‘Sup dude, how’s it hangin’? My name’s Seven, and this here’s my blog. Since you probably can’t get to Patpong for whatever reason—maybe you’re stuck somewhere outside of Thailand, locked down inside whatever passes for a domicile in the West these days, with some sort of face covering even though there’s no one else around because your psychotic despot of a governor told you to. Or maybe you’re just too lazy to get on the skytrain and head down Pongward. In any case, I’m here to help, since I took the liberty of hitting the gogos of this oldest and grandest red-light district every night last week. Here’s what you missed…
As I’ve been apt to do lately, in my search for the perfect spot in Patpong to recline with a cigar and appropriate beverage, I smoked the last mini-Liga Privada that I’d brought back from the States post-Corona exile. It was a bitter-sweet moment, and I captured it on my mobile. A day later, I tried out the chairs in front of King’s Castle 1 with a Cuban H Upmann and a double brandy but it didn’t feel quite right. In desperation, I messaged the owner of the Patpong Museum who assured me that a whiskey/cigar bar is in the works for Patpong.
Safari Bar opened mid-week for apparently one night only. Not sure if this was a private party or by special request, but the clientele looked exclusive and homogenized.
There was a slew of back tattoo photo opportunities (slewtootunities for short, copyright BKK7), from girls at King’s, Bada Bing, and The Strip. Also, Catgirl made a rare appearance at Glamour, presumably for the birthday of bar manager Jimmy on Thursday. She’s had more added to her already magnificent back tattoo, with ink now caressing both ass cheeks. It’s enough to make a grown man cry.
Speaking of Glamour, their lineup is looking quite fetching these days. Pim and Ging are two of my faves, and contrary to popular believe, Ging does not have a mustache. Her top lip simply has a dramatic upward curve, causing her already caramel colored skin to take on a concentrated hue that resembles facial hair in pictures. Which is arguably her only negative trait. On the upside, her recent boob surgery is something she’s not too shy about showing off.
One of the Mamasan’s in The Strip brought her dog to work on two separate days. I guess she couldn’t find a sitter. She was a sensation among the dancers who tended to him like a spoiled child. And who could blame them? She was adorable. On the same night I managed to capture a tender moment—girls helping girls with their make-up. That’s one female social norm that I as an outsider can never understand. While on the topic of The Strip, the bar’s 12-year anniversary was on Friday. The girls got decked-out in the signature Supergirl uniforms, there was some fire dancing on the bar, and every patron got a free shot of an iridescent blue liquid.
King’s Castle and King’s Castle 1 proved the old adage: If you stock it with hot chicks, they will come. Both bars featured around 50 girls each on the weekend—a spectacle that drew the largest crowd of mongers that I’ve seen in a long time.
Kiss Bar got a new girl, but she didn’t want her photo taken. Apparently, her folks back on the farm think she’s a barista, and if they saw her on a gogo stage there’d be hell to pay. But with legs like hers, I couldn’t resist giving you a glimpse. What’re the chances her old man reads Seven’s blog? Slim, I’d say. Also at Kiss, Mint’s nearly recovered from the birth of her first kid, and she and Sai are back to their old habits of eating between rotations.
As per usual, the girls of XXX Lounge put on an enticing show. There’s a gang of four there who strut around like they’re hot shit, because…well…they are. It’s hard to watch them on stage and not feel like you’re being hypnotized. In fact, all over Patpong, I often get that feeling. I’ll be sitting in a gogo, minding my own business, sipping my vodka, and all of a sudden (that’s right Millennials, there’s no such phrase as “all the sudden,” you learned that from a failed system designed to make you stupid), I’ll begin to feel beguiled, as though the sexy stilettoed siren before me is deliberately bewitching me (bewitcherately for short, copyright BKK7). As if there’s some credence to that old Greek story about the mermaids and the island, and my wang is slowly being steered toward shore, surely to be dashed to bits on the craggy rocks of…what would they symbolize? Chlamydia? Meh, I lost track of the metaphor.
And that about rounds it out for the week that was in Patpong. The gogos continue to open their doors to the sadly low number of customers who still want to see beautiful girls dance on a stage. This gogo rat hopes they can keep it up as long as possible, because when and if they’re forced to close, it’s going to take a buttload of cash to have a pole installed in my apartment.
Tune in next week for an account of the opening of my art show, and between now and then, keep your balls shaved, your horns sharpened, and cheers to another week above ground in the country with the best open-during-Covid red-light districts on Earth: Thailand.