Happy weekend, reader. It’s already March. The year is speeding by. Thankfully, the world slows down in the redlight, where this old monger spends most of his free time. Though I did miss Monday and Tuesday’s RLD evenings thanks to a brief cold. Here’s how the rest of the week shook out…
Last week, I Tweeted a photo of Luktal and her friend on a gogo stage in thigh-high boots, and a dude commented that those two girls better be there when he arrives or else it’s “on like Donkey Kong” which is an ancient American colloquialism for starting a fight. As if I, an aging Pongmonger, have any control over when the girls come to work. Not only that, I didn’t name the bar, so unless he’s already well-acquainted with the interiors of Pong gogos…what…is he going to hit every bar? Luktal works maybe one night a month. The rest of the time she’s a cam model. The other chick’s on the pole most nights, but gogo dancing ain’t like yer job at Walmart. There’s no set schedule. The girls show up when they need money and don’t when they don’t. But if they’re not there on the night this bozo shows up, he’s going to fight me? What’s going on in the West? Is it the fluoride in the water or what?
On Sunday afternoon, I posted a Twitter poll asking whether I should stay home until sundown or start drinking immediately. All 10 of my readers responded and the majority said to start drinking asap, so I popped down to Delaney’s for a pint of Heiney, then slipped into G’s German for a Grevensteiner.
In the beer garden, as I shared some fried shrimp and cheese balls with a couple K Castle girls, two faraples (farang couples) made a connection when one of the women struck up a conversation with the other woman. Within minutes they’d joined up at one table, and the two dudes—who probably could’ve gone the rest of their lives without meeting—were forced to make friendly as their partners had an eat-pray-love link. And I suppose, for a tourist who brought his ball and chain with him to Thailand, this would be the closest he’d get to breaking the monotony. Unless he can slip crushed-up sleeping pills into his heifer’s drink, and sneak out to monger alone.
As more and more tourists arrive, I find Sunday nights are my favorite ones in Patpong. It’s less-crowded, so I get more time with the girls and I don’t have to share proximity with the unwashed farang. The flipside of that coin is, a lot of dancers don’t bother coming to work. Only three girls showed up at XXX Lounge. In Black Pagoda, the only familiar faces were Saa and Sai. Thank Buddha the 95b happy hour vodkas were strong. Two hiso Thai ladies hung out for a drink in BP, as did a weird-looking faraple. They sat near each other in a corner of the bar and seemed to pretend they were somewhere else. Two girls graced the stage in Bada Bing. ‘Twas then that I started to wish I’d gone to NanaP instead.
I missed Ponging on Monday and Tuesday thanks to a brief cold.
On Wednesday I finally made it back t’Pong, and while enjoying a vodpine (vodka and pineapple juice) outside K Castle, a blonde farang gothennial (goth millennial) and her Japanese boyfriend hovered around the entrance to the gogo, idly peering inside and conversing in depth about what they saw. Her entire outfit was bought from Hot Topic circa 2010—very impractical for Bangkok.
On Thursday I arrived at King’s Castle to find two cunt tourists sitting in my outside seat. Ice was next to them, shoveling gang kow wan in her gob so I sat with her. She sported black lingerie, covered by a see-through white minidress (photos available via the YouTube link below). If you follow K Castle’s Twitter @SPatpong you’ll see lots more pics of her. She told me she’s going to get fake tits. I forbade it. Then she said she’d get Botox instead. I was livid. Go look at her photos. She’s nearly perfect. What makes a girl like that think she needs a surgeon to cut her or inject her to make her more appealing? It’s a psychosis.
Soi 1 was a zoo of wild faranimals (farang animals) of every race, culture, age, and size. I sensed an air of something familiar—a communal commonness. It’s hard to explain. I felt it on La Rambla in Barcelona, and Oxford Street, and in Disneyland. It’s a malaise of mediocrity catalyzed in the melding of the mundane masses. There isn’t a Bukowski among them. Not a Dylan, or a Kerouac. No Dalis, not even a Marshall Mathers. It’s humanity stirred into a gruel, like when you mix all the watercolors into one dull one. It reminds me of my imminent death somehow, and how every minute spent in the hodgepodge of the crowd is a wasted one.
But I digress.
On Thursday, the Pong reached Nana Plaza levels of busy-ness. The throng was unstoppable, making it impossible for bars to not turn a profit. The Night Market now provides the kind of guaranteed foot traffic that their reputation as the Walmart of gogos has done for NanaP.
There was a gang of hotties in Bada Bing. A trio of smarmy Middle Asian dudes (I’m guessing from somewhere between Turkey and Kazakhstan) in polo shirts with popped collars walked around sticking their fingers in the buttcracks of the dancers—something only I’m allowed to do. Everyone was put out by it, including me. One of them spat his drink at a girl onstage. It’s shocking how some people behave when they come here.
Pear was onstage, sucking all the sexual energy in the Pong to herself. She refused to let me take a photo so I don’t have one for you. But if you scroll back through my Twitter, you’ll find some, and this week’s slideshow has plenty of other sexy vixens.
Friday I was sitting outside K Castle by 19.20. Two old Chinese tourists stopped in front of me and perused the girls to my left and right. Then one started talking at me, but I had my earbuds in and he was wearing a mask, so there was no hope of connecting. I just stared at him and he stared back. I got the impression he might’ve though I was the bar owner. I went inside for a beer and on returning, they were gone.
BKK’s anatomy is like a person’s, and the streets and sois are its circulatory system. When the tourists returned, bringing the life blood back to the city, recovery started first in the arteries—the main thoroughfares like Sukhumvit and Silom Road. Today, the way you can tell that things are back to normal is by the invasion of tourists into and down the smaller sois and back-alleys. Silom Soi 3, for example, a street that’s been all but deserted for over 3 years, was spilling over with foreigners on Friday. Huge gangs of Chinese dudes hauling suitcases to lesser-known off-center hotels. By 19.40 I was joined outside the Castle by a random Asian sex tourist and an African American father and son. The dad instructed the youngster about Patpong in the old days. I pegged him for an army vet.
In the next month or two, Bada Bing will reinvent itself, at least externally. They’re remodeling the look of the outside, and considering it was originally modeled after an HBO series from over 2 decades ago, it’s about time. Inside, though, it was pussy as usually. Too many dancers for the stage to handle and girls outnumbering dudes 4 to 1. Another reminder that anyone looking to get laid is wasting their time and money in Nana and Cowboy. The girls are hotter, cheaper, and easier to snag in the Pong.
Radio City was lousy with hot girls. It’s the sex equivalent of an untapped gold mine. There are more girls I want to bang in Radio City than in any other gogo in Bangkok. It’s just a matter of hitting the right day, which indeterminably random, and depends on the whims of the dancers.
In other news, the Night Market got another cannabis dispensary near King’s Corner, and a new food stall: all thangs chicken wangs (not penises, but the word ‘wing’ spoken in an American southern accent).
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: The tourists are back in full force, and nothing proves this more than the queue for bus tickets to Pattaya over at Ekkamai Station. It’s 50 fuckers deep at all hours, and the wait time for a bus is currently 90 minutes. If you can afford it, or if you can grab a couple friends and split the cost, get a Grab taxi instead. You’ll make it to Ptown several hours earlier and you won’t have to deal with the unwashed farasses (farang masses).
