Hot Vegas Nights

Las Vegas 6

"You gonna drink the rest of yours?"

- Myself

Back to Friday.
I grew restless after the maid debacle and decided to find Scott and Shanna.
Knowing Scott, I figured he'd be eating, so I headed down to Lyndie's. But, first, I purchased another cup of coffee, for the first cup was now a memory on a bill Scott probably received earlier today.
Scott and Shanna we're just leaving as I approached them and related the maid story to them. Scott seemed unamused at me for my vulgar display of coffee. I patted him on the back and assured him that the maid was the only guilty party and I would have 500 poker chips from her by the end of the night – that is if she had not taken on other forms, which was entirely possible considering her disappearing act.
Or was it? Could the theories surrounding alcoholism be true? Could I have imagined an intruding maid? It's possible. I once imagined I was having sex with Nicole Kidman, only to find my hand in place of the gorgeous Aussie. That was an ugly night and I can only imagine what the waiter thought at dinner when I ordered her cannelloni.
Regardless, Scott dropped the subject and informed me that they were going to the pool.
So, I gave them a half hour to fuck as I played Cops and Donuts. It's an ingenious game where you feed cops donuts and win prizes. I bet the LVPD get a kick out of it. I did.
Soon, I was at the pool.
The pool consisted of three or four pools doled out among palm trees and Foster's stands.
My first mission was to acquire a fruity drink. Yes.
See, I wanted to be "that guy." You know, the cool beach monkey who sits by the pool with no cares in the world as he sips a slushy beverage and thinks about how lucky he is that he's not poor.
But, before I could I was blinded by a great white light.
I knelt before it and said a prayer, hoping it wasn't the immaculate maid that disappeared earlier in the afternoon, coming to cleanse my spirit.
But, no, this was a sight that should not have been seen:
FEAST YOUR EYES!
It was Scott in all his fat, white glory.
But, never fear, this only made it possible for me to unfurl my t-shirt and bring out the man tits that can only be harnessed by two industrial strength coconuts.
After retrieving my contacts, which had popped out in shock, I bid hello to my companions and sat in the shade drinking my (and other's) beverages.
Scott soon fled as a man with a white beard, dressed in blue and white attacked him with a harpoon. The man seemed to have mistaken Scott for either crappy electrofag Moby or sinister dead President Dick.
No matter. I was now alone with Shanna and I took this moment to make fun of her Harlequin Romance book.
She fought back by reading me an erotic passage and giving me a hard on that I had to hide in my Daiquiri.
I had put on a couple coats of Hawaiian Tropic in the hopes of becoming black, but all it did was made me slip on molecules in the air. I would be walking and suddenly shoot up into the air as the viscosity of the lotion met with the individual hydrogen and nitrogen molecules in the air.
It was quite a rush, but I wouldn't recommend it unless you're a license and bonded complete idiot, like myself.
Soon, Shanna and I became bored with the pool, my viscosity, Alain's probing love rod in Amber's waiting love tunnel, and people in general – especially me.

In the evening we met all the males for Josh's second bachelor party. I was, maybe, 8 in and still reeling from the night before.
We met at the Buffet museum or Tropicville or whatever the fucking joint was called – it mattered not, I was tired and sick of looking at humans at this point. I needed precious, precious sleep and a new liver....two new livers, just in case.
I had to eat light. One thing I learned about being a drunk: drinking on a full stomach is the best way to fall asleep.
I ordered the fries and listened to stories that went nowhere. Something about sharp cheese and....Christ, I have no idea. I was out of it and some damn volcano kept going off every 20 minutes. I think they were talking about power tools and deep seated paranoia resulting from age.
I remember contemplating suicide at one point, but then I thought about the seamonkeys I had. What would they think? No, suicide is the desperate, selfish act that only leaves behind hurt loved ones. Namely, seamonkeys.
Oh, and I have a plant, too.
Normally, I would have been fine. But, the booze of yesterday was not getting along with the booze of that day.
I decided I would leave after dinner.
But, the words "strip club" came up and I had to try to stay awake.
I quickly fashioned a makeshift cattle prod from a bank machine, a baton, and some industrial high gauge cable that just happened to be lying around.
Without any thought towards the consequences I stabbed my rectum with the device and shot another 2 hours into my evening.
Off we go!
First, we stopped at yet another tropical themed bar that wouldn't have us because we carried bottle or plastic or neoprene? I forget, but for some reason our booze was not allowed inside. So, we watched as dumb sluts got picked up by even dumber jackasses.
We spotted a street entertainer....K, I'm being generous here. It was a man who did some kind of urban ballet for no one but himself. He wasn't asking for money or an audience: he simply wanted to dance, damn you!
We tried to get a picture, but the man was not the kindly flashdancer you would imagine: he was completely, and utterly insane.
We passed on and the adults left Josh, Scott, Monica's brother, and myself to find a strip club.
Simple plan, right?
WRONG!
You can only acquire a cab from the hotel's ports, and these were all full of lines on a Friday night. Also, no one could agree on where the strip club was, which one to go to, and so forth.
We walked aimlessly. I was slowly running down, like Dick Cheney during a power outage. I needed sleep. Finally, it got so bad that I almost propositioned hookers just so we could get the hot action over with so I could sleep.
Finally, I opted out.
I made and about turn, pivoted, and fled.
I could hear the others calling me back, but all I had for them was a middle finger and mumbles of "gotta sleep, sleep off the demon alcohol."