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Monday, August 20, 2012

Who wants to hire a Manny?

A savvy gambler like me knows how to hedge bets, cut their losses, take flyers, and keep profits.

That's why, in case things don't go too well at North American Veeblefetzer this year, I have an Ace up my hole.

If things go south on the size 7 grommet line, the Ace in my hole is this: my own business.

And this is, I'm telling you, the business of the future. Because everyone wants - and everyone needs - a Manny.

Yes, I am going to open a full-service establishment that provides top-quality high school trained Mannys.

So what is a Manny? Well, a Manny is a male Nanny. Someone to look after and pamper you, the way you deserve to be can afford to be pampered.

What can a Manny do for you?

Well, a Manny will wax your car, strip wallpaper, stay online with Bell Canada to get rebates, and make you dinner. For example, take-out Thai food you eat at home.

A Manny can cook your favorite foods. Even if you have a salt craving.
A top quality Manny will feed your creatures. A Manny will even pick up their poop, and look suave while doing it.

I'm telling you, like 4-11-44, this time, it just can't lose.

I'm working on a Manny franchise model too, in case you want in on the ground floor. (Call me!)




Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Vegas Live Update - the Penny Drops

I have a way with women. I know just what to say to make them feel at ease.

For example, Chippy and I were just at the Flusherville Solo grocery store (we're one of the last towns on the planet that has one). I was minding my own business, about to set about getting some much needed groceries.


I parked the beat up Tercel. Went into the Solo store - and I realized I forgot my re-usable bags which were on the passenger seat. It was a good thing I did, because Chippy, who had been in the back, had her head caught between the bucket seats trying to get at a piece of candy cane on the floor in the front.

A fairly attractive middle aged woman about to get into the car next to mine scooped something off the parking lot asphalt. I liked what I saw - after all, she was female. I don't care much for looks - I'm an equal opportunity offender.

"Get anything good?" I asked, smoothly.

"A dime!" she replied, standing up and brushing her hair back over one ear. She had a nice ear.

"Nice - a dime, eh?" I replied, smoothly.

"I bend over for pennies," she said, a little embarrassed. Nice looking, frugal woman.

"Okay. Here's a penny," I replied, and lifted one eyebrow at her.

---

When I regained consciousness, I picked up the bags, and did the grocery shopping. I'm on my own with Chippy while Mrs. Flusher tears up Vegas with the MotherFlusher.

And they are having a blast, of course. The M.F. got Aces on Bonus Poker, twice, in about 15 minutes. One of them was dealt. Good for her, I hope she gets her first ever royal this trip.

When I got home, I checked my FlusherMail and there were some nice hits in there from the Quad Queen.

Here's a sampling.

M.F.'s Aces:


Too bad she wasn't playing Double Double - both had the kicker...

Quad Queen Quads:

Quad Queen - dealt Queens. On 50cent too.


$125 hit. How did she lose $220 yesterday??????
Ahhh now we are getting somewhere! $200 hit.

Triple Bonus Plus with the weird 600 credit payout. I'll take it!
This just in... must be one of the Four Queens Bars. Grrrr. I really should be there.




Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Mrs. Flusher is Kicking the Ass of Lass Vegass

Mrs. F. is in Las Vegas without me. It's unbelievable but it's true. She's there, and I'm here, and I'm not there.

She's had two losing days in a row... $620, and around $300 yesterday. Unheard of!

Today is going better.

In the last hour and a half:

Four King Amazing... $125

This looks like a dalt quad at the Four Queens bar for $62.50 (progressive, actually)

Four 8s for $62.
Moved up to 50 cent level...

How does she do it? Four 4s dealt on Bonus Poker for $50.

Four Aces for $100 on BP.
Me: had frosted "Mini" wheats for breakfast. Jagged off a couple of times while watching hot sportscaster on TSN. Cut Chippy's nails. Put mercurochrome on my scratches. Put off a shower for the 2nd 3rd 4th day. Did some paperwork. Vacuumed the living room (dog nails). Worked up a hell of a sweat and a sore back moving some cement filled concrete cinder blocks from my property out behind the Solo grocery store. I've moved about 60 of these in the last week or two and have about 300 to go.

Her: got up, had leisurely bubble bath in Rush tower, breakfast at Du-pars, then drinks and gambling in the casino.

Fuck my life.

Late breaking additions:

Third dealt quad today for the QQ. WTF.

Yes, its Aces again for $100. I wonder how much it costs to get them?



Monday, August 13, 2012

Olympic Epilogue

It was the next day. Trip over. On the red-eye flight home, I’d hardly slept a wink, wondering and scheming and fuming. I hauled the luggage to the front door, unlocked the house and stumbled, exhausted, straight to the phone.

I called the ElCo slot club.

“Hi, I’m Royal Flusher… did I win $250 in the slot tournament?”

“Let me check…”

I waited.

“Yup, you won second prize. Congratulations. Just come in and pick up your money before the day is out.”

I explained the situation. I was in Canada. Thousands of miles away. Could he mail it? Could I fax in my ticket? Could someone else pick it up?

“You have to be here, in person, to win. Sorry, sounds like yer done.”

“No way. I’m not done. I’m not done with you yet. I know I can crack that slot tournament. I want my money – I’m not done with the El Cortez!’

The slot club boothling replied, “Take it easy.”

