As Sober As I Wanna Be: DECF Does Las Vegas: Saturday/Sunday Morning

Posted: March 13, 2010 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , , , ,

Holy criminy. I’m alive. That in and of itself is worthy of applause and a few prayers thrown the Big Guy’s way. Why is it amazing I’m alive? Because I did Las Vegas. I did it hard. It was a thing. On this trip, there was only we two players: Me and my little brother, Superfly. This…is the running journal of our trip. It’s long. It’s way long. And this time I’m NOT referring to my dick although that is too. I digress. Here’s what went down.
Our sojurn began. We reached the airport around 4:30 PM Central time and – seeing as how we had two hours to kill in an airport basically the size of a fridge – we decided to have a delectable dinner at the airport’s very best restaurant, Noshville. The turkey sandwiches were subpar – fine, mediocre, you juveniles – but the fact that we got cheap Patron went down as smoothly as the shot, although the shot differed by getting a bit on my shirt. Thus, I now have a tequila shirt. Not a bad start, though in retrospect, it may have been a telling sign for how the trip was to go.

The flight to Minneapolis – because God knows a direct flight would be too much to ask for – was uneventful. Superfly and I exchanged ribald tales of our various alcoholic journeys, most ending in an unwanted expulsion of bodily fluids. Though the plane – a CRJ, damnable sloop of the Delta fleet that it is – was cramped, our spirits remained high and undaunted. That may have simply been because of the thrill of the journey or possibly due to the 1:1 ratio of tequila to margarita mix we had going with the free drinks we got on the flight. Vouchers for the win. In either case, within a couple of hours, we had arrived in the Twin Cities. While Minneapolis is generally a nice town, a sense of dread reached me as we entered the waiting area for our gate. Every chair seemed to be packed with tired, cranky people. Well, either that or couples with that most horrible of renewable resources: children. Let me pause here to discuss a little something. If you live in Sin City, you have a bit of a pass, but if you don’t…you are bringing a CHILD to LAS VEGAS. What in the black depths of Hell is wrong with your dumb ass? That is a CPS case waiting to happen, you mongoloid. But I digress.

My other fear aside from the screeching offspring of the End Days was that Superfly had managed to swing the aisle seat for himself, leaving me at the mercy of the airline and blind chance. If you know me personally, you then understand my apprehension on relying on chance to save me from a fat, cramped agony. Soon enough, we entered the plane, sweat beading on my brow in terror. As we sat down, I began to judge each oncoming passenger according to their suitability as a row partner. The ratio was…not good. Either there were couples and groups or the singles were corpulent and fearsome, My heart nearly imploded as I saw a truly massive black girl enter, making a beeline for my row. Oh dear God, I thought, my back will seize as if an epileptic at a rave. But wait! She is a row up and across from us. Oh frabjous day! And what is this that approacheth? She is alone, she is tiny and she bears a striking resemblance to porn marvel Brooke Haven! Success! Um, please to be ignoring the inherent creepiness of the previous statement. It was not meant with such apparent menace, I assure you. I have no desire to forcibly penetrate this beautiful thing. Well I DO but…not against her will and…you know what? This hole is deep enough. Moving on.

She, unfortunately, was almost wholly focused on some piece of knitting instead of more worthy pursuits such as handjobs for her handsome rowmates so turned we to other pursuits. Dirty jokes passed the time until the liquor cart stopped by, banging sharply into Superfly’s elbow in finishing the most stunning display of airport karma I have ever seen. Using our second voucher, Superfly and I managed to each put together a very passable Jack and Sprite. During our consumption of the drink, we discussed the stopmotion horror (Is that fucking thing wearing LIPSTICK?!) of the in-flight movie, Mr. Fox something or other. It was also during this period that the family in front of decided to recline their chairs fully (It don’t GO any further back, you BITCH!) which removed a large portion of our usable space, entirely in violation of basic rules of airplane etiquette. In response, I fervently wished to lean forward and breathe heavily into their rude-dick ears until they learned their lesson. Sadly, basic human decency was unable to escape me. Earth, Wind and Fire (Holy shit! They did Turn On[The Beat Box]!) soon quelled my wrath, though not my increasing intestinal distress. See, though Sprite tastes vaguely sweet and adds a light mix to any drink it is fused with, the carbonation acts as if it is crude petroleum barrels. I sincerely hope you all get that joke. It’s a fart joke, just to be clear. And since no gentleman ever breaks wind near a woman he would sell multiple possessions to get fellatio from, I was in trouble.

We shall return to the discussion of my colon in a moment but first an update. Rowmate Haven curled up soon after the movie to go to sleep. This elicited a “Damn” from Superfly. I concurred with a wry smile and a shrug. Perhaps I should have lost more weight. Probably. However, before we knew it, we had landed. In fact, we were not only on time, we were fifteen minutes early. This was, my friends, the harbinger of a phenomenon known as Fuck Delta. As we were early, our gate had not been cleared yet. Fine. Whatever. After about ten minutes or so, the captain rang in again informing us the blocking plane was BROKEN. Our docking and leaving came forty-five minutes later. Forty. Five. Damn. Ass. Minutes. Thankfully, we were able to strike up conversation with our gorgeous friend Brandy (as we found out her name was). During the course of our chatting, we were able to learn that she was my age, went to college where the mother of Superfly and myself went, she was here with an equally hot friend and she had a rack that beef aficionados would weep over. It was almost a shame to part. Thinking back on it, we well should have offered to wait around for her friend so we could walk together but we’re stupid fuckers so that did not happen. We had adventures to do. Good ones. According to Superfly, “My adventures end great after starting horrible. It’s like a golden shit.” Fuck Delta continued at baggage claim where we not only had to wait a good hour for our luggage but Superfly found that his TSA lock had been broken by those trained monkeys. Check that. His luggage ITSELF was broken. Add this frustration to THREE different busses passing us by and you have two fairly unhappy 20-somethings. Soon enough, though, we departed and began our drive to our hotel, The Mirage.

My God.

There are moments in a man’s life that change him forever. His first lower hair. His first fondled breast. His first hangover. And his first taste of Las Vegas. I wish I could adequately describe my experience entering that…resort. I wish I could explain in detail the excess and women and sounds and colors. But I can’t. I don’t quite know WHAT I was expecting but…it pales in the shadow of true Vegas. Every fuse in my brain overloaded as I struggled to take it all in. Even now, I remain stunned. Words are meaningless.

Viva Las Vegas. Let our night begin.

Sunday Early Morning:
After showering at 2:00 AM, we got dressed in our semi-finery and went down to peruse The Mirage. As we were famished, we ended up at BLT Burger where we feasted on kobe beef burgers. It was as if God himself inhabited a cow purely for our consumption. We have been ruined for other meats. Dinner passed and it was off to gamble a bit. My fortunes remained poor but Superfly managed to make $5.00 on a $.01 slot. The bastard. As it neared 4:00 AM, fatigue struck us finally and we retired to the room for some much needed sleep. Night followed.
Our adventures continue tomorrow. I wanted to put it all in one entry but there’s like damn twelve pages here. Written. It needs more space than I can give in one article. The other one is up tomorrow morning or afternoon. Deuces.

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