Viking Blood and Bad Decisions: DECF Does Vegas 2: Saturday, Part 1

Posted: March 16, 2011 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , , , ,

With the onset of Tennessee’s Spring Break, two things came into play: the homecoming of my brother, Superfly, and our subsequent return to Sin City, The Home of Devastating Hangovers…Las Vegas. Here, as per tradition, is my recounting of the trip in as much detail as I can remember. For the record, about half of the notes that I created were written in a state of drunk so profound that I have had to invest in the services of Egyptian hieroglyphic experts simply in order to decipher them. And you think I’m kidding about that. Anyways, today I will cover Saturday. We may or may not get through the entire day. I won’t really know until I’m done. So with blessed cold water next to me and L.T.D.s “(Every Time I Turn Around) Back In Love Again” blaring from my Bose speakers, I begin anon.
3 A-fucking-M in the 3 A-fucking-morning. That’s when Superfly and I had to wake up. At 4 A-fucking-M, we had a car coming to pick us up so alarms had to be set an hour early so that we’d be ready. God rest the bastard who created the “missile silo self-destruct sequence activated” alarm for iPhone because he will surely BURN IN HELL. The car reached the house right at 4 and, after a brief panic in which I could not find my damn sunglasses, we were off. On the way to the airport (in a blacked-out Caddy, it must be said), we had a lively discussion with our driver about the BYU scandal bullshit (note for future readings: Michael Davies was kicked off the team because he got his girlfriend pregnant, a violation of the BYU honor code that demands strict adherance to basically denying yourself any form of pleasure), among other things. Soon enough, we were at the airport.

After a quick trip through security – complete with full body scanner (quick note: those things are seriously like Star Wars-level crap, if Star Wars was now and wanted to sneak a peek at my boys and piller) – it was time to board. The flight to Atlanta was uneventful, for the most part. No world-class hotties to gawk at, but plenty of douchebags to make up for it. At the time and right now, I had a feeling that would be par for the course and I wasn’t wrong. Also, I heard some lady behind me say that the only thing that was small about her was her Eustachian tubes. Gross. Also, I just looked that up while writing this at home and it’s still gross but not as gross as I thought it was going to be. Anyways. Oh yeah, and we broke through clouds to see a gorgeous sunrise, although it could have been a nuclear corona for all I knew. Sleep deprivation – lousy three-hour night – was not my friend.

We touched down and then swung by a sub-par Mexican restaurant (On The Border) for a not bad but MSG-d up the ass breakfast. Around the time we finished, the call of nature was ever-present so we retreated to the men’s room. I was able to find a little joy beyond the basic pee in fighting off the urge to sing “Africa” whilst pissing. You see, the urinal was made by a company known as Toto and I make logical connections. I’m not proud. Okay. I actually am. “Shocking” bullshit news soon reached us, however, as Delta suddenly decided to shit the bed and bump our flight to 11 AM instead of 9:50. Bastards! And after a little while, they decided to bump it again to noon. Pissed off does not begin to cover it. Fortunately, Superfly saw my ire and led me to a bar and Stella Artois. I have a good brother. Once that was done, we waited in line yet again, playing “Dibs” (our default boredom game). We generally have varying degrees of success, with the one that had been losing usually becoming more focused and surging ahead. We also saw a dude in a fanny-pack, leading to “I’m fannypackin’ it” as the first inside joke of the trip, followed quickly by “planeahol” and “plooze”. Finally, mercifully, we boarded.

There’s a very big difference between 767s and tiny-ass planes. That main difference, aside from the nicer seats, is that the TV monitors play a safety video. I’m not going to lie. The lady in the video is…well, let’s come out with it. I would fuck her to the point that we could only just lie on our backs, breathing heavily and staring weakly at the ceiling, our bodies completely drained of all sexual fluid. Natural redhead with DSLs? Mmmm-good. Boba Fett was riding on half a jetpack before you could yell “Get your penis off the monitor!” Can you tell that my general hasn’t seen a whole lot of combat duty lately? Just hours and hours of training. And yes, that means exactly what you think it means.