The Final Final Score

Quads: QQ: 62 RF: 34
Straights Flush: QQ: 1 RF: 5 (including one on Deuces for a measly 45 quarters)
Royals Flush: QQ: 1 RF: 1
Wild Royals Flush: QQ: 4 RF: 13 RF’s
Four Deuces hands on Deuces Wild:  0

Overall Gambling Win/Loss on Trip
QQ:     $ -12.00
RF: $ -1,146.00

Comps and Freebies:
FQ Meals $ 60.00
MSS Meat Coupons $ 50.00
 Jewelled Rats $  0.02
MGM Freeplay $ 15.00
Fitz Freeplay $ 40.00
MSS cashback $ 44.00
Meals at MSS $ 76.00 FQ
 Freeplay $ 80.00
Steak dinner $  9.00
MSS Meals $ 25.00
Wynn freeplay $100.00
Wynn Room $120.00
Room comps $560.00
Fitz Steak Coupons $  45.00
FQ Cashback $165.00

TOTAL COMPS: $1389.02

Once again, the Quad Queen demonstrated why she earned that name, out-quading me almost 2 to 1. I rationalize this by the fact that I played a lot more Deuces Wild than she did (which yields fewer quads) in search of the Triumphant Four Deuces hand.

In spite of my Royal Flush and Poker Tournament wins, I had pretty poor results, compared to QQ who also had a Royal. Room comps are valued conservatively, based on $50 a night. The room at Wynn would have sold for easily three or four times this, but our cheap asses would never pay that much. Overall, our comps and freebies more than offset our combined losses, making this, on paper, a winning trip.

Sadly, our wonderful Labradane Duke relapsed a few months after this trip. On a beautiful, horrible, sunny morning in August we bade him farewell.

No trip report has come from him, but then again, dogs don’t write very well. And actually, sometimes under the full moon I feel that he is not very far from my side at all. He is certainly in our hearts always.

There are, sadly, some games in which the house edge can never, ever be overcome. But they are still worth playing.


Goodbye to my beautiful golden-eyed boy.





Sunday, August 12, 2012

Poker When You Can - part 2

For the next few hands I pretty much just bit my nails and sweated it out. I took a gamble on some okay hole cards and ended up losing about a quarter of my stack. The next hand someone went all in and got put out and we were down to nine competitors left. I told myself again, the best strategy for now was to lay low, and let the others players take people out of the game. The top four would win prize money - maybe I could limp in. I’d fold on every hand unless I had something really good.

And so, naturally, I played another bad hand and lost half my stack.

I would have to be very careful and sit tight and concentrate, dammit. Some of the other players did the dirty work as the field was narrowed to eight, then seven, then six. I found myself in a showdown and put out number six myself. We were five. By now the blinds were extremely high and it was costing me a lot just to stay in even if I folded. I held tight. I could do this.

I managed to win a few small pots and built my reserves back up. Then I caught King-Queen suited and on the flop laid eyes on the beautiful Ten and Ace. Again, I was sitting on four cards to a Royal Flush. I bet heavily, and chased most of the table out of the pot. The turn was a nothing card. Where was the damn Jack I needed? The river card came out… and I had my flush. But not a Royal. It was good enough to win me quite a few chips, though and I was back in it.

A few hands later, a nice fellow named Falcon Rob was busted out and I’d made it to the money! Unreal!

Next hand, I ended up in a three-way showdown. I toyed about raising and going all-in, because if I lost I’d only have a handful of chips left anyway. I decided not to be rash.

And it was disastrous for me. A fellow known as Lars Vegas at the end of the table won the hand taking out the fourth place finisher.

Somehow I managed to take out the third place finisher on a showdown.

It was just me and Lars.

And Lars was now a force to be reckoned with because he now had about ten times the chips I did, and with the blinds coming at me hard and fast two hands out of four, I couldn’t survive more than about four or five more hands.

There was only one thing to do.

On the next hand, I barely looked at my hole cards and confidently pushed all my chips forward.

“All in.”

This could be it. Was I done? My opponent looked at his hole cards and folded. I took all my chips back, plus a few of his.

Next hand.

“All in.” I pushed my chips in again, again trying to steal the blinds.

Again he let me off the hook. I was slowly gaining some ground, but how long could this go on?

Next hand.

I had a strong pair.

“All in.” I was beginning to get used to this. But this time Lars called. We both stood up to see how the cards would fall. The crowd of onlookers leaned in. Would this be the end for me? But no, I won the hand, doubling up my chips.

Okay, so far so good.

Next hand, I had some okay hole cards. The big friendly guy across the table limped in with a small raise. I called. The flop came and I was looking good with three of kind.

“All in.”

Lars matched my bet. Again, I was staring out across the abyss. The cards came out. Lars had three eights.

But, I had three nines.

And as I eyed his chips, I could see something amazing. I was pretty sure I had a tiny chip lead on him. I now had a legitimate shot at winning it all.

I was dealt a nice looking Queen-Three of diamonds. Okay. We both checked. The flop came. Six, seven of diamonds, and a King.

I heard a voice coming from the end of the table. “All in.”

Lars pushed his chips in. He undoubtedly had a King. I was looking at a draw to a flush. All I needed was one more diamond. And for Lars not to pull a full house.

“All in.”

This was it. A buzz of excitement went through the room and we stood up to watch the cards. Someone was going to win the tournament on this hand. If Lars managed to win the hand, I wouldn’t have chips enough left for the next blind and I'd be done. It was do or die.

Lars turned over his cards. He’d been bluffing.

The river card came down.

King of Diamonds. The beautiful King of Diamonds! I had a King high flush. The final card was the Queen of Hearts but it didn’t matter – somehow, I’d won the first ever poker tournament I'd ever played in!

There were lots of congratulations and picture taking, plus shots of Patron tequila. I didn’t care if I had an empty stomach, it tasted fantastic to me. I was presented with a bracelet and best of all $600 in prize money.


Dougie, who organized and ran the tournament, congratulated me and leaned over and whispered, “It’s customary to tip the dealers.”

“How much?”

“Forty, or maybe sixty which is 10% of the pot – its up to you.”

By this point my hands were shaking with the adrenalin. I could barely focus my eyes, which were watering from the tequila. I got my wallet out and fished out a bill from my stack of twenties and tossed it onto the felt.

