Thanks to a coincidental cluster of Thai holidays last week, we were favored with a long, long weekend. This old fart used the time off to hit Ptown (Pattaya for you uninitiated) for a bit of R&R (raunchiness and relaxation). The trip began with long-weekend traffic, as half the population of Bangkok flooded down to the beach simultaneously. ‘Twas 3 and a half hours of hell, though once I’d arrived at my destination, thrown my bag on the bed, and strolled out on the balcony, the traffic was instantly forgotten. In fact, my first thought was, “I want to retire and live out the rest of my life in this room” (for a gander at the spectacular view, check out the YouTube slideshow companion for this post—link below). And to add amazement to awesome, the rest of Ptown was even better than the room.
Soi 6 was a crazoo (crazy zoo) of humanity. Girls spilled out the bars onto the soi like sexy Skittles from a dropped bag. Or them loaves and fishes (Jesus shoutout). The female-to-male ratio on The 6 is around 20 to 1. Sure, most of them are chubsters but still—those stats are astounding. My first stop was to Slice for one pepperoni and one bbq chicken. And like kismet, just a few doors down from the pizza joint a new massive ganja dispensary has opened up called “WeedHub.” You see what they did there? It’s a play on PornHub. Clever.
Afterward, I did two laps up The 6 and back, not seeing any chicks worth stopping for, and so hopped a baht bus to Walking Street. Traffic on the Beach Road was ridiculous. The baht bus took 15 minutes to get from The 6 to WS. Once there, it was even worse. Pedestrians trundled shoulder-to-shoulder all the way to Peppermint. Ganja, it seems, has become real competition for the gogos, since there’s now a shop every 10 meters. My first stop was XS—one of the two best gogos in all of Thailand. The joint is simply magical. There were no open seats by 20.47. I had to grab the last high top next to the stage. I tried to count the 9s and 10s and couldn’t. There were simply too many. 95b Happy Hour Singhas, plus an absolute dreamscape of fit tits and ass as far as the eye could see, while the mirrored walls reflected back ad infinitum the splendiferous view like a vision of Heaven on a permanent loop.
A while back, a retarded shit-stain passing himself off as a Bangkok blogger wrote a hit piece on XS and Pin-Up, no doubt commissioned by their competition (because this particular cunt only writes hit pieces disguised as blogs) where he said those two gogos were “ruining the Pattaya gogo bars.” Now, I don’t read his work, because life’s too short to waste time on tripe, but if his post is all about how XS and Pin-Up are ruining the other gogos by drawing all the hot girls to their stages, leaving the rest of the bars to fight over the dregs, then he’s absolutely right. Yet somehow, I know that’s not what he wrote. Because that would require both honesty and insight—things he clearly lacks.
Saying XS and Pin-Up—the two best gogos in Pattaya—have ruined gogo bars is like saying icing sugar ruins cake, or chocolate chips ruin cookies. Or bars with tons of hot chicks ruin the gogo experience. Only the supremely stupid could look at XS and think, “Wow, this ruins gogo bars.” I mean, it does ruin all the other gogo bars who have to be content with the gruesome leftovers after every good-looking girl in Ptown gravitates to the two best bars like iron to a magnet.
From XS’s excess of sex I zoomed straight to Ptown’s other great gogo: Pin-Up, where the same setting of sex saturation basted every maven’s molecule in the joint. Seven out of every 10 girls was an absolute vision of hedonism. It’s the scene that I imagine must’ve been playing in the mind of Jim Morrison when he sang onstage. Even the 3rd rotation was above average.
Halfway through my SML I was suddenly accosted by one of my long-ago Ptown harem girls (back when I kept a Ptown harem) who engaged me in a long argument over her me not remembering my name. I kept insisting it was Som. She kept saying no. After a few minutes, I suddenly remembered it was Nom. I got my breakfast beverages mixed up. She pretended to be offended (preffended for short, copyright BKK7) which is a thing a lot of Thai gogo dancers do, then hit me up for a drink. I put a hundy in her undies (hundies for short) and she scampered off to find a new mark. I missed Pin-Up’s HH but at 160 the SML was a steal, considering the boner-inspiring view.
