Las Vegas Day Four (Part 2): May 28, 2011



Rick James once famously said in an interview on the Chappelle Show that “cocaine’s a helluva drug.”  The same could be said for liquid cocaine, the street name of vodka Red Bulls.  The three of us hit the Strip and looked like wild monkeys running a 40-yard dash.  We weaved around clusters of pedestrians and snuck up on each other to jump-smack whatever bald spot was available.  My smacking was as limp-wristed as my punching.  There was one time when I leaped into the air behind Rob to smack his head and from some subconscious recess I thought, “what if that isn’t Rob,” so I misfired.  Then, Rob had jumped on the back of one of us.  I can only assume it was me because I have a hazy recollection of being pitched headlong on the sidewalk, only to regain my balance before serious damage could be done.

All inhibitions were down.  We had spent three days walking around Vegas, intentionally giving the card-flipping smut peddlers the Heisman (I was more polite, actually deigning to give a head shake or a “no” at many offerings), but not that night.  I took a card or booklet from anyone who offered, which set off a chain reaction of others handing me their cards.  I felt like a politician shaking hands with my constituents, eagerly and happily accepting the well wishes from the masses.  Once at the Paris, I had a huge stack of porn star collector cards, which I immediately deposited into the nearest trash bin.  I may have been drunk, but I don’t litter. 

Similar to the Jabbawockeez show, the doors to the Anthony Cools show were already open and people were finding their seats.  I could have used a stop at the bathroom, but we were worried about missing the show and we went right in.  The show started shortly after and Mike immediately volunteered to be hypnotized.  Anthony asked for several volunteers and it soon became obvious why.  Whenever a person showed any signs of not accepting a suggestion, he was escorted off the stage.  Anthony was weeding out those who weren’t as suggestible.  Those who were, especially Mike, put on an entertaining show.

There was one guy named Dave who was told that every time he heard his name, he would get an erection and would want to hide it.  Another guy would feel like his ass was on fire and rub it along the stage to put it out whenever Johnny Cash’s ‘Ring of Fire’ was played.  Anthony made the suggestion to the group that when he turned around, he would be naked from the waist down and well hung.  When he did turn, everyone had a shocked look on his face and Mike turned to the guy sitting next to him and held his hands about two feet apart with a look of awe on his face.

Las Vegas Day Three: May 27, 2011

We were right back at it the next morning, in spite of a pretty grueling previous day.  My feet were killing me, as I had blisters on my souls and between my toes from walking in flip-flops all day.  Everything we did was fun, but we had packed a lot into a short time.  We were awake pretty early in the morning, but didn’t have quite the same bounce in our steps.  After an expensive Day 2, we became a little more cost conscious and grabbed breakfast at the McDonald’s in the Monte Carlo food court.  Rob and I wanted to place a couple bets, so we went to the Sports Book, while Mike searched for a cheap table.  After our fruitless search on Wednesday night, we learned the best time to play low stakes blackjack was in the mornings, after the hardcore drinkers and gamblers had zombie-shuffled to their rooms.

I was only interested in placing a bet on the European soccer championship between Barcelona and Manchester United on Saturday.  I put $50 on Man U (as in “Man, U made a lousy bet!”) with the potential to win $80.  Rob did the same and put another $50 on the Bruins winning Game 7 against the Lightning that evening.  Once we had our tickets, we went to find Mike.

He was playing at a table essentially by himself.  The min bet was $5, so I cashed in $50.  Rob had placed two $50 bets, so he didn’t feel like risking any more money.  Like the previous night, the action started well.  The dealer was a bit of a cold fish, but Rob started goofing with Mike and getting her involved and she started to warm up.  Mike was on the start of a good heater, but he would never bet higher than the minimum.  Even the dealer suggested he should press his bet, but he refused, politely.  A couple other players joined the table and all of us were winning more than losing.  

The trend didn’t last long and I could see my stack of chips diminishing.  We had played for about a half hour and we still wanted to sit by the pool before the day got away from us.  We cashed out and from my original $50 stake, I came away with $50.50.  That would be my best session of blackjack on the trip.  I suppose I should be grateful that I came out “ahead,” but I could have sat at an unattended table and not played for thirty minutes and had the same result.  There is no satisfaction in a “push.”  Mike did much better and commented, “There’s nothing like winning big to put a spring in your step.”  He then turned to me, patted me on the back, and said, “Something I hope you get to experience some time!”  Thanks, dick.