Then a second.

And I thought, hey, why not share the wealth? I tossed a third out. The dealers would appreciate $60 between them, I was sure.

Then there was a kind of hubbub, and as I stood up, the head of the poker room came over and threw her arms around me.

“Thank you sir, thank you. Thanks for taking care of us! Come back, come back anytime!”

Someone else said, “Holy shit, Royal Flusher just tipped the dealers $150!”

I looked down and sure enough, I’d fished out three fifty dollar bills, not twenties!

Dougie leaned over and said, “Hey man, didn’t you hear me? I said sixty bucks max!”

I looked at him and kind of bit my tongue. “Well, uh….” Oh SHIT I was thinking. A quarter of my prize money GONE. “Uh… well, we all had a good time and uh, I’m just happy to be here and participating… I didn’t expect to win and uh… hey, why not share the love?”

I was so stupefied that I never, ever told a soul at the tournament about it. (Until now.)

But hey – what could I possibly have to complain about? I’d had the experience of a lifetime and it was worth every penny.

Dougie gave me a lift downtown and I busted into the the room, a shit-eating grin on my face.

The Quad Queen looked up from her packing. “How’d you do?”

All my self doubts of the week were gone. I held my arm high, silver bracelet on my wrist.

“I won the fucker.”

“Oh my God, how????”

Smugly, I smiled and replied, “The Royal Flusher Way, that’s how.”

The Score

Triumphant First-Ever-Vegas-Hold’em-Poker-Tournament Wins: RF: 1
Cool-looking Semi-precious Metal Poker Tournament Bracelet That I’ll Treasure Forever: RF: 1
Clean and Jerk Olympic Gold Medals: RF: 1, QQ: 0
Wasted luck at El Cortez Daily Slot Tournament: RF: 1

Clean and Jerk Final Standings
RF Bets: $50 Hockey Winnings (and Gold Medal): $117.60
QQ Bets: none Winnings: $64.75





Saturday, August 11, 2012

Closing Ceremonies –or- Poker When You Can

Our last day started as usual with our morning session of VP, followed by breakfast at Magnolia’s. Really, though, what did we have yet to prove? It had been an awesome trip, with Royals, poker wins, and non-stop thrilling R.F.G.G.O.F.O.L.V. action.

We kicked around Fremont for a while playing here and there, and then I remembered that I needed to check my Clean and Jerk $50 sports bet.

Sure enough, the Leafs and Canadiens had combined for only 5 goals and my ticket was worth $97.60! I was on the Clean and Jerk board in a big, big way in what had turned out to be an incredibly dull contest of gambling prowess. The final results were RF: $117.60 QQ: $64.75. It was another Olympic Gold Medal for yours truly.

Then I had a thought – we could try something we’d never tried before.

“Hey, let’s do the free daily slot tournament at the ElCo.”

We strolled in the spring sunshine to the El Cortez and got set up with a machine each at the slot club. Basically, once the five minute timer starts, you pound the Spin button as quickly as you can, non-stop, like some sort of gambling lab rat on crystal meth.

I was hitting a few things and getting some points.

“How’re you doing?” I asked.

“I have nothing… so far.”

“Hmmm. I have a couple thousand. Keep going!”

By the time our session was over, I’d picked up 10,984 points. Not bad.

“I got 10,984. What did you get?”

“Ummm. I have two.”

“Two entries? Two what?”

“Two points.”

We had to laugh. It was just ludicrous. I decided to see how I’d done compared to the leaders and checked it out on a display they have – and I was in the lead!

The day was young though and there would be many more competitors.

We played around the ElCo, reminiscing about our trip, having a few drinks at the bar and getting the odd dinger. Just before it was time to grab a free meat meal at the Fitz coffee shop, we checked the standings again. I was solidly in second place. If things held, I’d could win $250.

It would be the perfect ending to an amazing trip. It would be the capper experience to nicely button down all we’d experienced, all the trials, and all the victories that we’d won together.

That’s when I checked the rules.

The tournament ended at 3:00am - when we’d be at 39,000 feet on our way back to Flusherville Regional Aerodrome, via Toronto. Any prizes had to be claimed in person without 24 hours of the end of the tournament.

I was fuming.

I needed to shake the rust off and do something different. The Olympics were a lot of fun, sure enough, but we were just getting killed in the bankroll. (And by ‘we’ I mean ‘I’.) Maybe I was a little jealous of the Queen’s latest Royal. Maybe I was tired of video poker. I felt stale and jaded. Was it time to just fold the tent and go home?

No. For that would not be the Royal Flusher Way.

It was time to go on some sort of vision-quest-o-gambling and set off into the desert on my own, with nothing but a couple of pieces of Jerky from the Cal, a plug of licorice, a corn cob pipe, some lip balm, and maybe a half-bottle of water. I’d take it back to basics. No computer-driven gambling. No video screen. No beeps, grunts, or dingers. Just gambling about as pure as it can get, mano a mano – me, some cards, and 59 strangers.

A Vegas site was having a get together and I’d been invited to their annual poker tournament. I’d never met any of the participants in person before, so I buttoned my shirt down tight over my kidneys (in case they tried to harvest them), kissed Mme. Flushere, and said my goodbyes, knowing there was a better than even chance I would not come back (financially) alive.

After all, I’d played a lot of kitchen table poker, but precious little hold ‘em, never in a casino, never for real money, and never in a tournament.

Taking the Deuce through downtown towards the Flamingo, I looked at the boarded up businesses and wondered if I was in over my head. The ride seemed to take forever and with just 10 minutes to spare, and still a long Strip block from my destination, I toyed with the idea of just not showing up and saving my $65 buy-in.

