My Camera must have been as drunk as I was, because it took me three times to get that right
I don’t remember where I ran into that store on day two, during the evening (technically it was probably the morning of day three, but I am using sleeping as the end point of each day). Many of the events of this day are a bit jumbled, but it is appropriate for everything that happened on this day. Even the word fuck, gets misspelled in the messed up rabbit hole world I ended up in on this day.
I am not going to go through the names for these guys again, so if you have trouble, go back and reread the previous post. There will be a test at the end of the chapter.
I wake up from two hours of sleep with my phone ringing. I make two quick realizations: I’m still drunk and I’m still pissed off.
AB is asking if I want to join them at the hotel brunch, so I stumble out of bed, take a quick shower and head to the restaurant. I eat an omelet, as much fresh fruit and protein as I can stuff in gullet and about a pound of hash browns.
DMW is on the phone reassuring his fiance that he was a good boy and didn’t do anything. She calls him a liar and hangs up on him. Then calls him back, and he dutifully picks up and starts whining acting like the cur that he is, and keeps telling her that he didn’t do “anything” last night.
Like any woman, she doesn’t believe him. What kind of fool goes to Vegas and doesn’t do anything?
He’s trying to act all macho afterward. AB and BB look at him with a bit of pity. UMG has an expression of commiseration on his face. I could care less.
I take one more whack at it, “Dude, if you’re going to get in trouble anyway, you might as well have some fun.”
DMW shrugs his shoulders and acts like he didn’t hear me, but he sighs and I know he’s being a fucktard. It is times like this that I completely understand why women don’t find Beta men attractive. What is there to like about this guy?
AB, DMW and UMG head out to go golfing. They invite me and BB to come along. BB says he wants to gamble. I say I’m going to join him. They leave and the drinking and gambling begin. BB and I enter a Texas Hold’em tournament.
I notice something real quick. Although women will play the slots, the vast majority of the players in hold’em, craps, poker and any other game that requires anything more than pushing a button, the number of men that out number the women is about ten to one.
This is the only part of Vegas that is male centric. The rest of the town is a female/gay paradise and it is getting more so, the changes that it has undergone since I was a kid are something to behold. Vegas is what the world would look like if women and gays had unfettered control.
The prime example of it is Cirque de Soleil which has gone from one tiny show a couple decades ago, to something that is ubiquitous with Vegas. Supposedly, several more shows are in development, along with a television deal, women clothing line and the possible ventures into spas, restaurants and nightclubs.
It is “See the Beatles with Cirque de Soleil,” Criss Angel with Cirque de Soleil every casino seems to have a CdS, it is depressing in its repetitiveness. You cannot look go anywhere without running into it. What, exactly is CdS? As far as I can tell it is ballet dressed up with fancy animal costumes and face paint. The men are muscular, the women are muscular, the costumes are beautiful, and I am completely not interested.
Women love it. They love the spectacle of the shows. They will wax on about how amazing it was. It occurs to me that the male sex drive contributes more to what women want, and is better suited to a better civilization than the female sex drive. Men love beautiful women. Beautiful women tend to produce beautiful children, that grow up to perform beautiful shows which women love.
Women on the other hand love thugs. Thugs produce more thugs which leads to crime and the tearing down of civilization. Which gender is the more shallow? Beauty, for beauty’s sake has a lot more intrinsic value than dominance simply for dominance.
The magnificent fountains and architecture appeal more to women than men, the restaurants are elegant with either celebrity chefs and/or exotic foods. This too appeals more to women. The four guys I am with would rather eat massive amounts of the same food at the same casino buffet.
Shopping is everywhere, and the number of purses displayed was godawful outstanding. They even sell such frivolous things as Oxygen. Women People pay for things that they can get for free.
Music, dancing, clubbing, the gambling is essentially a way for men to make status displays to the women. Even the stripping is female centric. The female nude shows are filled with costumes and a story and dancing and the number of women at them equal the men. There were a number of male strip shows as well.
