Redlight Diary 9.2.23: Punters & Tubthumpers

What’s up, reader, how’s that low season for ya? The girls in the gogos won’t stop moaning about it. And apparently the pessimism got to this portly punter last week with my grimmest assessment of Patpong ever. And it’s true, I got down in the dumps about the state of that RLD last week. Moreover, since the beginning of the redlight downturn that was in full swing even before the plandemic, my enthusiasm for mongering has declined in tandem. And that’s saying a lot. I’m the only one I know who hit Patpong seven nights a week between 2012 and 2023. As of June, though, my visits have shrunk to two nights per week onPong, two in NanaP, and one on Soi Cowboy. That’s all it takes to sate my yearning these days.

This past week though, the RLDs were more raucous than the previous one, in spite of the summer-low tourist numbers. Here’s how the three redlights fared from Sunday to Saturday…

Soi Cowboy was on fire last week. I did my usual Oasis-Dollhouse-Rainbow run. For some reason, I had a breakfast bap in the O—I guess I was missing the UK—and it hit the spot. I washed it down with a pint of Federbrau. Then as I slid toward DH I ran into Jack Nites and another local, Mike, who were just exiting Shark, and where—to my utter shock—two dancers in white lingerie were lounging on the terrace and they weren’t ugly. I mentioned it to Jack who informed me that Rainbow was recently raided by the cops for drugs, and so some of the girls may have scattered as far away as Shark. But it wasn’t enough bait on a hook to get me to check out the chum in that bar. Not after 3 consecutive visits with zero hot girls. So I made a beeline for Dollhouse for my nostalgic Electric Blue flashback (that’s a reference to last week’s post), drinking in the scene onstage whilst imbibing of happy hour Changs. One of the many reasons why I love Thailand is the fact that superhot girls who—were I in Los Angeles—would be out of my league, are easily fuckable in Thailand. Five years ago I’d have nailed a trio of girls in DH for the pure ecstasy of fucking above my station. These days, it’s enough to know I could.

As a non-regular-but-frequent visitor, I’ve started to detect a pattern of expat locals who spend their Friday nights in their favorite Cowboy bars. It’s a custom I’m used to seeing in Patpong—or was used to, before the Great Shutdown (that’s what the history books will call the wholly unjust closing of the Soi 2 bars). It even happens in Nana, though to a smaller extent. Nana’s more of a Disneyland kind of redlight, and by that I mean dudes hit the bars like kids hit rides at an amusement park. The goal is to get to as many as possible before closing time. The Dollhouse locals are loyal, laid-back, and they treat the girls well. That’s a winning formula for a Bangkok gogo.

Rainbow had visibly fewer girls onstage, I surmised because of the recent cop raid, though those that remained seemed none the worse for wear. Everyone was in good spirits. Bee was still MIA. I guess her new fake tits are still healing.

I found my way to NanaP twice last week. Both times, it was mayhem. I passed through my usual joints, WhiskeyGG and Twister, because that’s where my exPong galpals currently work. Oil, Puy, Nuchy, and Nat were a sight for sore eyes. The first two fawn over me every week like a long-lost lover. Nat barely notices me, usually connecting briefly with a ball-grab as she passes by. I don’t mind because she’s not much of a conversationalist. She’s just a glory to watch onstage. That body of hers, holy Moses. Like a brick shithouse is she. And she’s not the only one. I counted three new perfect 10s last week. If that trend of new hotness continues, it could breathe new life into Bangkok’s redlight scene. New hot girls are the physical manifestation of a Chumbawamba song. I shoved a hundy into Puy’s bikini bottoms and told her to get a sandwich. She looked like she hadn’t eaten all week. I don’t know how she has the energy to dance.

The Whiskey experience is just a transplanted XXX Lounge experience. Sai likes to sidle over, take a seat next to me, sling one leg over mine, and cradle my balls with one hand while smoking a cigarette with the other. She’s as at home with me in the gogo as she is in her actual home with whatever Thai dude or chick she happens to be bedding at the moment. Beer is also a great companion, for the singular reason that she let’s me play with her tits and fanny (both the US and UK definition) without complaint. Both girls sent me toilet selfies last week, so I’ve added them to this week’s Youtube slideshow for your enjoyment (link below).

Speaking of Whiskey, the bar’s for sale, so if you have the means, you could scoop it up and inherit all the XXX girls working there. They won’t migrate unless they have to. Speaking of migrating, two former Bada Bing/Pink Panther girls have joined the squad at Whiskey, and the handful of King’s girls that moved to Rainbow 5 on Monday already boomeranged back t’Pong, settling in the Panther. When a Pong girl relocates to another RLD, it’s like introducing a fish to a new aquarium. Sometimes they acclimate, and sometimes they don’t.

In addition to my regular joints, I also checked out a couple others. It’s hard to know where to go in Nana now. In the old days, I’d trawl the bars looking for potential harem girls. Today, I can’t be bothered, so I choose my spots based on where I don’t want to go.

Spanky’s is going strong with a collection of hotties mixed in with chubsters and their between-rotation shows. I caught the one where a tomboy dressed like a real boy and pretended to fuck a girl onstage with a rubber phallus. That kind of stuff does nothing for me, but damn did the two Japanese tourists sitting next to me enjoy it. Their squeals of delight practically drowned out the girl’s fake orgasms. One bit of bad news: a SML is up to 200 baht, which feels extortionate.