Alone, I strolled through the doors of the Flamingo and found the poker room. I was the last to register and before I knew it I was assigned a seat, met two or three people, and the cards were flying.

I quickly learned how the blinds worked, and made some dumb mistakes – such as throwing out a chip bigger than the bet I wanted to make. If you didn’t call it first, the chip was your bet. I was stuck betting twice more than what I wanted.

It was nerve-wracking being a green beginner. I could barely handle my chips without knocking over my carefully piled stacks. Hell, I was playing against many extremely experienced recreational players, Vegas casino dealers, and even some folks who had played in the World Series of Poker. It was a Sticky situation.

I ordered a Jack on ice and caught pocket fours. The flop showed me another four and I raised. I caught two or three other players by the showdown and won a modest pot. A couple of hands later another three of a kind brought me another modest pot. I was playing cards.

Before much longer, the first player in the tournament was out. I said a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t me. And soon after that, the first player from our table was put out in a showdown.

The cards were coming to me. Sometimes they do, and sometimes no matter what you try, they don’t. But today, they were coming. I won a couple of additional pots, and even bet half my stack on a hand in which I ended up with a four of a kind that no-one saw.

The laughs were coming easier, and some of the people who had been put out were milling around, meeting new friends, and taking the piss out of old ones. I was starting to feel pretty comfortable. I’d had that quad, three sets of trips, and two flushes. It had been a pretty nice run so far.

Our table was down to three or four players out of the original ten and I had the chip lead out of the four of us. That was when the organizers consolidated the players still in the tournament into three full tables. I picked up my chips and moved to a new spot next to an affable big fellow named Hurricane Mikey. When I took a look around, I was probably about in the middle when it came to the chip count. Not bad.

Play resumed and after a few hands I was dealt Ace King of diamonds. The flop came down showing the Ten and the Jack of diamonds. I almost wet myself right there. I quickly figured out how many cards were left in the deck and almost wet myself right there again as I realized I had about a one in fifteen shot of getting a Royal Flush.

What else could I do? The Royal Flusher Way was to go all in. Everyone else ended up folding except one guy, who called me.

Now, I thought, I have about a fourteen in fifteen shot at getting my ass kicked and ending up out of the tournament.

The turn card gave me a pair, and the river card… was the wrong color. No Royal. My opponent had the same pair I did and we ended up splitting the pot back. I was still alive.

Time passed, I folded a lot, and then I made a deadly mistake. I was dealt King Jack unsuited and didn’t really believe in my cards, but for some reason I limped in on the betting, and then got stupid cocky and raised. I was re-raised by about triple my raise and instead of coming in way over the top in a big bluff, or simply calling, or even folding… I made a weak raise back. I might as well have showed my neck to the executioner.

My opponent jumped all over me with a huge raise and of course, I had to back down and fold. It was either that or go to the showdown with rags.

Well, I thought, at least I’d had a lot of fun in this tournament. And a little voice inside said, ‘Flusher… no… this is your poker vision quest. Listen to me, the little voice inside. Play the very best you can… do not mentally accept giving up. Keep going!’ 

Okay. I had some work to do.

Play continued and one or two players from our table were put out, and before I knew it the announcement came. There was another consolidation and a 20 minute break.

I’d made the final table of ten. And I had a decent amount of chips – probably the third highest at the table. I was in way over my head.

Because I was on a poker vision-quest, I hadn’t had lunch. And honestly, I was just starving and suffering from a low blood-sugar crash. I felt dizzy and nervous and shaky. I felt a bit loopy, somewhat spazzy, and a little itchy. And slightly sweaty. Yeah, I also felt slightly sweaty. But dehydrated. That was it, I felt dizzy, nervous, shaky, loopy, spazzy, itchy, sweaty and thirsty. And a very excited. And overwhelmed. And anxious. 

I high-tailed it off into the Flamingo in search of some quick food. I found… a huge Snickers bar at the gift shop. I also put in a call to the QQ since the tournament had been on for many hours and I was way later than I thought I’d be. I gave her the update and suggested I probably wouldn’t last much longer. But... I had a shot.

"How do you feel?" she asked?

"Dizzy, nervous, shaky, loopy, spazzy, itchy, sweaty, thirsty, excited, overwhelmed, and anxious."

Strolling back to the poker room, I noticed everyone was seated and ready to go. I’d almost missed the re-start and been disqualified. This whole enterprise had been hanging by a thread from the get-go. How much further could I really expect to get?




Friday, August 10, 2012

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend

Breakfast at Magnolia’s that morning was a quiet affair. Mrs. F had Old Reliable (28th club sandwich of the trip). I had chicken fried steak (with somewhat dodgy country gravy).

We charged breakfast to the room and set off to see about some free dinner – to the Meat Machines at the Fitz! Mrs. F. made short work of the task hitting four sevens for $31.25 and a free steak dinner. We’d won so many meat coupons that I started to fear for Greg the Horse’s future.

Would he be turning up at the Queen’s plate?

I played only $5 through and then sat back to watch the Quad Queen bang out yet another one, a $50 quad this time. (I declined to mention that the hundred dollar dash would have also been a good time to hit some quads, sensitive, caring soul that I am.)

The attendant remarked as he filled out her "free steak with four-of-a-kind" coupon, “You again… get a Royal and we’ll give you the whole cow.”

I felt a desperate need to make some more magic happen. For me, this meant a trip back to the room at an opportune moment while Mrs. F. continued the Meat quest.

After a restful sojourn on my throne, I got ready to leave the room and the thought popped into my head that this was the sort of occasion on which the Missus usually hit a Royal and I should bring the camera. ‘Nonsense’ my ego yelled to my id, and off I went to find her.

When I arrived at the machines, she wasn’t playing. I thought, well this could be really bad news, or maybe it could be good news.

