putting a floating thingamajig in a body of water. K1 and 2 were barely staffed, with a mere smattering of snatch on display. Each of their stages was barely half full. I tried to imagine the confused thoughts in the tiny brains of tourists. They must’ve wondered why everything they googled before boarding the plane sang the praises of the Bangkok redlight. Nothing ruins a redlight night like a Thai holiday.
Virgin had a whopping three girls per rota. To be fair, they had even fewer customers but I suppose that a symbiotic ratio. You need clunge to reel in the punters. I was surprised to see Nat had returned after a 2-week hiatus, or more likely, a sojourn to a different redlight. She’s continued her slim down journey, though she’s still far from her sixpack days of yore. If she dropped another 15 lbs I’d consider auditioning her for a spot in the harem.
A fat white couple stopped in to Virgin, and it went how you’d expect. The sow scrutinized the drink menu like she was perusing the wine list in a restaurant while the dude made a beeline for the loo. In fact they probably only came in because he needed a wee. That’s when things took a turn. The female engaged a mamasan in a Google translate convo that was clearly aimed at barfining a dancer. I surmised the chunkster wanted to bring a Thai girl back to the hotel to munch her minge while her old fat companion spanked his monkey to the spectacle. In the end, though, they chickened out and bailed, to the great relief of every gal in the joint. A moment later, a solo sex tourist who couldn’tve been more than 5 feet tall wandered in. And he couldn’tve picked a batter day to try for a piece of ass. Competition was nil, and assuming he’s not picky, his chances of getting laid and proving every woman he ever met back home wrong was ready to happen.
In a business decision that can only be described as catastrophic, VirginX’s stage was a mix of 80-20 ladyboy to lady on their stage. It’s what we in the biz call “gogo suicide.” I necked my cocktail and fled like a jailbroke inmate. The only gogo bucking the Krathong trend was King’s Corner. That joint was a fucking zoo. There was nowhere to sit but a friendly mamasan found me a spot squeezed in between two horny Nipons and their dancer companions (dance-anions for short).
In other news, last week my 2nd longest suffering concubine–a former eb girl and single mom who’s been off the pole for years–came by to give her weekly bj, and left with one of my lamps. It was a wicker sphere just the right size for an end table. When I first bought it, she oohed and ahhed over it. I told her I’d get her one but never found that model. In the interim I got he 3 other lamps that all failed. Or at least, she claimed they did. Finally I just let her take the one she likes originally and grabbed a less awesome one from Mr. DIY for myself. It’s a small price to pay to keep a conc happy.
In retirement, every day is a 24-hour mini-version of my whole life. I wake up too late, scramble to finish work on time, then waffle about what to eat and waste time that should be spent on self-improvement, then rush out to party, struggling to squeeze as much fun as possible before midnight, then stumble those hoping to fall asleep gracefully and not shit myself or pass out in my own sick. Which I’ve little doubt is how I’ll meet my eventual end.
This week’s Members Only Gallery is the raw stills from one of my favorite “Naked Ninja” photo shoots. It’s two former Electric Blue dancers posing tastefully nude with various Japanese swords and firearms, plus a kitschy video interview with the girls afterward. The link can be found here: https://bangkokseven.com/members-only-gallery-two-naked-ninjas-plus-video-interview/
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: Maybe this tip is just for me, but it’s OK for an old monger to have a night in. Yes, death is coming for us all, and no, you don’t want your tombstone to read “He spent his last night on Earth lying on the couch,” but if you’re not feeling it on a night, you’re not duty bound to hit the redlight. But definitely don’t take two nights off in a row. That’s just lame.