As I passed by Angelwitch I was surprised to see the great Joe Delaney of Delany’s Patpong fame managing the joint. After having his short-lived Irish bar shut by the shitty police, I was glad to see he landed on his feet. We chatted for awhile and he mentioned some projects he has in the works. I really hope his luck improves. He’s one of the awesome folks who were caught up in the corrupt net cast by the Thai police that ruined so many innocent people’s lives in March. If you know Joe, pop in to Angelwitch and say hello. Especially if you like gogos that play good music. While I was there, I heard Guns n’ Roses, Def Leppard, The Killers, and AC/DC.

Last week, I also made a point to visit the Pacific Cigar Divan in the lobby of the Crowne Plaza Lumphini. It’s a really nice, cozy cigar bar with a ton of Cubans for sale and more whiskey than you can shake a stick at. I bought an H Upmann, a Romeo y Julieta, and a 10-pack of Montecristos. From there ‘twas a short walk to Roadhouse for a pint of Fresh Squeezed IPA and a brisket sandwich.

And that wasn’t my only detour last week. I also made my first trip ever to the famous Khaosan Road. Jesus, Mary, and Buddha, what a trek. I thought the mo’taxi ride would never end. I’m pretty sure we went past the Laos border. And for what? The biggest douchebag magnet (douchebagnet for short, copyright BKK7) on Earth. I’ll never slag off the gits on Soi Cowboy again. After 5 minutes on Khaosan, I missed them like old friends. Goddam, what a slew of ugly, retarded shitbags. I walked from end to end and found a rooftop bar on a building called Rocco. The name of the bar was Bangkok View, and it was like an oasis of calm perched above the unwashed masses. A Thai couple sat at microphones and belted out pop tunes to the delight of Dutch, English, and Canadian tourists. I smoked my Upmann paired with Black Label on the rocks and something called a Rocco Sour, which was essentially a whiskey sour with a shot of red wine thrown in. It wasn’t bad.

Khaosan is where every 30something farang chick on a solo eat-pray-love experience ends up, drowning her lonely sorrows in a bucket of Sangsom. There are also crowds of smelly eurodudes and strange Eastern Blockers with haircuts from the early 80s. The road is all bars, kitschy souvenirs, ganja, henna tattoos, and buckets of booze sipped-on by human booze buckets. Also, you can eat a snake on a stick (see this week’s YouTube photo slideshow—link below). The whole circus looked better from the rooftop bar. A single chick in all black and short, platinum blonde hair sat down at the table next to mine and perused the menu for a good five minutes before giving up and bailing. What kind of budget must she be on to balk at 150b beer? Anyway, that was enough Khaosan for me, forever. I need never return to that shithole of despair and filthy foreign funk. I hopped a motorbike taxi straight to Pink Panther.

The Pong was noticeably livelier than the previous week. In and out of the gogos, ‘twas an absolute zoo of farangamity (farang humanity). The Panther was a clusterfuck. I haven’t seen it that busy since 2015.  If Beem’s on the clock, she keeps me company, though these days I get harassed by a gaggle of transplants from other bars. Joy from Bada Bing, Ice from King’s, Kaew and Bee from XXX, and half a dozen others from gogos I can’t place.

Both King’s Corner and King’s Castle played host to crazed parties of absolute drunken abandon with customers stacked cheek-to-jowl like a punter’s clown car. Last time I was in the Corner I bought a drink for a skinny blonde named Benz (a former Bing girl) and how she thinks I should buy her one every time I pop by. That simply will not stand. I had to send her away with a hundy tucked in her bra. When she persisted, I tried to retrieve the aforementioned tip. She grabbed it and ran off. This is how some gogo dancers must be trained. Caesar Milan might be the dog whisperer. Seven is the gogo dancer whisperer.

Over in Bada Bing, they continue to attract new girls. Now they’ve got a solid crew ranging from chunky to sex robot. I only recognize a few faces. Most of ‘em are fresh.

Even Radio City is holding its own. They’ve got a trio of very fit girls, and will likely see more foot traffic now that the beer garden has moved down next to the Thigh Bar ping pong show.

In short, Pong gets knocked down, but it gets up again. How long they can keep it up is a mystery. The fact that they’re still pissing the nights away is nothing short of miraculous already.

And in a fit of nostalgic reverie, I’ve started compiling my photos from inside those closed gogos over the last decade into photo albums that will be available for purchase at https://bentbox.co/bangkoksevenart for a small fee. I’ve already got one box of XXX Lounge photos and one of King’s Castle (even though that gogo is still open). Look for future boxes for The Strip, Glamour, Black Pagoda, and even the old Electric Blue, plus some new artwork I’ve been slaving over for the past several months. There should be something for everyone when all’s said and done.

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: Recently, Jack Nites brought to my attention that other “Bangkok bloggers” (I don’t read their stuff as I find it insufferably bad) have started reading my posts and then reporting snippets from them a week later as “news.” While this is very flattering, it’s also retarded, and a week late. So if you read my stuff, congrats. Apparently, you’re getting some “news” a week before everyone else. Good on you, reader. Also, you’re welcome.

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