I walked close enough to see her screen – and found she had stopped playing because she’d hit a Royal Flush in Diamonds for $1000. A wonderful, beautiful, trip (partly) saving, automatic gold medal awarding Royal Flush!

Sadly, they had refused to actually award a meat coupon, or a cow. Free meat was for quads only.

Well fine. I fished out five quarters and plunked them into the machine next to her. I played for half an hour on those five quarters, some 250 hands. When I had the machine up to $20 in credits, I hit a quad for an additional $31.25, plus free meat.


Meanwhile, the Clean and Jerk stakes were starting to get serious – today we’d each have to bet $50 in one shot. The over/under on the Leafs vs. Canadiens game that night was 6 – I bet $50 on the under. Mrs. F had decided to go for a $50 slot pull.

We strolled over to the Nugget, to the high-limit area and she picked her machine and fed a $100 bill into it, planning to cash out after one $50 pull. She pressed the Bet One Credit button and pulled the handle.

I heard a ding. She’d hit… something. I looked and it was three spaces. The little sneak had picked a machine that returned your bet if no symbols lined up. She’d broken even at the $50 level of the Clean and Jerk.

We stood thus: RF: $20 QQ: $64.75, with my $50 hockey bet still outstanding

We tooled around Fremont street a bit. I suspected Mrs. F. was feeling the same way I was – a little tired, a little tired of losing, and a little down as our trip was close to ending.

The day was frittered away, wandering here and there, from casino to casino. It was sort of like Christmas day once all the presents have been opened already, when you are content to kind of while away the hours, knowing that most of the excitement is already behind you.

The Score Royal Flushes in Diamonds!: QQ: 1, RF: 0
Club Sandwiches: QQ (at least 2, with somewhat dodgy bacon)
Chicken Fried Steaks with very dodgy ‘country gravy’: RF: 1
Restful sojourns upon throne resulting in Royal Flushes: RF: 1
Free Meat Coupons: 2

Clean and Jerk: RF Bets: none Winnings: $20 QQ Bets: $50 slot machine Winnings: $64.75




Thursday, August 9, 2012

The Hundred Dollar Dash

Hundred Dollar Dash

We awoke early and wandered through the just opened Palazzo next door, where I found myself paying the equivalent of a lawyer’s fee for a latte. Ouch.

You might have noticed that the Clean and Jerk event wasn’t run for a few days. This was due to an intoxication delay.

For my Clean and Jerk $10 bet, I found myself playing the rather sensual game of Lucky Ladies BJ where some combination of cards in a blackjack paid some sort of bonus. Happily I won my hand to end up with $20.

The Equestrian Queen had a bet in mind she wanted to make later so we shelved that and moved on to the $25 level, having gotten a bit behind in our cleaning and jerking.

As you recall, we’d played $1 (keno), and $2 (big wheel). You might notice the missing $5 level. We actually played it on this day just after the $25 level. But its too confusing if you write it up the way it happened. Suffice it to say that I lost $5 at War and later that day, Mrs. F won (for some reason we don’t fully grasp) $4.75 on a $5 Pai Gow bet. Probably some sort of percentage vig charged on the particular bet she made. Are you thoroughly confused? Here’s the important bit – the standings were:

RF: $20 QQ: $14.75

Zooming back into the present, I laid out $25 at a mini-Baccarat spread while the pit boss sweated the game. The reason? It was the dealer’s first time dealing the game – ever. Surely this would bode well for me.

We watched her strip the decks, mixing the cards thoroughly for about 10 minutes. Finally she was ready. And in six seconds of actual play my green chip was gone.


Mrs. F fared no better at roulette. She spread five reds across the layout and hit nada for her trouble.

This event was really starting to worry me. The stakes were getting ever higher, and there was no drama to write about whatsoever. Read the previous four paragraphs, aren’t they just dull and listless, like a senior without their little liver pills?

Casino Royale still had the valuable quad bonus play going on and we picked up our free coupon sheets which feature a $25 bonus on any quad. (NB: This play is now long dead. R.F.) This is gold for the knowledgeable quarter VP player. They also have a some-what bogus $50 in free slot play on some somewhat-bogus special slots that only pay you money if you hit one of the three top payouts. I played and played and played… continually winning marginal amounts of credits, since these machines are set ridiculously loose, but never hitting one of the money-paying combinations. It got to the point where with each spin I was afraid I would win more credits, prolonging the boring agony.

Finally I was done and we sidled up to a couple of unsuspecting slant tops. Within 15 minutes we’d both hit a quad, and both gotten our $25 bonuses. In fact, I put $5 in and took $50 out. Mrs. F doubled up from a $25 buy-in. Weren’t we the schmart casino-hundts!!!

We beat the lineup at Denny’s and grabbed a good’n greasy breakfast, then strolled down to Bill’s Casino (nee Barbary Coast) where we signed up at the slot club to get their coupon book, which included some match plays.

“Just how fun is this fun-book?” I asked the cute boothling.

“It’s dangerously fun!” she replied inexplicably.

Just for laughs we both won a bit of dough on some dangerously fun short-pay VP and then blew through the dangerously fun match plays. Mine lost, hers won. It was getting dangerously predictable. But not to worry, the d.f. fun-book held offers for other casinos nearby.

We shuffled up the Strip gazing across at the ever-expanding Caesars, fighting the ever-expanding foot traffic, greeting the porn slappers (who hand out those escort cards) with a pleasant ‘Buenos Nachos’… and ended up back at those exact same ‘lucky’ machines in Casino Royale we’d played an hour previously.

We downed a couple of double Crown and cokes (it was approaching ten AM after all) and before we knew it, I’d dropped $50 and the Queen $100. Weren’t we the schtupid casino-hundts!!!

