I’m a redlight optimist. When it comes to this life, I try to look on the bright side. To see the silver lining. Find the needle in the haystack. The jellybean in the shit pile. Which is why when I go somewhere like Soi Cowboy these days, I don’t dwell on the fact that most of its best-looking girls are gone, the prices are extortionate, and it’s lousy with douchebag tourists. I choose to focus on the good things, like Rainbow, Dollhouse, and Oasis. When I hit Patpong, and 70% of its bars are shut, and it’s exponentially less-fun than a decade ago, instead of wingeing about it, I find joy in the bars that are still around. I look at the foot traffic and say hey, the few surviving bars are thriving. They have pretty girls. The party is in full swing. When I go to NanaP, I take no pleasure in reporting that most of their bars suck. Why would I? I would rather their bars be awesome. I want to be able to visit more than two gogos in the Plaza. Yet in spite of this optimism, I’ll never lie to you, reader. I’ll never tell you a place is good when it isn’t, or slag off a bar that rocks. Which is a foreign concept to some Bangkok bloggers. When I talk a place up, they assume it’s because I’ve a vested interest in that place. They call me a sycophant (well, they don’t use that word. They’re not smart enough). They can’t conceive of the concept of complimenting a place if the boss isn’t paying them to do it. Many interweb posters in the Bangkok nightlife scene (or maybe it’s just one shitbird with multiple websites) get paid to pump up certain bars. And because they’re stupid, they think they achieve the same ends by shitting on bars that don’t pay them. I call it “anti-PR.” It’s akin to when a douche canoe with low self-esteem gets an ego boost by cutting other people down. It’s a clear sign of a small mind and low character. But I have good news for you, reader. I don’t get paid for this blog. Anything I earn comes from anonymous doners, so I don’t have an agenda and I’m not a poser. I actually go to the bars nearly every night. I don’t just slink into one bar in Patpong from 20.00 o 20.20 and then write a blog about how the whole redlight is shit. I won’t post propaganda because I don’t need to. If a place sucks, I’ll tell you it sucks. If it rocks, I won’t hide it from you. And here’s the icing on the cupcake: I want the redlight to rock. Not just the Pong, but all 3 RLDs.
Which is why last week, against my better judgment, I forced myself to revisit bars I’d written off, just in case they got good. Because I truly want them to be, and if they are, I want you to know about it. So, I went back to Shark in Cowboy, even though I was there just last week, because other ‘bloggers’ kept insisting it was great. And hey, I concede that a single visit isn’t enough to properly judge a place. That’s what the other cunts do, and I ain’t no hypocrite. I also went back to a few Nana bars, fully prepared to correct any previous inaccurate reporting. Here’s how it went…
I didn’t hit Billboard or Butterflies because they’re always good—for what they are, which are giant venus flytraps for tourists. The joints are jumpin’ and the booze is pumpin’ and some of the girls are cute. No, my assignment was more difficult than that. I dragged myself into places I’d sworn off long ago, starting with Mandarin.
Back in the day (I’m talking 2013) Mandarin and Billboard were my two faves. I must’ve fallen in love a dozen times in Mandarin. The girls were amazing—like hair standing up on your arm amazing. The last half dozen times I’ve gone, which fell between January 2022 and now, the lineup has been dire. I arrived on scene at 20.40 to find two rotations of 10 girls. All but two were unfuckable. And so, I’m sorry to say Mandarin hasn’t changed. The upside is, I don’t have to go back until December. I’ll pay three compliments to Mandarin: their 95b happy hour was a perk, and their bar staff are sweet and lovely. They’re not pushy in the slightest, which is something this grumpy local can appreciate. Also, regarding the girls themselves, nobody perpetrated a skytrain shuffle onstage. Everyone put forth more effort than that, and it was refreshing to witness their enthusiasm.
From there I ducked into Red Dragon, a place I previously hit only once—the week it opened. Back then they had one good-looking girl and several very pushy mamasans. This time, I saw two 20-girl rotations: in rota one, four cuties, and in rota 2, six. That actually beats all of the other Nana bars for hot girls. 10 lookers in one place? Astounding. And they have the same happy hour deal as Mandarin. The one downside is, RD only has three good seats. All the rest offer a partially-obscured view of the stage. But the overall takeaway was, the joint is full of young girls all eager for that short-time bonus from old dudes tryina’ get their youth back. And when I say old, I mean older than me. That’s fucking old.
After the Dragon, I popped across to Lollipop as they’re another bar whose social media bombards my feed with pro-Pop propaganda. After grabbing a seat and perusing the stage, I had one sip of my 180b SML and fled in horror, violating rule number 1 of mongering. But there was no need to wait for the next rotation. Onstage were seven rotund lasses undulating languidly to the beat of a song. The other rotation lounged in surrounding booths like so many Jabba-the-Hutt’s. Neither the overly-dark interior nor the annoying strobe light could hide the rank dearth of beauty in the joint.