If there comes a time when men equal women at the male strip shows, humanity will have reached the point of no longer having any intrinsic worth and mother nature or God (I don’t care which) should start over.
Where Vegas goes, the rest of the west follows.
I make it through the first cut, but not the second in the poker game. BB makes it to the final table and ends up taking sixth. There are several guys that can shuffle chips one handed. Not cards. The chips.
I suspect they make a living playing these small tournaments every weekend. The top purse was around $800.00. The small ones are the bread and butter. Serious players all come for the big ones, with a high stake and a high buy in, but the competition has got to be fierce. Down on the small side, its mostly people flying in for their first time, or want to try the game after watching it on television. The competition isn’t as tight.
BB and I roam around afterward. We look for a place to Bungee jump, but that fad has passed, even the Stratosphere doesn’t do it anymore. We’re mainly on a liquid diet, but have a late meal at the House of Blues. Strangely, BB does not get the Voodoo decor.
Everywhere we stop, he asks the waitresses, “Where are all the women at?” They give him various answers.
I cringe, but at least he’s having a good time as we drink our way around the strip. We also go to Minus 5. I carve his name into the ice bar, I’m sure it has been smoothed away or replaced by now.
The ice bar has a photographer roaming around, she isn’t wearing anything to keep her warm, just a shirt and a skimpy dress despite the subzero temperature. Some guy asks her if she’s cold.
She says, “No, I’m used to it.”
“That’s because you’re coldhearted.” I say.
Her head jerks back in surprise and all the guys laugh. I can see her reappraising me. BB ruins it by apologizing . I can forgive him, he knows not what he does.
We pass wedding chapels. Some are tacky, some are beautiful, all of them are busy. The brides and the grooms are lined up. I have to wonder how these chapels to stupidity not only survive, but thrive.
Here we are in a city where a woman’s true hedonistic, narcissistic nature comes out of her camouflage. There is no way to not notice what they are by the way they behave, even with alcohol running in your veins, and yet men are throwing themselves on to the altar in some strange self immolation without flames.
She ditched the lucky groom somewhere
AB is a huge Criss Angel fan so we met AB, DMW and UMG at the Luxor. AB pulls me aside and tells me both DMW and UMG got on him for being happily unmarried. They acted like it was a character flaw on his part.
I look at him and I say, “Would you want to be either one of these guys?”
“Fuck no.”
“There’s your answer.”
“It just pisses me off. We got to get DMW to a strip show down at Glitter Gulch, man. I want to see some tits.”
“Alright.” Hell, it’s traditional with a bachelor party. What bachelor party doesn’t have strippers . . .
“We should get a private room.”
“No we shouldn’t.”
“Duuuude.”
I glance over at DMW, the guy is talking to his fiance giving her a run down of his day and talking in placating tones. “Do you really want to waste that kind of money on him?”
AB’s shoulders sag a little bit, “you’re right dude.”
BeLIEve is a Criss Angel thing for his show. It makes me want to look at all the words people toss around for what is embedded in them. The fact that lie is so obviously a part of believe strikes me as appropriate.
It’s one of the two things I like about the show, although overall it sucked, he’s just another magician. I dislike the atmospheric effects. If you have to fill the whole place with fog, it means your illusions suck.
As I mentioned earlier, it had a ton of C De S. dancing. If there are women running around dressed as bunnies, they better be playboy bunnies, and not some freakish looking things that only look vaguely like a woman.
The best part was when the whole thing goes in to a wedding montage where he kills the beautiful bride in white, and then a she-bitch claws her way out of his stomach and then cuts him in half with a chain saw.
If that isn’t a perfect example of the stages of marriage, I don’t know what is:
- Guy marries a girl he thinks is the perfect woman.
- Because of his stupid behaviors, he kills her love for him
- She becomes a raving bitch that claws at his insides
- She cuts him in half through divorce.