Mirage held no luck for us and we settled in at Caesars for more drinks and some VP by the Shadow Bar. Our dangerously fun fun-book included a free gift so a trip to the Emperor’s club was in order.

Boothling Jessica handled the transaction and to our amazement, our free gifts were gaudy, fake, gold-colored medallions the size of dinner plates on cheap gold-colored chains.

Hands in front of my chest, I started grasping and ungrasping my fingers like a gurgling baby as I rambled on about our Olympics.

“That sounds like a lot of fun. I’ve never heard of it before,” said the lovely Boothling Jessica.

“We’ve got all these cool events, and like, today, we’re doing the hundred dollar dash!”

Boothling Jessica laughed politely and then asked how many participants there were.

“Two. Just us.”

I swore she reached under the counter to rest her finger on the ‘HELP ME NOW’ button. She blinked twice, and smiled politely and said, “Next please.”

It seemed like nobody believed in the Gambling Olympics but us. I would have been saddened, but we’d scored the absolute perfect cheesy Olympic Gold Medal medallions and they were dangerously fun and best of all, free. We held our latest medal ceremony in the sportsbook at Caesars and then settled in for some high-volatility, (potentially) high-reward Triple Double Bonus. After dropping a hundred or so it was time to move on.

For some free fun, we took a tour to the menswear shop owned by that guy with the big glasses whose craps winnings Sharon Stone throws in the air in "Casino", but he wasn’t around. I saw him in the men’s room once and briefly thought about throwing some paper towels in the air and demanding ‘my end, cause I won him a lot of money’, but for some reason thought better of it.

We strolled back to Wynn and bailed. On the cab ride back downtown we noticed a smaller version of the famous ‘Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas sign bidding travelers ‘Welcome to Fabulous Downtown Las Vegas’.

“They should have more signs like that,” I said.

“We should make one of those for our Vegas-themed kitchen at home,” replied Mrs. F.

“What would it say -  Welcome to Fabulous The Kitchen?”

We stopped at the Fitz to try to win a couple of Free Meat coupons and failed. The day was kind of listless, more losses dragging us slowly down.

Back at the Four Queens we at least managed to play for a decent amount of time and I nailed a straight flush. The cocktail waitress ambled by at just that moment and I pointed excitedly at the screen.

“I’m a straight flusher!” I said

“Whatever floats your boat, honey, long as it don’t hurt no-one,” she replied.

I didn’t care, it was a victory of sorts on that machine. I played 450 hands and turned $20 into a $100 cashout.

(Which I would later lose in 15 minutes at the craps table.)

“I want to bet on a horse,” Mrs. F declared. “Where can I do that?”

“Can do… Can do…”, I sang briefly. “Nevermind. Let’s check out the new sports book at the Nugget.

We did so, and found ourselves in the ultra-lounge like environs of the sports book venue with its million and one betting options and wall to wall screens.

After perusing the endless tracks, races, classes, and poring over horse names like, “Flusher’s Gold”, “Undefeated” and “Mrs. F, Bet On Me!”, what does she do?

At the wicket Mrs. F forked over some bills and spouted, “Okay, I want to bet on a race at Mountaineer, the 6th race.”

“And the horse number?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What’s the horses name?”

“Greg.”

“No, the horses name.”

“Greg. The horse’s name is Greg.”

Now everyone knows all great horses have great names, names that are special and full of mystique and crazy equine creativity. Secretariat. Cigar. Flusher's Gold. Northern Dancer.

“Why the hell are you betting on Greg the Horse?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I just like the name Greg.”

“Why not bet on Greg to show instead of win?” Of course she wouldn’t listen. When you have a hunch on Greg the Horse, you bet him to win.

She got her ticket and squirreled it away, the race being some time off. “What do you want to do now?” she asked.

“It’s time… for the Hundred Dollar Dash!” I replied.

Yes, the marquee event of the Royal Flusher Gambling Games of the First Olympiad of Las Vegas was about to start. We strolled back to the Four Queens and each picked a Bonus Poker Deluxe machine (which pays $100 for any quad).

The rules were simple. First one to get a $100 quad won. If there were no quads after half an hour, whoever won the most (or lost the least, more likely) would claim a coveted gold medal (from Caesars).

We each slipped in a $20 bill and the race was on! I pounded the buttons like there was no tomorrow in a quest for a $100 gold-medal winning quad. Time wore on. Mrs. F ran out of credits and slipped in another twenty. Then I ran out and slipped in another twenty. Then another. Then she slipped in a twenty. No quads. We played on.

The Olympics were going out in a blaze of failure – nobody could hit a quad to save their life. In the end, suffice it to say that the Non-Quad Queen lost $110 and I ‘only’ lost $60 – it was another gold medal (by loser default) to me. It felt a bit like winning the hundred yard dash because all of the other competitors fell down before you did.

Nevertheless, I was awarded (officially) a cheezy Caesars Medallion. Royal Flusher – Olympic Hundred Dollar Dash Gold Medal Winner Champion. It had a ring to it! (Just one, not five. I don't want to get sued by the fake Olympics.)

We finished off the day by trucking back to the Nugget to check on the outcome of Greg the Horse’s romp to victory.

Imagine my smug glee when we found out that Greg the Horse had not won the race – he placed third, to show.

Mrs. F went up to bed and I took my gold medal to the craps table, ordered a stiff drink and dumped $100 in 15 minutes. My drink arrived as the last of my chips were gathered off the felt.

The long and short of it was that in spite of my early successes, in spite of all the dangerous fun we’d had, I was down 300 on the day, and Mrs. F was down 255.

Overall we were well in the hole. The trip was looking brutal.