Four damn hours later, complete with off-and-on sleeping and a pee near-catastrophe, we touched down in Las Vegas. As per all airports, the wait for the luggage was far too long and rife with the fear of it somehow being rerouted to Tijuana or some shit like that but soon enough, we were on our way, riding in the shuttle. Accompanying us was what had to be a bachelorette party from Mississippi, complete with mother complaining over her ‘sunshades’. To go on a digression for a second, why the hell is it that mothers are invited to bachelorette things? Seriously, that makes no sense to me. Dads don’t go to bachelor parties for good reason. The presence of an authority figure is counter to the very notion of that party. Those parties are meant to be the absolute apex of excess and “holy shit that was bad”. Why would you bring A FUCKING PARENT? Women are crazy. Anyway, suffice to say, they were wired and thus annoying as hell. They were dropped at The Bellagio though, so it was alright.

The first step inside the Cosmopolitan – our hotel – was intense. It’s got a totally different feel than the other casino/hotels. It’s less…gaudy. I mean, it IS gaudy but less so. We had our first (and what would be one of only a few) stroke of good news when we went to check in: we were told that we were actually taken care of in the VIP Lounge. Score. We chatted with the cute girl at the desk for a minute and then went to our room. Up on the 40th floor, they did us right, that’s for sure. Our room had a perfect view overlooking the Bellagio Fountains. Double score. We got all set up then, realizing we had not eaten since like eight in the morning, went down to Holstein’s, a burger place.

Before I can continue, I have to comment. For a mid-20s, sexually frustrated male, Las Vegas is basically like putting a starving tiger into a cage that is surrounding on the outside by sleeping, fattened and crippled monkeys. It wants what it sees more than anything in the world but is unable to have it. I swear to God, I should just have neutered myself before I got to Las Vegas and that thought would be repeated dozens of times throughout the trip. Just…nnnnnnrg. I say this due to what comes next.

Okay. Holstein’s. Beyond what comes next, it’s still a pretty awesome place, actually. The atmosphere is nice and friendly…and then there’s the staff. Dear sweet ass. I Tweeted about this at the moment but it bears repeating. The girl that took care of us (no, not like that – if it had been like that, I would have died happy right there) was so incandescently hot that my life up to that point is now a little grayer in retrospect. Stunning green eyes, chocolate brown hair, a face that would make Helen of Troy look like Janet Reno, perfect tits and an ass that Michelangelo could not have sculpted without achieving a hard-on. I won’t say that it was love at first sight but there’s no way I couldn’t at least for a moment picture what our babies would look like. That thought coming, of course, on the heels of actually picturing the act of making said babies. Aside from her supernova-level hot, though, it was a great meal. Both Adam and I got fantastic beers and great burgers. It was the Rising Sun burger with kobe beef, soy sauce, spicy mayo, tempura avocado, and a few other things. Unreal.

After the meal, we decided to hit the sportsbook and drop some cashola on a few games. Following that, it was down to the floor to test out our luck on a few slots. Almost immediately, I won $125 on one machine. While that was awesome, it was also the best I did the entire weekend, so maybe winning right away is not a good thing. A bit more gambling to up and down success and then it was massage time. Yes. Massage time.

It was awesome. The most relaxing thing ever. We walked in and paid and were led to the men’s side. We tossed our clothes into lockers and were outfitted with comfy sandals and amazing hybrid bathrobe/towels that made me feel like a boxer. It even had the neat little hood. We just waited and chilled on couches, watching sports and soon we were ushered into a different room and met by two attractive women who would be our masseuses. Down a little hallway was my room and fifty minutes of killing a good deal of the tension in my body. I’m not going to go through it but it was incredible. I was so relaxed and loose afterwards. No, I did not erect. Apparently, though, Superfly did, bragging about Mr. Roundtree’s – his nom de guerre for his genitals – turgidness. A quick hop in the sauna, mist room and hot tub and we were finished. The next stop, after showering and changing of course? Dinner time.
That’ll be it for today’s recounting of our Vegas trip. Tomorrow’s will be the second half of Saturday. Don’t worry, faithful readers. We’re just getting warmed up.

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