On a Plaza-related side note, on multiple nights last week I saw clusters of outside-the-box tourist types. The first time was in the queue to enter Nana, where my path was blocked by a farang family—mum, dad, and two adult daughters—with an American midwestern look. Later, a foursome of Caucasians—two unkempt-looking dudes and their morbidly obese girlfriends. The girls sat on the Twister patio while their boyfriends went inside. They didn’t order drinks so the mamasans shoo’d them away. Then later, an elderly couple—I pegged them as German—where the wife watched with enthusiasm while her geriatric husband fondled the mammaries of a pair of gogo dancers.
Three unscheduled bar visits were all I could muster this week, at least in NanaP. From there I fled to Whiskey-n-Gogo to hang with my besties. Earn had returned to the pole after a long, slow recovery from a botched lip enhancement operation. And Little Nan was there, looking thinner than ever. I said I’d either get her a drink or buy her a burger. She opted for the burger. Beer and Earn asked for french fries. So I scampered down to the Nana Hotel car park and Nana Burger. Except they don’t sell fries so I had to divert to the corner of the Twister terrace where two Thai dudes cook up snacks for the girls, and eventually returned to Whiskey with my arms full of food to the cheers of my gogo mates. Earn and Beer grabbed my phone and began taking selfies. Though the manager said I can’t show them to you, and it’s for the most awesome reason ever.
As you may know, the Bangkok nightlife scene has its share of insufferable twats. As I often sing to myself, “cunts to the left of me, assholes to the right, here I am, stuck in the redlight with them.” One of ‘em is a creepy human genital wart from the US who makes a living taking PR photos in a handful of gogo bars. He’s one of those self-aware losers who ran screaming from the West where he undoubtedly endured a life of obscurity and loathing by women and men alike. Those types thrive in Thailand. At any rate, he actively works to sabotage/slag off/damage everyone else in the nightlife blogosphere, because his work can’t just stand on its own. He’s a lowlife, a slime ball, an effeminate 5-foot pile of mashed potatoes. So get this, it’s amazing.
Since many exPong girls are now in Nana, and since they love me and constantly ask me to take their photo, and since I’ve been posting them on Twitter, the shitweasel got mad and went and tattled to the Plaza’s owners like a fucking five-year-old. Because in his walnut-sized brain, only he can take photos in Nana. If a bar doesn’t hire him, well then they don’t get to have a social media presence. So what did the Nana people do? They said, “OK now no one can take photos in Nana.” Including him! The douche nozzle tattled himself right out of several jobs. If you go to Webster’s Dictionary and look up “poetic justice,” it’s just a photo of his retarded face. There hasn’t been a better example of “hoisted by his own petard” since the actual debut performance of Hamlet. So now, the only people who can take photos in NanaP are the girls themselves. And guess which aging punter gets those selfies sent straight o his Line? So of course, I’ll be sharing those pics with you via this week’s YouTube slideshow companion—link below.
Upon leaving Whiskey, I returned to the Twister terrace to buy chicken nuggets for Oil and chat with her and Puy. Puy showed off her latest tattoo–an ace of spades poker card on one ass cheek. After that I Ponged for a bit and then called it a night.
On Friday, I committed to checking out Cowboy again, starting with Shark. It turns out the fuckers who touted that bar all last week were—drum roll—full of shit. To be fair, it was a little better than my previous visit the week before. I saw one pretty girl, which is one more than last time. Two former Strip girls graced the pole. I didn’t recognize them but they shouted “Seven!” Yuu leemembah me, na. I from Sattip.” Last week there was one former XXX Lounge girl in there but she had since moved on to greener gogos. I had a 95b happy hour SML which was great, but after seeing both rotations I had to get the hell out.
From there I hit a packed Dollhouse for a 95B HH draft (I think it was Chang). Three reality-defyingly hot girls were onstage. I hung with my buddy Jack Nites, ogled the hotties for a good hour and then went to hang in Rainbow with Bee, who practically leaped onto my lap from the stage. It was her last night of work before her scheduled boob surgery. She pointed out six girls onstage and said they’re all former Strip dancers. I only recognized one—a low-wasted vixen with sixpack abs and tiny titties. As she sat down and put her hand on my knee, it caused a stir in my loins. What followed was a rambunctious, nostalgic haze of tits and ass reminiscent of the carefree days of The Strip’s past. In sum, it was one of the more fun nights I’ve had on ole Soi Cowboy.
