I’ve been trying to write this bad boy for the last couple days. Just a simple blog. Sum up my feelings of the events of last week. However I haven’t been able to. You see, for the last 3 days I’ve been hung over. My mind has been shot. Creative juices. Zero. Motor skills. Non-existent.
(This brings me to my next point… I would like to remind my audience that if there are any spelling, or grammatical errors in the next few paragraphs, it is indeed because I am still drunk. As are most of these post here at Sarcasm.)
For those of you who don’t already know, I was in Las Vegas for the last weekend and apparently tried to commit suicide via drinking as much booze as my poor little liver and kidneys could handle.
It all started when my friend JDub informed me that her work was providing her with a hotel suite at the Mirage hotel in Las Vegas for one week. She was to work a show and be done Friday afternoon and have nothing to do the remainder of the weekend. So the logical choice was to ask me and a number of other friends to join her for some much need binge drinkingrest and relaxation. I immediately agreed for the thought of some time away from The Gym got me all giddy inside. Although the invite was extended to a many of peoples, the one confirmed attendee would be none other than Mr. Thompson.
Mr. Thompson and I go way back to our radio days. We worked very hard on a radio show being awesome and funny. No seriously. Awesome and funny. We were like John Stockton and Karl Malone(minus the short shorts). Or Rob and Big. Or Sammy Davis Jr. (minus the eye thing) and Frank Sinatra (or any of the other white dudes in the Rat Pack.) Basically what I’m trying to get at is we were the perfect tag team comedy show and qualified for equal opportunity employment.
It’s also worth noting, that before my friend Mr. Thompson moved to LA, he, JDub and I had formed a coalition of sorts. This coalition of sorts, was based around the three alcoholic beverages that we so gladly devoured and worshiped. Mine, was, and still is to this day, Mr. Jack Daniels. Mr. Thompson’s was Crown Royal. (it’s changed) and JDub’s was none other than Jose Cuervo. There may actually be a picture of the three of us chugging straight from the bottles of these fine spirits on one of my birthdays. The Coalition was a force to be reckoned with (and a driving force in sales of said liquors. Mr. Thompson and I had been known to get black out drunk Wed-Sundays. Ahhh radio.)
So we were destined to meet in the City of Sin.
I flew all by myself (a point that shall be very important later on) Mr. Thompson drove in from LA, and JDub was already there. As I was the second to arrive I made the executive decision to purchase the first bottle of booze on the trip. It was indeed JD and it was glorious. JDub still needed some to finish up the event, so I took it upon myself to sit and watch Leave it to Lamas in my bathrobe. And get drunk.
Mr. Thompson arrived and the decision we all came up with was to go to Pure at Caesars Palace. We got ourselves dolled up, and there was an actual conversation between Mr. Thompson and I regarding pant length, shoe choice, and which shirt looked best. I believe there were numerous comments from the JDub camp regarding our sexuality, to which we decided to ignore and continue said conversations until we looked smashing!
We made our way to Pure and upon paying a ridiculous amount to get in found our way to an open spot on the dance floor. Were we got our groove on to many of today’s hottest hits. At one point, some dude was grinding on a honey in front of me when I noticed a giant eagle on his back that reflected off the lights in the club. I quickly took it upon myself to start the Napoleon Dynamite Happy Hands club motion behind him in a mocking maneuver. To which the nice Asian lady to the right of our group saw, and began to giggle. Pretty sure there was a mental high five given, and received.
The night wore on, as did our intense drinking. At one point, Mr. Thompson was getting the eye from a classy girl dressed in a Zebra print dress standing in the VIP. Somehow or another, she got Mr. Thompson into the VIP area, which he in turn got me, which she in turn got JDub. So there we were, all in VIP. Having a good time, not buying bottle service. Not buying drinks from the bar, and in actuality, having drinks spilled all over my pants. Like ALL over. Right in front. Pretty much where my junk was. It was also very awesome of the bouncer to flash his flashlight right on my crotch. Allowing everyone in VIP to see my junk, and that it looked very much like I’d wet myself. Awesome.
During our time in VIP I learned that Zebra, was just a girl looking to make it big in Sin City. She moved out here from Arizona, and was just hanging with a group of her “friends” in the VIP area. Indeed her friends were dressed as “classy” as she was, and things began to dawn on JDub and I. Mr Thompson had moved his attentions away from Zebra to some dude I believe he met in the VIP area. I’m not sure what the exchange was all about, however Mr. Thompson was the only one who left the VIP area with a number.
It must be said, that while Mr. Thompson did leave the club with a number, it was JDub that could have left with much much more. After we all stopped paying attention to Zebra, she moved on to a new group of gentlemen. We decided that VIP was not our “scene” so we luckily enough were able to retrieve our previous spot on the dance floor and “posted up.” While posting up, we made it out to the dance floor a number of times to dance to a delightful ditty or two. On one said ditty, JDub were out there busting some moves and generally making people jealous of our awesomeness. So jealous that a bouncer came up to JDub grabbed her arm, and escorted away from me. Mid-Maneuver!! In most cases, I probably would have been concerned and been all what the fuck! where are you taking her. However Jack had indeed been invited and was beginning to take over the party. So instead of getting indignant and protective, I merely said… meh.