I can’t help laughing at the discomfiture of DMW and UMG. Afterward, DMW is back on the phone with his blushing bride haranguing him. AB is pushing to go to the area where the strip club is, DMW is reassuring his fiance that he isn’t seeing any nudity or being irresponsible.
I go to the bar and order a whiskey double and slam it back. I order three more doubles and slam them in quick succession. AB looks at me, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
DMW chuckles, “You just had four shots.”
I sneer, “They were doubles, I just had eight. Let’s go.”
I am now hammered. There world is nice and blurry, the way it should be for the whole trip.
“I think we can catch a bus.” AB says.
“Sounds good.” DMW says.
I look at them and even in my hazy thinking mode that I am in, I know this stupid. “We should grab a cab.”
“No no.”
“Fine.” I follow them out into the night. We find a bus station and wait. And wait. Two gay Asians are making out nearby, not caring who sees them. We see lots of openly gay, amorous couples in Vegas. BB is trying to keep me placated because he can see I’m becoming an angry drunk fast.
The bus does not come. I suggest a cab again. They reject the idea.
Finally AB notices the Hooters casino nearby and gets excited. I follow them there. DMW is getting visibly nervous. Nervous enough for a guy that just had eight shots to notice. We go inside and DMW immediately sees the Dan Marino restaurant and with relief goes rushing over there. The idea of women in T-shirts and orange shorts is too much more him.
Food is ordered. DMW is back on the phone trying to placate his fiance, I don’t remember what was said. I’m too stinking drunk.
I get an omelet and another whiskey. The restaurant is dead, next door is a male strip show. I can hear the women shouting with enthusiasm and I am wondering why things are so horribly wrong here. Why am I with four guys that can’t have the kind of fun those women are having?
I get up from my half-eaten omelet, toss a twenty on the table and leave without saying a word.
I feel despair as I walk into that night. What hope is there with men acting like that? Why shouldn’t civilization be destroyed if it makes such weakness? I text Alkibiades and tell him that he’s right and I’m wrong. I wonder now that I’m sober if I see things more clearly when I am drunk. That when I am sober I lie to myself about what can be accomplished, but when I’m drunk the sophistry is stripped away.
The idea gives me pause.
A pretty little thing stops me. She has her dish water blond hair in a ponytail, she’s wearing a decent shirt, jeans and sneakers. She has very little make up on. Fresh faced, and college aged, she looks likes the kind of girl you would want to marry.
“Are you alone?” She asks with a cheerful smile. Alarm bells should be going off, but I’m too drunk to hear them.
“Yes.”
“Me too. We should get together.”
“Sure.”
“It’ll just cost you $300.00.”
“$300.00?”
“For all the things I’m going to do to you.”
I laugh, “Sweetie, I don’t even buy girls drinks anymore.” and I walk off. In a city where every woman looks like a prostitute, I should’ve realized that the prostitutes would stand out by being the opposite.
Meanwhile . . .
The four amigos finally take a cab out to Glitter Gulch. AB bought DMW one of the giant 44 oz margaritas, but the pussy only drank three sips from it.
AB tries to get DMW to enter the strip club, but he refuses and says “I’m going to take the high road. You guys can go in, I’m going to catch a cab.”
None of them go to the strip club, but head back in the cab and get to bed. AB leaves me an angry message about taking the “fucking low road” when we get together tomorrow.
Now I’m drunk, angry and probably self destructive. I run by the store with the “FCUK” sign and take it’s picture . . . repeatedly. I hit bars and approach women. Being drunk is a stupid way to try pick up, but I don’t care. The rest of the evening is a bunch or crazy images.
I see a woman by herself near the bathroom of one bar. I decide to try the apocalypse opener. As I’m going through the questions, I notice a guy come out of the bathroom carrying his beer. What kind of tool takes his drink into the bathroom?
The kind of tool that has me hitting his girlfriend with direct game apparently . . .
Even now, I am not sure how I kept from getting punched.