After the feasts for the gonads that were XS and Pin-Up, everywhere else seemed mediocre. Sensations has come up with a bold strategy, opening a restaurant next door called “Sens Grill.” We’ll see how it pays off for them. I hit four more gogos but each one was a let-down. I guzzled each drink as quickly as possible, gave up, and went back to my room to pass out.
Night 2 in Ptown began at LK-Metro after a leisurely stroll through Tree Town. My first stop was at Las Vegas. They were doing a 2-for-1 deal, and to get the free one they gave each punter a real poker chip—supercool. My buddy Zaii was onstage and greeted me with a wai. She’s a tall blonde drink of water with perfect fake tits, sculpted ass, and a marvelous back tatt. And she’s got a great attitude. When she sits down and I casually try to get a finger in her ass, she laughs it off. That’s how you know you found a good one. When I pretend I need to inspect her bikini wax for legal purposes, she’s up for it. What a good sport.
Remember in the early 20teens when you’d walk into a Bangkok gogo bar and there’d be 10 girls onstage, 8 of them fit, with 2 chubsters? And you know how, in current year, it’s the opposite? Well, the good Ptown gogos have that 2012 ratio. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and Las Vegas is one of those gogos. Slutz is for dudes who like thick girls in their late twenties. 130b SML though, which is nice. King—which used to have some hard-rocking bodies—was 50-50 slim to chub. I got the hard sell from a rotund lady with fat rolls to spare. In the end I paid her 100b to go away, plus 160 for a SML. Lady Love was rammed per usual, with more than a handful of fit lookers. 145b SML. Sugar Sugar was a mix of the sublime and ridiculous, both onstage and on the DJ’s turntables. He mashed the Yeah Yeah Yeahs with Billy Ray Cyrus. The girls were an array of hotties and notties. The best-looking girl was a young, fit blonde who sat with a gray-haired local. He wouldn’t stop petting her head like a dog while she patiently endured it, much the same way my BKK girls tolerate me. It’s a price a dancer pays to earn those drinks and tips. 130b SML. After that, I was too pickled to remain on the prowl and so stumbled back through Tree Town and lumbered back to the room just as it started to rain.
Night 3 began with a sunset spoiled. Instead of taking in a healthy dose of lithium through the rays of the setting sun, I watched a storm make landfall, first engulfing Ko Larn, then slowly sweeping shoreward, sending beach revelers scattering, the sound of the rain like the whoosh of an incoming wind, sprinkling me and my balcony with cooling drops as I gnawed on a plate of brisket from Top’s Market and sipped Shiraz. At that moment, I regretted laying in bed all day and wished I’d made an early outing to The 6 or somewhere, and as the deluge increased to a roar and thunder split the sky, I retreated inside and resigned myself to a boring night in. But five minutes later, the rain stopped and the sun peeked through the clouds. I popped back on the balcony, smoked a Partagas, downed the rest of the wine, and the view and the moment were so serene I considered staying put right there the rest of the night. From my chair I could smell the salt air, feel the cooling breeze, and watch the lazy rhythmic ripples that pass for waves in this part of the world. To my left I could look down at a hotel on Soi 10 where I once stayed. On that occasion, I barfined a lesbian couple from Sapphire who wanted to get a load of real dick (literally and figuratively) for a change. I’d cranked up the A/C so my balls had shriveled up inside me as balls tend to do in the cold and when I had them beside me in bed one of them exclaimed, “Seven! Where your kai?” The poor lass had so little experience with the male anatomy, she thought I’d had them removed. So I stood up, the tackle fell into place, and she sighed with relief. Sweet Buddha, those were the days. I wish I still had the energy to pull off threesomes with rug munchers.
Two hours later I was walking The 6 under a breezy, starry sky. As I maneuvered around a large puddle, I heard incessant honking from a motorbike behind me. There was plenty of room to drive around me, but he insisted on being a prick instead. I turned to see a skinny old farang in a helmet that was too large for his pin head. We locked eyes for a moment, and I briefly considered stabbing him, but then I turned and continued on without stepping aside. He swerved around me and sped off down the soi. Between the tourists feigning disinterest in the girls and locals acting like they own the place, farang really do spoil the Soi Sixperience.