The Score

Brutal gambling ass-kickings: QQ: 1, RF: 1
Bets on stupidly named “Greg the Horse”: QQ: 1, RF: 0
Bonus $25 coupon Quads at Casino Royale: RF: 1, QQ 1
Asskickings at Hundred Dollar Dash: RF: 1, QQ: 1
Limped-In Cheezy Caesars Medallion Hundred Dollar Dash Gold Medals: RF: 1
Dangerously Fun Coupon Books: RF: 1, QQ: 1
Four Deuces at Deuces Wild: RF: Still, sadly, 0 QQ: 0
Free Meat coupons: 2

Clean and Jerk:
RF Bets: $5 War, $10 Lucky Ladies Blackjack, $25 Mini Baccarat
Winnings: $20.00
 QQ Bets: $5 Pai Gow, $10 Horse Racing, $25 Roulette
Winnings: $14.75


Horse YOB Sex Sire Dam
Greg 2003 Gelding Ago Victory Crown



Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Riding the rails with Licorice Petey - Slot Decathlon part 2

Decathlon Part 2

The next night, I cut a couple of stout saplings from the muddy banks of the lazy Rio Nevada which runs just behind the Gold Spike. They were perfect for securing our handkerchiefs, which contained our meager possessions - some coal, a chipped bowie knife, a lump of brown sugar, half pound of coffee beans, spare buttons, lye soap, a length of sturdy twine, tobaccy and corn cob pipes, and a clean pair of socks each.

Our goods slung over our shoulders on the saplings, we bid a tearful goodbye to Aunt Clarissa and hoofed it to the freight yards. The beefy yardman, with his deadly accurate nightstick, was right on our tail as we struggled to clamber aboard an empty boxcar on a southbound train. Just when it seemed we’d get drug under the wheels, the greasy, sinewy paws of two yeggs reached down and hauled us aboard. They’d saved our lives, or at the least a beating from the local dick and a night in the crowbar hotel.

As the moon came up and shone silver on the rails we brewed up some coffee in a rusty tin can and shared the tobaccy round. One of the drifters had a nice hunk of licorice and we all took turns having a chew on one soggy end of it. Then I spun some video poker tall tales to the boys while the Queen napped.

The train slowed some and Licorice Petey looked out the open door and said, “Hey there’s your hotel. Best you jump now!”

“Thanks for everything, boys. You’ve been swell! C’mon Queenie!” I yelled, shaking her awake, and we jumped for it. A quick roll into the ditch, a dust off of our dungarees and a 200 yard hike and there we were in a new world - the lobby of the palace that is Wynn Las Vegas.

You see some strange sights by Main Street Station on the way to the freight yard.

I never did figure out what this was all about, but alcohol may have been a factor.
We felt a little out of place in what is currently the best hotel in town since most of the guests checking in seemed to be from a different walk of life than us bums. And they had actual luggage, not handkerchiefs on sticks.

As we waited in line to check in, some ultra-annoying ‘I’ve got a $200 haircut and damn the melanoma, I need a tan that sets off my Prada belt’ Cali-metro-broker-agent-sexual high roller whinged into his earpiece, “I had the same trouble in Cataleeeeen-a. I just dropped the Beeeemer at valet and I’m trying to check in but they’ve lost my resssss-ie.”

I hiked my handkerchief on a stick a little higher and prouder.

We were called to the counter and I flipped my ID onto the marble. “Royal Flusher. I’m very happy to be here for my comped room at Wynn Las Vegas. I sincerely hope you haven’t lost my ‘resie’.”

They hadn’t and thankfully we were soon ensconced in, yes, a comped room at Wynn, thanks to an offer that included $100 in free slot play.

Our room was gorgeous. Lush, elegantly appointed, huge, with a sprawling bathroom, the highest quality toiletries (which I may get to see when we get home).

As we flopped on the 3,000,000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets picked by virgin winners of various American Idol spin-offs from around the world, I realized that now would be the perfect time for some hot, married-people fun.

And so it was. And so we did. I chose one of our very favorite games, which involves the delivery of hot meat between the buns. Yes, we played the first ever Wynn Las Vegas edition of “Guess the outrageous price of the room service cheeseburger”. (Shame on you, reader!)




As mentioned, our comped room came with $100 free play in the casino, and if it hadn’t been for that, I would have been happy to stay in the room and just fiddle with the various buttons and remotes that ran the multiple TVs, drapes, lights, and ambient sounds. I could have amused myself for hours just giggling over the insane prices on the mini-bar items.

We headed down to the casino and immersed ourselves in the unique groovacious beats that provide the sonic backdrop for the beautiful people that frequent Wynn Las Vegas.

I’m not kidding about the beautiful people – just as we were about to get down to some gambling, I would have to guess around fifty (plus one for the District of Columbia) gorgeous Miss USA contestants strolled by in their evening gowns, on the way to one of the competition events. I was at the right place at the right time and showed some class by repeatedly yelling out our room number as they passed by.


What a coincidence that the parents of all of these contestants named them after states.
We started by making arrangements for the $100 in free play I’d been promised in my offer. I decided to give the entire amount to the QQueen and she graciously split the $130 final tally with me after she’d played it through.

Then it was on to part two of the Olympic Decathlon, starting at the $2 level. Things hotted up immediately, with the QQueenie achieving a return of zero (0), and me achieving a return of $4.

Next it was one pull each of $5. Ridiculously, we each ended up with… nothing.

Next it was one pull each of $10. Indefatigably, we each ended up with… nothing.

We moved up to the $25 level. This meant we got to visit the well appointed and very snotty High Limit Salon. This is the kind of place where the machines don’t even take $20 bills – you have to pump hundy’s into ‘em.

We toured the Salon and watched a few high rollers win enough to buy each of us a small sedan. They seemed mildly annoyed with the small (to them) profits.

And finally, I sidled up to a machine and stuck a hundred dollar bill in.

Four credits rang up, ready to be played.

“Make SURE I cash out after one pull!” I pleaded.

