Happy Sunday, reader—if you’re reading this at time of posting. August is already almost over, and I for one can’t wait for Bangkok to cool down, at least literally. The hordes of unwashed tourists haven’t abated, and come November their numbers will skyrocket. What’s a cynical local to do? Perhaps I’ll relocate to some remote locale like Ko Kood. Talk about off the grid. That island is a hermit’s haven. But I digress.
‘Twas another week of mongering and fanny-grabbing for this old redlight hound, and again I visited all 3 naughty entertainment venues in the city. My Soi Cowboy night started out as they typically do now, with me trying to find a good place to chow down. It’s appalling, the dearth of good eateries around Cowboy. I’ve had decent meals there. Even adequate ones. Hell, some have been downright above average. But now that I’m on the back slope of life, hurtling toward the grave with increasing speed, I don’t just want a good meal. I want a great one.
After first scouring Google Maps for a place I hadn’t tried yet, I gave up and just hopped a mo’taxi to wander Soi 23, blindly hoping for a surprise. Barcelona Gaudi was full up. I’d had a Craft burger the week before. So, I did what I always do and pulled up to the first place with an open chair, which turned out to be Capone’s Pizza, just round the corner from Crazy House. They serve two kinds of pizza: New York and Chicago. I got two slices of NY (sausage and pepperoni) that turned out to be pretty good. 296b all-in with a bottle of H2O.
From there I trundled over to Dollhouse to wait for my pal Jack Nites. At 20.05 it was still pretty empty. There were only three hotties in the roster. The supergoddess from last week (throwback to last Sunday’s post) was nowhere to be seen. I ogled my usual ogle-worthy lass for the length of two beers. Then Jack showed up.
There’s a saying: “Fake it till you make it.” Shark Bar, which bragged on reopening that they had 30 plus gorgeous girls, lied through their teeth at the time. If memory serves, they had one decent-looking girl back then. But recently, rumors spread of a collection of hotties in that bar. Jack wanted to see for himself, and since I hadn’t been in a while (except a 5-second look at one girl two weeks ago), I went with him. God almighty, what a motley crew. Fat rolls, post-baby pooches, saggy tits-n-asses. There was even an odor in the place, as if you could smell the ugly. Now, I’m fully aware that one visit isn’t sufficient to judge a place. I’m not like those other ‘Bangkok blogger’ cunts who walk through a gogo once every 6 months and then write a post saying how the bar is shit. Because I’m not an idiot or an asshole. In fact, the last time I checked out Shark, I made sure to visit 3 times before handing down a verdict. It’s possible that all their hot girls took the night off, so I won’t deride the place yet. But great googly-moogly, that gogo stage was dire.
The trend continued at Rainbow, where only Bee, Aom, and Satang (all former Strip girls) plus a few more were worth a gander. After missing hotties in DH, Shark, and Rainbow, I started to wonder whether the weekend were some kind of hot chick holiday or something, as if they all took the night off to be hot somewhere else. Still, Rainbow was the winner on Cowboy, with around half a dozen fuckables. Plus, they get their tits out in Rainbow. Extra points for that.
Speaking of Bee, she sat with me for a spell. After saving up for fake tits, she’s now on a mission to buy an SUV in a year’s time. She’s frugal. She’s smart with her money. It’s a rarity in the redlight. Instead of sniffing her salary up her nose or burning it on clothes, she’s a fucking economist.
From there, ‘twas a short sprint to NanaP to hang with the girls at Twister. Oil and Puy came over. When I tried to steal a sip of Oil’s soju shot she yelled, “Ao maaaaaa!” The girl takes her drunk seriously. Twister had at least 5 times as many hot girls as the Cowboy bars. A couple of Pink Panther girls were moonlighting in Nana. They begged me not to include their names in this post, lest the Panther manager see them. Also, a couple of former Strip girls were on hand, having sworn off Patpong forever. And a blast from the past—Jane, from Glamour circa 2016. I’m 50% sure I took her virginity but never confirmed it. The truth is, I’d rather not know. A year after, she got a Thai boyfriend who promptly knocked her up and she left the pole, until last week.
Speaking of Glamour, Nat was in the house, looking smoking hot per usual. I asked her why she wouldn’t send me selfies. She just smiled and shook her head, which prompted loud guffaws of laughter from a farang bitch sitting near us. Evidently, she thought I was propositioning Nat and getting turned down—delighting the dumb white chick who was clearly pleased by what she thought was a bit of misandry. It’s yet another reminder that relocating to Thailand was the best decision of my life. Imagine living in the West and having to endure insufferable twats like that.
