Viking Blood and Bad Decisions: DECF Does Vegas 2: Monday/Tuesday

Posted: March 22, 2011 by kaostheory in Slice of Life
Tags: , , , , ,

Let’s just get to it. This is not going to be a fun recap. This isn’t what I particularly want to relive, but what the hell. Gotta tell you all about the good and the bad. And this is mostly bad. Holy Hannah. Let’s just do this and get it done with.
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Monday morning, 10 AM, came way too quickly. I woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. Specifically, I noticed that sometime during the night our room had been placed into a gyroscope and was spinning uncontrollably. Curious and curiouser. My next reaction was more apropos. I walked calmly to the bathroom, bent over and lost the entirety of the previous night’s escapades into the porcelain shrine. Let me tell you this: there is almost nothing worse coming back up than motherfucking tater tots. That shit is like white-hot broken glass. It shreds the absolute shit out of your throat, especially the back of it. It literally hurt to swallow ANYTHING – including water – for two days. I did feel a bit better, albeit weak and dizzy. The best solution?

Planet Hollywood of course. Sonofabitch. Earl of Sandwich is there and I did need to get food into my belly. The sandwiches there are great and next time, I want to eat one when I’m not hungover to shit and can’t swallow. I think mine was some kind of club sandwich. I don’t really know. I may have still been a tad drunk. Goddamn Patron and Sprites. Most of the next…while was just spent wandering around the casino (winning like thirty bucks, shockingly), sitting in the sportsbook and browsing the sports shop again. Maybe it was the Hangover Monster talking or maybe the dehydration and sickness were overriding my Frugality Center, but this time, I couldn’t just walk away without buying SOMETHING. No, I didn’t get a jersey. Even hung the hell over, I can’t blow that much cash. I did, however, purchase autographed pictures of Earl Campbell and Steve McNair (God rest his soul). I considered – and still do – that a compromise win right there.

The rest of the afternoon was spent back in the hotel room, napping and puking. God bless Las Vegas. Eventually, I got up the strength to pop on down to Holstein’s again for dinner and a milkshake. We didn’t have Hottie McFineass as our waitress (we had a dude) but he was friendly and on top of things enough to warrant a really good tip. I think we were both still just pissed over Prime’s shitty treatment of us. We decided afterwards to just walk around a bit and did so, just checking out the water show at The Bellagio (really just impressive) and coming back to the room for another Bourdain marathon (seems to be a pattern now) and chilling out. We ended the night with an awkward tension in the room because a Girls Gone Wild uncensored special came on and neither of us were willing to either change the channel or “take care of business” with the other in the room. Like I said, awkward. Soon enough, sleep came and my pain was mostly done.

The next morning (Tuesday) was nasty. A 7:15 wakeup call is never a pleasant moment. Ever. I decided to take a shower and did so (with a little private time in the toilet as well) and before we knew it, we were checked out and riding to the airport in a shuttle. Funny story, the douchebags in front of us thought that it was a free service so there was much grumbling and complaining as they fished out money to give to the driver. I figure that they deserved it just for being presumptuous dicks.

Even early-ish in the morning, the lines at Delta are long and winding. Superfly and I were smart to actually have seat numbers given to us for the planes but were also lucky enough to see the creepy old guy (in a damn TURTLENECK) flirting with a Dani Woodward lookalike in the line in front of us. That was not a pleasant experience and I kinda wanted him to suffer a heart attack. I’m vindictive when I’m tired, what can I tell you? Anyways, after the security line, I had an idea that would probably not be feasible but still is cool anyway. From security to the D-gates at the airport in Vegas, they have a tram system that goes underground and I figured that instead of a security line, why not put a full scale scanner that can scan the whole tram at once and then just pull out suspicious people as they exit? Eh? Eh? Yeah maybe not.

Breakfast was a half-decent Egg McMuffin fake at some diner in the airport and, quick as you please, we were on our flight and I was unconscious. Yes, I slept all the way to Atlanta. It was glorious. Nothing passes the time faster than not being awake, I tell you what. What was funny was when we touched down in Atlanta and had to taxi for a little while. See, they have these screens in chair backs on big planes and you can watch TV or movies or whatever on then. Well…they broke. Or at least their programming did. Linux, by the way. So we spent about five minutes watched the Linux debug and restart. It was entertaining just to see how bad it had failed. Because Delta is generally a fail anyways.

The time we spent in Atlanta is pretty…whatever. It didn’t warrant any sort of space in my mind or in my notes. It just was. It was what happened when we boarded the plane that is the stuff of nightmares. You see, Superfly and I had one last “fuck you boys” coming to us straight from the universe and it came in the form of THIRTY-FIVE MOTHERFUCKING MIDDLE SCHOOLERS. Wired from their trip to Boston and caught in that strange realm of bravado and growing pubic hair, they are the harbingers of pure noise. It was hell. For the entirety of the half hour we were on the tarmac and the half hour flight to Nashville, a wall of sound surrounded us, drowning us in insanity. FUCK MIDDLE SCHOOLERS. What they did on that plane was tantamount to a war crime. Superfly and I both agreed that if we were to die to save the world, let it happen by making that plane crash. Even my Happy Place, complete with half-naked blonde bombshell, was invaded by their incessant chattering. Everyone over the age of eighteen on that plane had their heads in their hands and were softly weeping. I’m not even kidding about that. There is nothing worse than a middle school child. I say between the ages of 12 and 16 that they be locked up in an asylum filled only with themselves and left to devour themselves or form a crude society built on height and taunting. Call this hyperbole if you like but there has never been anything so horrible to exist.

A quick car ride home (met with blissful silence) and our Vegas excursion was over. I’m still tired from it. But Lord help me…I want to go back.
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There. This is done. We’ll be back to crazy shit soon, I swear.

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