I was actually there until Thursday, but after Monday night I was too hungover and broke to do anything else crazy. 
1:12 PM Sunday, July 12, 2009
I touch down to Vegas from Seattle with the parents…they were drinking on the plane, while I wasn’t, so I was getting aggravated and I wanted to break free and find a fucking blackjack table ASAP. We get a shuttle ride from the airport to the Flamingo, listening to some smooth-talking, conniving piece of shit salesman trying to sell show tickets to newlyweds.
2:27
The first thing I notice when I walk into the hotel, besides the relieving cold air on my face and around my groin, is the unique smell…a mixture of money, service, greed, and tourism. Kind of like that new car scent, except for a hotel. So anyway, we check in, go up to the room, and I say, “I have my phone…I’m going downstairs…see you later.”
2:33
I’d been to Vegas before, but I was never old enough to gamble or actually stop walking past the table games without a pit boss giving me the evil eye and asking me for my ID. I stroll around for awhile soaking it all in…lights flashing, bells, whistles, clings, and clanks sounding, cocktail waitresses encouraging patrons to get increasingly intoxicated and fund their hotel’s next swimming pool…etc. I walk next door to Bill’s and sit down at a blackjack table, manage to profit $5 dollars and receive a compliment from the middle-aged female Asian dealer about my handsome looks, color up, and head over to the 200NL hold’em cash game near the door.
3:39
I am drooling over the tourists sitting at my table. Typical traits: the wife is idly standing/watching nearby and the player is drinking a beer and check-raising the turn with pocket threes on a K-Q-T-8 board.
4:05
I am three vodka cranberries deep and trying to represent a flush against some twitching crack head in the game who tells me to fold, since he “has my flush beat.” I do fold, and he shows me a non-full house blank from his hole cards and says something retarded. I roll my eyes like durrrr and don’t care because I had 4-high anyway. I leave Bill’s.
4:07
Back at the Flamingo, since I obviously cannot beat heroin addicts at poker, I want more blackjack. After wandering around the labyrinth designed to keep customers in and hot air out, I find a $10-min blackjack table near one of the bars and sit down.
4:14
I get carded by a large black male dealer named “King.” I am intimidated until I double down on my 8 versus his 7 and this game isn’t rigged for once.
4:21
Down $50 from my $100 buy-in, I order a shot of Patrón silver with a Corona back from a cocktail waitress who looks like a vampire from Puerto Vallarta. I immediately get an erection.
4:25
My drinks arrive. The waitress tells me the bartender “over-poured,” which apparently means I get three shots for one. I realize that playing table games in Vegas has at least one positive.
4:30
Dealer change at my table; a “Carlos” replaces King. He confirms that the cocktail waitress is Mexican and hot as fucking hell. I continue to play, taking one shot from my glass.
4:43
Deficit has disappeared and reversed into $200 on the table. The dealer and I spot a man who’s naked except for a WWE-style head mask and a skimpy man-thong; we giggle and he deals me a blackjack. I take another drink, using my beer to chase. inb4youneedAAkthnx.
4:58
I have seven greens and 29 reds in front of me and am feeling a very pleasant buzz from the Patrón. Carlos deals me one more pair of nines versus his 7 (and he flips over a jack…wheeeee!), gets tapped, and wishes me luck and says adios. I say bye, not knowing if I call him a vato or not. I finish the rest of my drinks.
5:08
Up to $475 and up $75 since I got to Vegas, I stay on a 15 versus dealer’s 6. He shows a 7, draws an 8. I flinch slightly and order another Corona.
5:09
I look at the roulette table nearby and see one player there, a sexy young lady with a body-tight red dress on to match her hair. She is betting $10/spin on red. I am wearing a black shirt and have liquid courage pulsing through my veins, so, sensing a theme, I color up at the blackjack table (asking if I can trade my greens for blacks obv) and walk over to the roulette table. I sit next to her, place $10 on black, and announce that I had to work years before being able to make such skillful decisions. She asks my name and tells me hers: “Rose.”