I also hit the Pong several times last week, bouncing back and forth between Pink Panther, King’s Corner, King’s 1, Bada Bing, and Radio City. The status of these bars remains constant. One day I hit Shenanigan’s early for a 160b Brooklyn Lager. Not a bad price point for a non-GMO beer with better flavor than the Thai usuals. After Shagz I went to King’s Castle and was shocked to find a dozen new girls onstage (new to K1, not the gogo life, judging by all the tatts and fake tits). King’s had two 25-girl rotations, which is a lot for midweek. Ang, a longtime K1 dancer and former Thigh Bar star, always gives me a hug or a high-five when she sees me. She’s aesthetically gorgeous. Too bad she let herself go during Covid. Too bad also that I didn’t nail her before she puffed up.
On Monday, I was meant to stay on the couch, but after my harem girl came early (heh heh) I was so bored I decided to do a quick Pong. The food court had two additions—a pork noodle soup truck and yet another somtam cart. It’s a shame so many vendors have vacated since its reopening. On the Night Market’s original return, the sheer expanse of awesome fare was dizzying. I predict both new arrivals will be gone in short order.
King’s Castle was half-full. Offy sat with me for a bit and I scolded her for putting on weight while jiggling her ass cheeks, which sent her into hysterics. She laughs like an old lady who smoked a pack a day for decades. Pink Panther was also half-full at 20.40 but there were lots of fetching femmes lounging around. Big Bee, formerly of Electric Blue, tried to wrangle a drink from me but I just shoved 60b in her bra and bailed. Kaew was outside gnawing on chicken skewers. She beckoned me to sit down but I said no thanks and headed to King’s Corner. ‘Twas a different story in there. 40+ punters packed the seats like sardines. All were Asian except me. The joint had 30 girls all clad in black bikinis. It felt as though everyone there was already drunk at 21.15. There was some new hotness, alongside old Bada Bing veterans. Overall it was a busy night for the Pong. Even Radio City, which is always empty, had a handful of horndogs ogling the action. I don’t know why they have such bad luck. Maybe it’s to do with their door being smack in between the food court and the beer garden. Anyone entering or exiting does so under the judgmental eyes of vanilla tourists. But one of my fave girls is in there—Jun, 25 with no kids and no Thai boyfriend. She’s got a tight body and a wide lovely smile. She gives me a reason to stop by.
On Saturday I started out in Red Lion for a Brooklyn Defender IPA and IPA-battered fish-n-chips. Then I jammed home for a meeting with my youngest harem girl. She’s 19 and clearly watched too much porn as a child, because her bj’s could win awards at AVN. As the sun set and storm clouds rolled in, she Lined me to say she’d be heading over early so as to beat the rain. That’s a kind of dedication most lazy-flaky Thai girls never show. By the time she’d finished choking herself on my wang it was pissing down outside. She ordered a Grab taxi and I decided to go with, since the rain would mean fewer punters in the gogos, and that’s my ideal time to monger. I was in K Corner by 19.45. There were seven customers counting myself and two new fit-skinny girls onstage to make me wish I was 10 years younger. When I bailed at 20.10, twelve more customers had crowded in—all of them Japanese.
King’s 1 had two rotations of 20, one set in white lingerie, the other in black. A new mamasan came up and said “If you want lady you can tell me.” The girls sitting nearby smirked and rolled their eyes. I told her in Thai that I come here every night. She said “Oh, OK” and disappeared. There were 40 punters at 20.30, all of them Japanese except me and two Scandinavian-looking mutts. Four fucking retards walked in, did a lap around the stage, and bailed, violating the first rule of the redlight.
Bada Bing was half-full, and someone was going to town on a stick of ganja. The girls moaned about the smell. Radio City had 7 customers. One was a long-haired farang with a girl bouncing in his lap. There were three fat white lesbians having the time of their lives, and two old farts siting way in the back.
To sum up, the best lineups in NanaP right now are in Twister, followed closely by Red Dragon. Thanks to the exXXX contingent in Whiskey, they rank 3rd. On Cowboy, it’s Rainbow and Dollhouse. Anyone who says Shark’s good is either blind or lying—or both. OnPong, the hottest girls are in King’s 1 and King’s Corner, with strong clusters in Pink Panther. Bada Bing and Radio City have smaller teams of lookers.
Speaking of the Pong, I’d just like to tell anyone reading this who hasn’t been there but is considering going…don’t go. Go to Cowboy or Nana. Because contrary to what the fucking cunts in the Bangkok blogosphere think, I’m not a Patpong cheerleader and I’d rather dudes not go there. In point of fact, it’s already too crowded and I hate when I can’t get my usual seat in the gogo. It would be great if I could lie like the rest of the shitbag blogger set, but I can’t. Patpong is awesome and there’s nothing I can do about it. But with all due respect, please stay out of my neighborhood.
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
If you’re in a generous mood, you can donate anytime at https://www.buymeacoffee.com/bangkok7
Follow me on Twitter @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: If one of your harem girls offers to clean your apartment, say no and hire a proper service. Because that former gogo dancer-turned-noodle cart girl has no domestic skills. At best, she’ll do a bad job. At worst, she’ll break your shower nozzle and clog your toilet. I speak from experience.
