What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas, My ASS!

We survived.

Barely.

One more day in that crazy city and we would have been goners. Not because of the excessive gambling, not because of the double 7&7’s that the casino’s are all but willing to supply for free, not even from the sheer exhaustion of getting only 6 hours of sleep over the course of a three day weekend.

What almost did us in was the stench of our hotel room.

When you get four dudes shacking up in a tiny ass hotel room, you know it’s going to be bad, but our room took top honors for all time worse smells ever. The room was littered with smoky sweaty clubbing clothes and leftover McDonald’s wrappers (I realize we could have eaten better in a city known to offer every type of buffet known to mankind, but, hey, that would have been one less red chip to throw down on the blackjack table) for as far as the eye can see. If I had to guess, I would stay the overall smell would be equivalent to sasquatch taking a dump between two McGriddle paddies and then letting it bake in the sun for eight days. It was bad.

But that odor was compounded exponentially due to certain people on the trip whom I won’t mention but their names start with Pete Noreberg and Cody Langeness, thought it would be a good idea to wake Comrade Dmitry up by picking up the mattress he was sleeping on and then slamming him into a wall. This was, of course, very humorous to everyone. Unfortunately, the giant picture on the wall broke, so that meant we could not get room service until we were property evacuated from the premises and the credit card that our room was paid for on was reported stolen so as to avoid paying for said giant picture frame.

I almost feel guilty about the whole incident and the mess we left behind, but then I calculated my gambling losses for the weekend and realized that the Stardust made out like a goddamn bandit. Now I see it as a fair trade: They break my wallet, we break their picture. We probably could have broken a few lamps too and they still would have come out ahead. Bastards.

The weekend was not ENTIRELY jam packed with debauchery, though. We did manage to have a little honest fun. We did see a few shows. Well, I guess eROCKtica does not qualify as wholesome entertainment. Let’s see here then, there’s the few hours we spent at Gameworks. Wait, crap, that afternoon too was filled with gratuitous gambling on 3 puck air hockey and arcade basketball. I guess the 30 second freefall from when we went sky diving Friday morning was about the only time one of us wasn’t gambling, drinking, smoking, cursing, grinding, or breaking objects. I KNEW I had a reason to feel good about myself when I got home.

Oh I forgot to mention one more vice. Chalk one up for Comrade Dmitry, for shattering the record on gross misconduct for the state of Nevada’s stringent usury laws. He wanted a $10 dollar juice on a $50 loan for ONE night. By my calculation, that equates to a 7200% APR. He made all the loan sharks in Vegas look like goldfish that night. It must be all that Russian mafia blood flowing through his veins. I love that kid.

Getting on the plane home, I had nothing left in my pockets but 60 cents and a handful of ATM receipts. Do I have any regrets? Hell, no. There were so many definitive moments that made the losses all the worthwhile. Between Cody yelling “I fold!” right before passing out at the blackjack table at the Wynn, or Pete’s charity on Sunday night with the presentation of his McDonald’s gift card to me with 30 cents on it, or simply the glance I got from this hottie at Body English at the Hard Rock as her boyfriend dragged her off the dance floor (must have been my eyebrows!); there was just too much fun had last weekend. There is only ONE thing I did not understand:

How did the Patriots AND the Colts lose on Sunday? It was a lock I tell you, a lock!

The four of us, still maintaining our dignity. It was only a few hours later when we discovered Craps.