5:10
Ball lands on 6/black. I rub my victory in Rose’s face, place $10 more on black. ty, Sin City.
5:11
I suggest we take a shot and Rose agrees. After multiple drink orders in a short time period, the cocktail waitress and dealer are beginning to give us strange looks.
6:33
The roulette wheel is treating me well (rigged) and there is a crowd forming around our table, mostly due to my yelling and celebratory drinking whenever the ball lands on black (inb4racistban). Some notable interactions:
- Rose asks every single new player his/her name and touts that she and I met on eHarmony; I play along because it’s funny and I like the attention.
- I yell at random walkers-by to sit their asses down and play some roulette; when they realize how I am behaving and thus decline, I threaten to play Russian roulette with them, with a loaded gun, with their turn first. Hotel security personnel become visible at this point.
- I encourage a trio of Italian woman (who I first mistaken for Mexicans, hence my exclamations of “mucho caliente mamacita ooh la la” etc.) to play a spin. Only one of them speaks English, so I take this opportunity to ask if she is interested in having a threesome with Rose and me. The Italian woman does not understand this offer, loses her bet, and walks away with a dazed look on her face. Welcome to Vegas IMO.
7:46
I am getting sick of essentially flipping coins with worse than 1:1 odds on my money. A young gentleman at the table, “Necktie,” says he can get us into Pure Nightclub for free later, which obviously spikes my interest, so the three of us head up to his room to pick up his brother, “Brother,” and his friend, “Shades.” I sense the roulette table’s atmosphere deflate as I walk away.
7:47
On the way, Rose pees in the bathroom after having complained about her bladder almost exploding for the last 157 minutes. She does not fall into the toilet, which disappoints me and Necktie. We collect ourselves and head to the elevators. Necktie announces he ordered a stripper to his room. We all begin to walk faster.
7:51
Brother and Shades are in the room freshening themselves up for the night. There is no stripper, which disappoints Rose and me, but she whips out a couple of bottles Smirnoff Ice from her purse, which fucking cracks me up because we’d already been drinking like whales. I open my bottle very quickly, give Rose an affectionate squeeze, and compliment the guys’ sexy attire, ending each sentence with “no homo” for good measure.
7:57
We cross the street to Caesars Palace, planning to attack the cocktail waitresses with inebriated demands for free shots and lap dances.
8:01
After entering, we spot our target: a table game area called Pussycat Dolls, or something similar. The point is, the dealers are wearing nothing but two-piece bikinis and hats, and there are more scantily-clad women riding stripper poles on elevated pedestals, arching their backs, raising their naked legs, and furiously whipping their hair around like there’s no tomorrow. We sit down at the roulette table and loudly claim we all have a medical condition which necessitates constant consumption of alcohol.
8:03
I ask a casino cigar girl if she’s proud to be selling cancer to people. She walks away clearly flustered.
8:15
Rose spills her first drink on the roulette table. The floor person has to clean and dry each of her chips individually, which is so hilarious to me I almost spill my own drink. The dealers and sober players look at each other as if we are jackasses. I begin drinking faster and order Rose a bottle of water (I can be nice *sometimes.*)
8:28
Of course, Rose now proceeds to spill her uncapped bottle of water on the felt. I try to hold back my laughter in front of the clearly annoyed pit boss. I spot a wedding band on her finger and openly express my simultaneous sorrow for her marital situation and my hope that she may be unfaithful for one night after she’s done supervising the games. She is slightly amused and smirks at me as the ball lands on red. Rose, on the other hand, screams with joy. Fucking roulette…
8:55
Necktie and I have joined forces on black and are encouraging Rose and one of the dealers to make out with each other as soon as she has a break from the table. The dealer is silent when offered this idea.
9:02
We step away from the table for a minute and get approached by a well dressed man who’s handing out free passes to Pure. I ask him what the catch is in between gulps of my screwdriver.