After paying my checkbin, I got ten steps past the door when I realized I didn’t have my wallet. I returned to find it gone, and assumed some sticky-fingered customer had snapped it up. The bar staff said they’d check the cameras. Five minutes later a barmaid handed it to me. She’d seen me leave without it and so put it in the till. Once they established it was mine, she brought it to me. Thais once again proved why this is the greatest country in the world.
From there, I hiked up to WhiskeyNGogo to check the status of the joint post-owner changeover. ‘Twas basically the same, but with more mamasans. The exXXXers were still there, so I barely noticed a difference. Beer and Pu accosted me for drinks, and Gift tried to coax a tip out of me from the stage. I obliged her by laying out all the change from my pockets in a line on the counter. She laughed, I laughed, Beer and Pu laughed, and then Beer picked up the coins and put them between Gift’s big beautiful breasts.
Patpong was on fire once again last week. Relentless throngs of tourists (not necessarily punters) pushed through the Night Market making nuisances of themselves. Gogo customers leaned decidedly Japanese. Asian to farang demographics were around 10 to 1.
In King’s 1, a new staffer tried to make me put my phone away. Two barmaids rushed over and shooed her away saying, “He’s not a customer.” Speaking of K1, I was on hand last week for a photo shoot with my buddy Jack Nites. At 20.00, King’s Castle made the stage available for 10 or so girls who had the courage to get shot by Jack while I snapped surreptitious pics from a corner with my phone. Man, was that ever hard to navigate. First, 80% of the girls didn’t want to be photographed. In my view, the hottest ones said “no.” Second, up until then I’d been known to everyone as King’s’ longest-running regular. Since the photo shoot, I’m now the guy who knows Jack. Every time I go in there now, I’m mobbed by girls who want copies of their photos. The manager even stopped the music and got on the microphone to tell the dancers that anyone who wants their photos must give their Line to Seven. I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Also in house that night was the former owner of Sanky’s Soap in Manchester. For any fans of the Mancunian music scene, Sanky’s was nearly as important as the Hacienda, and holds a special place in my heart because it was where I met Embrace lead singer Danny MacNamara. I’d met him twice before—once at an afterparty in the Troubadour in Hollywood, and once in the green room at the Jimmy Kimmel show. But at Sanky’s, he took a photo with me, which I’ve kept to this day. On the same night, I caught an Iron and Wine show at Manchester University. Alexi Murdoch opened for them. Damn, that was a great night, bookended by trips to The Coffee Pot and the Holy Name Church (shoutout to Steven Morrissey). For this Britpop megafan, Manchester is the tits.
King’s 2 is starting to accrue a following. It’s hard to get a seat after 22.00. They’ve stopped pulling girls from K1 and the Corner and now have their own unique roster. I counted 3 fuckworthies.
King’s Corner has been the standout leader of the 3 Kings lately with the largest collection of refuckulous chicks.
Pink Panther’s been crazy busy by 22.00 nightly. They’ve got a couple new fit girls was well (see the YouTube slideshow companion for this post–link below). On Saturday, the manager bought me a cocktail. He didn’t need to—my loyalty is ingrained—but it was cool of him. He’s the dude who used to run glamour back in the day. The French expats who populate the Pong are good people, from Bada Bing to French Kiss to Panther.
On Saturday I perched outside Radio City to smoke a stogie and watch the human zoo of shitty tourists in the Night Market. The upside was, a statuesque RC dancer popped outside to chat (YouTube slideshow). The downside was, some Eurodouche tourist was on the soi with a baton to twirl. You know the type. He undoubtedly came to TLOS for the Full Moon Party and was in BKK for a night before the return flight. This pantie stain actually put his baton in his suitcase to bring to Thailand to twirl on the beach, and on his last night, brought it to Patpong to show off his whirly skills to an uninterested populace (except for one guy who looked on in awe–I didn’t cover his face in the photos because it was just too hilarious).
The Bada Bing babe mentioned in last week’s post who’d stopped letting me take her photo….let me take her photo. I included a couple in the slideshow.
Apologies for not bringing you more interesting factoids about current events in the redlight, but the days are passing by with little significant change. Sure, certain girls leave one gogo for another and then switch back again, but aside from that, not a lot is happening. It’s the same shit on different days–at least for now.
Currently there are 13 albums consisting of artwork with gogo dancers as models, plus photo retrospectives of XXX Lounge, King’s Castle 1, The Strip, Bada Bing, Black Pagoda, and Electric Blue. All are available for digital download at https://bentbox.co/bangkoksevenart
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 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: It’s inherently unethical to mock the mentally handicapped. Anyone who does it will come off looking like a dick. UNLESS the retard in question also happens to be a giant, gaping prolapsed asshole. In that case, it’s perfectly fine to make fun of him, especially in Bangkok where a massive chunk of the expat population are brain-dead fuckiots (fucking idiots, copyright BKK7).
