Greetings fellow mongers, expats, Bangkokians, and redlight fans. I’m Seven, and this is my blog. ‘Twas a typical week in Patpong, at least from this weary gogo hound’s point of view. I also scrambled back to Nana Plaza to hang with some galpals. More on that later.
In what for me is a weird flex, I didn’t Pong two nights last week—partially due to inclement weather and partially because I had some CBD gummies that glued me to the sofa. On Thursday I ventured Pongward and headed straight to an ATM. I hadn’t been onPong for more than two minutes when Anna—the mamasan from The Strip—came trundling around a corner, hand already out, calling for 400 baht to buy hot-pot for the dancers. Redlight workers must have a 6th sense for when an easy mark is at a cash machine, because she popped up out of nowhere. The same happens all the time with the portly, aging African freelancer in the Pong. Every time I turn away from the ATM, she’s there demanding beer money. It’s like a superpower they have.
There were a few kerfuffi (plural of kerfuffle) in Patpong last week. On Monday, someone robbed Black Pagoda. It must’ve been an inside job because the thief knew how to break the lock on the door, that there was petty cash, and where it was. Coincidentally (or not), a bartender at The Strip was fired for stealing booze and selling it on the street. Turns out he’s 50k in debt to the mafia, hence the desperation. The girls better lock their motorbikes.
The previous week, one of the managers at Bada Bing got high and punched a Strip hostess in the face, breaking her nose. He’s not been seen since. If he has any brains at all, he won’t come back to Patpong.
GoGoHopping have been leading tours in the Pong lately. Last night, a group of amiable, vanilla lookie loos hit the Museum, Pagoda, The Strip, and XXX Lounge where they were treated to a laser gogo show (view the photos in a YouTube slideshow—link below). Speaking of XXX Lounge, they finally got Kahlua back on the menu, freeing me up to return to drinking Black Russians, thank God. I’m tired of bourbon-induced flashbacks to the 1990s (that’s a callback to last week’s post).
In a strange reversal that’s taken almost a decade, gogo dancers have started following me on social media, and now when I hit the bar, they ask me to take their picture and post it on Twitter. Apparently, this comes with a small nugget of clout. They’ve started calling me “boss,” which is something I hate. That’ll have to be rectified.
A new She-Hulk of a ladyboy freelancer has appeared in the Pong, harassing passers by and being a general nuisance. Speaking of LB’s, since Patpong’s only ladyboy bar Covid-closed and didn’t return, a slew of katoey’s have been trying to find work in the straight bars. So far, only one has successfully infiltrated, serving as bar staff at the outdoor Soi 2 patio near The Strip. I rue the day they make it onstage. Nothing against people living their best life, I’m all for that, unless it interferes with me living mine. And mine doesn’t include a cocknballs waggling around the gogo pole. The Strip already has a gaggle of gays, and that’s nothing short of poison in the well. A third of Soi 2 is lousy with gay bars. Why don’t they get jobs in those joints? Unless their kink is imposing themselves on straight guys who came to the bar for the exact opposite of gay harassment.
On Thursday in King’s Castle, a trio of old farang—two crusty ladies and a shriveled old man—plopped down and ordered wine (2 glasses of red and a glass of white), then proceeded to leer at the girls onstage. What’s the word for geriatric lesbianism? Geriesbians? Lesbiatrics? At any rate, it was weird. That is, until it became apparent that the women were trying to get a girl to pay attention to their male friend. I took him for a recent widower, and his friends/sisters/old ladypimps were trying to cheer him up. Still odd, but less so than Geriesbianism.
Much of my idle time last week was spent messaging with a dude on ismygirl who was trying to hook up with one of the site’s gogo dancer team. I did my best to put him in touch with her, but gogo dancers are slippery. His chances of chasing her down are slim. Plus, I didn’t help that much as I’m not a fucking pimp. That said, a clever dude could easily meet up with one of the dancers on our members-only site (link below). It ain’t rocket science.