My plan was to spend the night on The 6, slowly drinking my way from the 2nd Road to the beach, but instead I somehow walked the whole thing in a couple minutes, I suppose because no girl caught my eye. I forced myself to stop in at Repent, Avarice, and Wrath—three places where I’d had a ball on previous visits but today are home to chubsters only. In Avarice, a superhot off-duty girl sat drinking with the manager. I imagine that for some dudes, managing a Nightwish Group bar and snagging the best girl in the place for a self-deluding short-lived relationship is something of a dream come true. And judging by how hard he held onto her (like Leonardo and that floating door in ‘Titanic’) I supposed that was the case.
After 3 SMLs I called an audible and baht-bussed back to Walking Street, though I wasn’t sure why since I’d already been to XS and Pin-Up. Anything after that would be anti-climactic. I tried to drop in on Dollhouse, just to see how it had changed since being sold to the Windmill folks but it was shut. I skipped Sapphire, since I didn’t feel like reading palms for an hour. I have a 270b SML in Tantra but there was only one hottie in the whole joint (plus one brickhouse in her 30s). I paid one lass a hundy to leave me be. There were only 3 punters in the place, including me. One jackass came in and sat right beside me despite all the other open seats. Then he leaned back and stretched his hand out on the seat, two inches from my left ass cheek. Why does Thailand attract the weirdest dudes?
Out of a lack of better ideas, I pivoted back to Pin-Up. There was a photographer in there doing PR pics in a back corner of the bar. It was a joy to watch the girls work. Like ducks in water were these girls in front of a lens. And whilst sitting there, I finally caught on to how a punter gets a girl in a joint like this. If you’ve ever seen videos of grizzly bears catching salmon in a river, it’s like that. You have to just sit there, watching the clunge lunge past, and when you see someone you want, in a split second you must reach out a hairy paw and scoop her up. It’s a simple as that.
From Pin-Up I slipped into Baccara, which was a shit show in comparison. There was one good-looking girl in the whole gogo and an extra 40b for a warm SML. When you have hotter girls and lower drink prices, I guess your business plan really is ruining things for the rest of Pattaya. Next, I slid into Windmill 2, which was the anti-Pin-Up. ‘Twas like watching a National Geographic special about migrating orcas. I never saw so much blubber in my life. Fahrenheit has barely any customers despite hosting a slew of girls much fitter than Windmill. I guess that’s a testament to successful social media. I’ll always love Fahrenheit because of the superhottie I barfined from there in 2011. Those were the days when you’d take a girl out the gogo who was so fine, you’d need to pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.
On the way back to my room, I paused to check out Soi 7—a piece of Ptown where I used to spend the bulk of my time. It never recovered from the lockdowns. It breaks my heart to see the sad state of things there. Shooters used to have some of the hottest girls in Pattaya. Today it’s a shameful shadow of its former glory. The last highlight of my trip was a chicken cashew lunch on the 3rd floor of the View Talay building. That’s my new fave place to stay in Ptown. It’s double what I normally pay, but whenever I’m flush enough to stay there, I’m gonna.
A while ago, I started selling copies of my artwork online, as well as photo albums from gogo bars past and present. This week, I added another photo spread from The Strip’s final year in operation (part 2 of 3) and Bada Bing’s 2022 year in review. 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: On Friday I finally got round to watching the pilot episode of HBO’s “Euphoria.” The first seven minutes perfectly encapsulated the pathetic, spineless, selfish, juvenile, entitled stupidity of Gen Z. Everyone Gen x or older should watch at least that much of the show. Then you will understand why nearly every Westerner under the age of 30 is a vapid, brainless, narcissistic crybaby. It’ll also explain why, when you tell a Gen Zer, “Stop whining, grow a pair, and fucking do your job,” they don’t. FYI you should stop watching after seven minutes as the rest will bore you to tears. Oh, and here’s the point: it’s yet another reason to live in Thailand, and not some ass-backwards land of retards like the US.