Apparently, Mickey, one of PURE’s finest bouncer, took a liking to our friend JDub. So much so, that he removed her form the dance floor and took her up to a stage area, where low and behold, only females were up there dancing. With one exception. Chris Angel was also up on said stage and there were throngs of women around him. Including our own little JDub. Mr. Thompson and I knew it was only a matter of minutes before America’s Douchiest Man got wind of our JDub and would be Mindfreaking her all night long. It was at that moment, we decided to act. And act fast we did. Mr. Thompson and I put our minds together, and worked out an ingenious plan. We pushed our way through the crowd, got as close as we could….. and ordered another round!
The night wore on, JDub got away from Mickey’s evil clutches, I was essentially blacked out, and Mr. Thompson had gotten a dudes phone number in the VIP of PURE. We decided to call it a night and began the walk back to our hotel room where some much needed sleep was in order. However, along the way, as we walked past the tall bushes that line the front of Caesars Palace for some reason or another, I fell into the bushes. Which actually prompted Mr. Thompson to start sprinting down Las Vegas Blvd. beacuase he didn’t want to be caught by the cops. Of course, as JDub described that next afternoon, “walking home with you guys was like trying to herd wild cats.” Mr. Thompson and I high fived. Excellent.
The next afternoon, we all awoke de-hydrated and damn near dead. Some of us were worse for wear. I, because of my alcoholism, looked at the half bottle of Jack Daniels left in the room, and realized, “I’m not hung over. I can’t remember many of the events from last night. Half a bottle of Jack is gone… maybe now would be a good time to address actually having a problem.” Little did I know that that statement would come much later in the trip. Upon everyone waking up, we had a little chat about the nights previous events. Mr. Thompson and I began a dazzling display of insults and jabs directed at JDub about her time with Chris Angel.
Mr Thompson or I: “JDub how did it feel getting Mindfreaked?!?”
JDub: “I didn’t get Mindfreaked!”
Mr. Thompson: “We saw you inching your way toward him! It was impressive.”
JDub: “I don’t even like Chris Angel. He’s a douche…”
Me: “No way, I saw you put the head bob, fling the hair, jazz hands move on him.”
Mr. Thompson: “mmmmmhmmm.”
JDub “You guys, stop. I did not get Mindfreaked.”
Me: “Mr. Thompson, guess what the best thing about getting Mindfreaked is….”
Mr. Thompson: “What?”
Me: “You don’t even know it’s happening so when you get up the next day, you can tell all your friends you met Chris Angel but didn’t get Mindfreaked…”
JDub: “I. DID. NOT. GET. MINDFREAKED*!!
Mr. Thompson and I: *laughter*
JDub: FINE! You guys want to do this!?!?! What about you Mr. Thompson getting worked over by a HOOKER!?!
Mr. Thompson: “WHAAAAA?!?!”
(*At some point, we stopped saying Mindfreaked, and started saying “done in the ass.” We figure a douche like Chris Angel would do something like that. If you re-read this exchange, I’m pretty sure it’s funnier with “done in the ass.” However here at Sarcasm, I at least attempt to show some tact and class in the beginning.)
The mere mention of the Hooker brought Mr. Thompson on the defensive. “What hooker?!?” “There was no hooker!”And then JDub and I began replaying the nights events out loud. The more and more we described a hooker, the more and more Mr. Thompson got defensive.
Mr. Thompson: “She was not a hooker! She was just a small town girl trying to make it big in the city.”
Me: “Dude, she was a hooker. Even “I” knew that. (This statement was indeed powerful because on one of my trips to Vegas, I got to know a nice young lady, only to find out she was a hooker by some friends the next day. I just thought she was being polite.)
JDub: “Mr. Thompson, she was totally working you. She got you into VIP hoping you’d buy shit and the club would get a percentage.”
Mr. Thompson: “No way, she just knew the bouncers. She said she goes there all the time.”
Me: “Dude.”
JDub: “Did you not see her with her friends? They were hookers too!”
Mr. Thompson: “It was just girls night.”
Me: “Duuude.”
JDub: “And PLEASE! You know of ANY classy girls that rock a short ass Zebra dress into the VIP?!?”
Mr. Thompson: “Maybe Forever 21 was just having a sale.”
Me: “DUDE!”
JDub: “She moved on to the next dude, who bought shit, after you stopped paying attention to her!”
Mr. Thompson: “She felt dejected after I turned her down.”
Me: “Dude. Seriously. Hook. Er.”
Mr. Thompson: “She wasn’t a hooker. She was a nice girl.”
Me: “Hooker man.”
Mr. Thompson: “I don’t believe you.”
The best part of this whole interaction is through out the rest of the day, at random times, Mr. Thompson would just say “She wasn’t a hooker.” Which made both JDub and I laugh a bit, and repeat, Dude, she was a hooker. The battle was finally given up later that evening after Mr. Thompson had a conversation with his sister. To which she replied, that she would have had to have seen the girl, and other details before she could make and informed decision, however…. it was most likely a hooker.
To Be Continued…
Until Next Time…
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SarcasmAsAWeapon@gmail.com
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