9:10
I am yet again sick of roulette…69 minutes and breakeven. +EV game for sure. o_0
9:19
Stumbling towards the sports betting / poker room area in search of the cage to cash my single black chip, I realize this is apparently the wrong way because I have to walk what seems like a quarter mile and ask two people where the fuck the cashier is before I find it.
9:30
I come full circle back to the famously wet roulette table to find Rose but no Necktie or Brother or Shades. She tells me they left us (probably because they finally realized she was not going to abandon her Vegas buddy darq and bang one of them). We just shrug our shoulders and decide to find another casino to assault.
9:31
Upon exiting Caesars, Rose asks me if I was glad she waited for me while I was at the cage. I say yes and introduce her ass to one of the large Roman pillars near the entrance. She tastes good.
9:33
My back is now against the pillar and I use the support to counter Rose’s relentless attack on my lips and tongue. I manage to utter a barely-audible “only in Vegas!” to tourists as they walk by this scene. Some of them cheer on the show while others cover their children’s eyes.
9:39
We decide to go back inside for more drinks because we are obviously not intoxicated enough.
9:41
A slot machine area seems right. We frantically look around for a cocktail waitress, sit on some seats, fall on the ground, and get back up. Random people laugh at us.
9:42
I need to piss like a racehorse. On my way to the bathroom I give the middle finger to a couple of girls sitting at a table. Apparently my crooked smile and crisscross gait were not enough to persuade them I was kidding and/or drunk.
9:46
Back at the slot machines, the woman who I flicked off, who is Spanish and actively demonstrating her temper by bitching me out in between my giggling, has called security for showing her and her daughter such a rude hand gesture.
9:49
Caesars Palace security is escorting me out of the casino. Before I exit, I give Rose my phone number, except with one incorrect digit. recallofEZfactsgonewrongFTL
9:54
I’m playing 200NL at O’Sheas. I repeatedly drop the f-bomb to the dealer’s humor/disgust and quickly establish myself as the new asshole of the table. The former asshole and I order a lemon drop, which arrives in the form of a shot. We are relieved by the absence of a full-blown martini glass and down our drinks rapidly. I check-raise a fish with a flush draw and win. Or maybe it was 2nd pair.
10:03
I bluff someone with air and win the pot, but somehow lose my stack in a different hand…probably trying to bluff again. Fuck.
10:09
An Armenian blackjack dealer flirts with me as I lose 20 reds. I leave with a Corona in hand, my only prize from this Irish hell.
10:20
Back in the Flamingo, I walk around the lobby and casino areas trying not to offend anyone too much.
10:33
My Corona bottle empty, I order a shot of Patrón silver with a beer back (obv). I chat it up with a couple of married women and immediately scamper away when one of their husbands walks up and yells that I need to stop talking to his wife.
10:36
I spot a young lady near the hotel check-in desk and ask the man nearby if she is his daughter. He answers yes and I tell him, in that case, I will not hit on her. I walk away before I can see the look on his face.
10:41
I find myself at another Flamingo bar. But there is no bartender so I slam my hand on the counter and yell like Shawn Sheikhan in this clip. This technique does not work for the correct purpose, as the bartender immediately reveals himself from whatever fapping corner he was in only to tell me I am cut off. I rage slightly at this result.
10:42
I sit myself down at a table with a couple of fat blonde women, telling myself I am only doing so for more alcohol. Upon realizing I was just cut off from the bar, they refuse to order a drink for me for fear of losing their own little cozy spot (fucking cunts). I leave their vicinity and walk across the walkway to an area with more tables, chairs, and women.
11:01
I have given my name to an attractive Latina girl who seemed entertained by my drunken banter and wanted to Facebook me, and I am now upstairs in my room with my face in my pillow. Standard Sunday night in Vegas IMO.
Monday Morning/Afternoon/Early Evening
Breakfast with the folks, walk around and visit casinos and shit, hit quad 4s on the turn in a 200NL cash game at Planet Hollywood and stack villain for 150 BBs, see the V-Show @ 7:00 PM and eat a delicious burger afterwards, then head back to the room.