Speaking of, on Friday I swung back into Nana, partially to hang with friends and partially to ogle the smoking hot hotties at Billboard again. Two girls caught my eye onstage—one flat-chested, one with giant fake boobs. But I was really in the Plaza to see Nuchy and Pui—formerly of XXX Lounge and currently at Twister. They’re both looking really fit (see the photo slideshow, link below). One thing I love about these girls is, no matter how much time passes without contact, the second we sit down together we just pick up where we left off. The duo agreed to come to my apartment for a cosplay photo shoot, which I’ll post to ismygirl in the near future. After a while, I felt the pull of the Pong, and so said goodbye to my friends and headed out. At the door, I was almost bowled over by two rotund lesbian farangs, complete with Crocs and shaved sides-manbun hairdo’s. Redlight demographics just keep getting crazier. As I exited the Plaza, I rubbed elbows with a dude who’d just barfined a tall, imposing ladyboy. He (the customer) looked pleased as punch. I’ve no idea what’s fueling the current katoey craze but I’m sure it’s a sign of the Apocalypse.
Patpong was crazy on Friday. XXX Lounge held their “White Nights” party, and the place was rammed. Some girls donned the newest cosplay craze to hit the Redlight: sexy cows. Which is ironic, since the Thai word for “white” is “kow.” Joy—a dancer who started her career in XXX but recently relocated to Bada Bing—re-relocated back to XXX. This happens a lot. Dancers get bored or dissatisfied with a bar, venture out for greener pastures, and then return, tail between legs. The Strip was also really busy. As I approached the entrance, a fat farang woman was standing outside, pointing her phone at the stage, recording a video. I pulled up beside her to snap a pic of the girls outside—a thing I do literally every day—and the fat cunt stepped in my way! So I shifted left and tried again, and the bitch got in my way again! I think she thought I was stealing her idea, when in fact someone should’ve punched her in the face for filming inside the gogo. Only Seven’s allowed to do that. Anyway, I made her famous (photo slideshow link below).
I also popped over to Radio City to catch up with my old friend Som. She got her start in King’s Castle, then moved to Superstar before it Covid-closed. She’s featured in some pieces in the “Patpong Dangerous” exhibit, which are hanging in the Patpong Museum coffee shop today. She’s got legs for days.
I bought my first iPod in 2004, and since the have been tucked safely into a personal bubble of my own favorite music, rarely taking on new tunes, oblivious to the Big Brother, New World Order changes in the music-listening scene. I completely missed Pandora, Spotify, YouTube Premium, and never combined my life soundtrack with my fucking phone. The reason I bring it up is, my iPod broke on Thursday and I had to hit MBK (2nd weekend in a row) for a new one. Nobody sells them anymore. The A-holes on the 4th floor all claim they have what I’m looking for. I had this conversation about 5 times: “What you looking for, boss?” “iPod.” “Airpods?” “No. iPod.” “iPad?” “No! iPod.” “Oh. No have.” In 2022, you either have to buy an iPhone or pay for an app that tracks your movements and sells your data. Fuck that. I want to listen to the songs I already have saved on my hard drive, and I shouldn’t have to plug into the Apple matrix to do it. In the end, I added a playlist to my Android phone, but that was after schlepping around Bangkok for 36 hours without headphones to drown out the stupid. It was a special kind of torture, especially in the gogo bars where the music is 1—way too loud and 2—fucking terrible. I’m much happier pretending my fave pole kitties are shaking their asses to The Killers and New Order.
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/
Redlight videos and slide shows, including the companion for this post, can be found at https://www.youtube.com/c/BangkokSeven
Follow me on Twitter @BangkokSeven for daily pics from the redlight. Follow King’s Castle’s Twitter @SPatpong, 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 you’re a fucking tourist, and you’re on the skytrain, and there’s a hundred people in the car, and you’re the only one not wearing a mask, in that scenario the cunt in the train car is you.