10:07 PM
Disappointed I had given Rose a wrong number, I venture back to the Flamingo roulette table where we met. Lo and behold, she is there betting on red obv. I correct my number in her phone, we order drinks, and then we walk over to Caesars.
11:51
After some more roulette (rigged), Rose proposes we go to Jet Nightclub at the Mirage since she has a free pass. I oblige and we get a cab.
12:09
The bouncers tell us that Rose’s pass expired at midnight, but we each pay the $30 cover anyway.
Side note: apparently a single fifth of Grey Goose plus a booth costs $425 (which we did not purchase LDO). And shots in the club’s bar are $12 a piece (which we did purchase, LDO, because we’re alcoholics). So fucking rigged, but at least the club played good music.
12:36
Rose is rubbing her ass on my crotch with such force that I fall backwards and hit my head on a table, knocking myself unconscious. Just kidding, but she is one hell of a dancer.
2:17 AM Tuesday
We slowly migrate through the club, making out against the bar and on the dance floor every few minutes. Eventually Rose works up the courage to dance on an elevated area with a couple of poles in the middle of the floor. Another girl hops up there with her and they make out. I slap Rose’s ass a couple times and thank her for putting on such a classy performance after the song is finished. We suck on each other’s necks.
2:41
Refusing to continue to pay $12/shot at the club, Rose and I decide to take a cab back to Flamingo and stop at a liquor store on the way.
2:44
We get into a cab and tell the driver to fucking floor it.
2:46
Rose is not obeying seatbelt laws, as she is straddling my crotch in the backseat. Before we know it we’re at a 24-hour liquor store. We buy a fifth of vodka and a six pack of Smirnoff Ice.
2:55
Finally back at Flamingo, we tip the driver well and tell him he’s allowed to fantasize about us in the backseat of his cab whenever he’s bored.
3:01
Sittin’ on couches and drinking. This goes on for few more hours, including talking to strangers lucky enough to walk by and offering shots from the bottle we so urgently needed to buy after the club. o_0 A thought passes through my mind about how I will feel the next morning, but I quickly extinguish it with a shot of vodka followed by a chaser sip from my spiked Pepsi. And the Smirnoff Ice is working for me at every moment in between.
6:57
I depart from the mini party we had going and, not seeming to need sleep, food, or sobriety, decide to go outside and find somewhere to play poker.
6:58
As I exit I immediately see the Bellagio. Destination established.
7:07
On my way to the Bellagio, a few large women ask me if I want to hang out. I say sure, where do you want to go…we can hang out here or there, whatever. After a minute they break the news to me that they are in fact “working girls,” which takes a few seconds to sink into my ethanol-saturated brain. I laugh, look at their obese bodies, laugh harder, and walk away. God knows who would do business with *them.*
7:14
I finally make it to the Bellagio poker room and instantly get labeled the “Mike the Mouth” of the table due to my constant drunken chatter, most of which is not too insulting to anyone in particular but still quite obnoxious.
7:20
At last I become aware of where the fuck I am and look behind me at the glass-enclosed room with two poker tables inside. Some of you may know this area as Bobby’s Room, and I almost jizzed in my pants when I saw Patrik Antonius, Johnny Chan, Jeffrey Lisandro, and a couple other big fish playing what looked like Chinese poker. Seeing these guys live was probably the highlight of my trip, and I was lucky, too, since I came back a couple more times but Bobby’s Room was always empty.
10:15 AM Tuesday
Broke, drunk, and exhausted (up for a day ftw), I force my walking corpse to take me to my hotel room to pass out. Thanks for the ass-kicking, Vegas. 
Shout outs to my folks for booking the trip and letting me roam around the city like a case of gonorrhea, to the Mexican flappers along the strip who acted as targets for my smartass remarks and my own mocking hand slapping with no fear of verbal backlash (I had Immigration Services on speed-dial), and to Rose (you know who you are) for the great time; you’re gorgeous inside and out. 
My problem lies in my inability to play perfectly on the SnG bubble. Once my July check arrives, I am going to purchase a license for 