(Who am I kidding, there’s no suspense here, of course, I got NOTHING.)

I cashed out my 2 remaining credits - $50.

Wisely, Mrs. Flusher chose a different machine. Put in her money, pressed the Play One Credit button, the reels spun and… Ding. Ding.

Two dings. Two credits. An actual slot win of two credits!!!! She’d managed to breathe some life into this wretched competition by winning $50.

The last level… was a $50 pull each. Shall I have mercy on you fair reader? No fake suspense. No false build-up with a sudden turn of events. No rambling pre-amble followed by a surprise random chance happening in the nick of time.

Both pulls were over in a flash, with the results being, again, nothing won by either of us.

The competition was (thank merciful heaven) finished, with the results Quad Queen: $50.50, Royal Flusher: a very flaccid $4.50.

We celebrated by ordering very large iced vodkas with a number of very large olives in. These olives were so tasty and so huge, I felt like I could skip dinner.

There isn’t much to play on video poker at the quarter level at Wynn, so I steered the Qyne to some short-pay Bonus Poker.

Wouldn’t you know it, she pulled out a $50 quad and ended up winning $100 on the session. Meanwhile, I lost $20.

At dollar VP she put in $100 and took out a quick hit of $150. Meanwhile I lost more.

We did an accounting over dinner at the easy-going yet elegant Terrace Point CafĂ© with its pool-side views, and sure enough, more confirmation that this was one of the most difficult trips I’d ever encountered – The QQ was up $24 on the day while I was $381 in the hole. It doesn’t last long at that rate.

It was time for the hicks to hit the hay. Or in the case of Wynn Las Vegas, the 3,000,000 thread count hay.

The Score

Winning day: QQ: 1
Losing day due to yet another ass-kicking: RF: 1
Beauty free nights at Wynn with $100 free play: 1
Lost ressies at Wynn: Us: 0, AnnoyingBeemerValetFaketanEarpieceBoi: 1
Overpriced (but non-dodgy) club sandwiches: 1
Railway yard beatings by yard dick: QQ: 0, RF: 0, Licorice Petey: 1 (he had some bad luck in Laughlin)
Olympic medals in Slot Decathalon: QQ: 1, RF: 0
Forgotten Clean and Jerk events: QQ: 1, RF: 1

Clean and Jerk Standings (STILL no change) QQ: $10 RF: $0





Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Gambling Games Slot Decathlon part 1

We wouldn’t want the Olympic events to get too stupid, now would we... so we started with $5.00 total at the lower denominations. It would be silly to play just 3 nickels, then 3 dimes, then 3 quarters – you could end up with a ridiculously miniscule amount of winnings.

Showing great precision and care, we checked out the greasy, worn-out nickel machines that weren’t already taken up by the silver miners, chippies, drop down artists, heads, sterno freaks, relief grunts, ‘mary jane’ huffers, hopped up joy poppers, swinging octogenarians, marshmallow goofball wave riders, power hitting moonshine mamas, six-way yellow lighters and red-eyed snaffle dapping zip snifflers that frequent the El Cortez.

The legendary Jackie Gaughn.

The Queen was up first, selecting a Double Diamond 2000 video slot. Despite its space-age name, this machine resembled a hepatitis petri dish with TV display. Playing a gutsy 30 nickels on a single pull yielded – nothing. Followed up with a 15 nickel pull yielding – nothing. Followed up with a 10 nickel pull yielding – nothing. The all-or-nothing 45 nickel pull yielded a life-changing win – ten nickels.

Rather than employ the foolish ‘shotgun’ approach, I decided to rake in slow steady profits and ponied up to a nice little five-coiner Triple Diamond machine. The first nine pulls yielded – nothing. On the last pull, the last symbol to show was the Triple Diamond symbol yielding – ten nickels.

The slot decathlon was off and running in a blaze of futility. Undaunted we moved to dimes – again, each with five bucks to play.

Having braved the out-of-focus, bird flu encrusted Double Diamond 2000 super-video-slot, Mrs. F saw no reason to further expose herself to new micro-organisms, so she simply switched the denomination to dimes, and carefully chose five lines times five coins. Two pulls yielded – nothing.

I decided to succeed where she had failed so spectacularly, and shoved her off the greasy, cracked Double Diamond 2000 super-stool. Somehow I did something wrong and blew my entire 50 dimes on one pull which yielded…

…nothing. We were still tied at a return of 50 cents each. And believe me, this all was more boring than it reads.

At the 25 cent level, the QQ played a two-coiner Triple Double Wild Cherry slot. Ten pulls yielded an astonishing – nothing. I mounted a Double Diamond Deluxe machine – one with the low 800/1600 coin top payouts, so I knew it was loose.

Once security had peeled me off the machine and issued a stern warning, I sat in front of it and began to play. Ten careful, super-lucky pulls yielded a total win of – nothing.

On we went to the fifty cent level (and a much better class of fellow gamblers).

Five pulls later, my handle-pulling hottie had won – nothing. I ratcheted the trash talk up a level.

“I’m gonna beat you.”

“I hope you DO beat me,” she replied.

Can you guess what happened next?

I. Won. Nothing.

Dollar slots are supposed to be looser than quarter or nickel slots. I was sure we’d soon see some action. Mrs. Flusher snuck up on an unsuspecting Triple Double Diamond machine.

“What strategy are you using?” I enquired, “The two credit at a time or the classic one credit strategy?”

Strategy is everything in a thrill-a-second, balls-to-the-wall, flat-out, take no prisoners Olympic Gambling event. Unfortunately, so far the Decathlon was about as exciting (and profitable) as filling out tax returns.

“One credit strategy,” she replied and proceeded to make a profit, on five pulls, of exactly – nothing.

Again I chose the 800/1600 Double Double diamond model of slot. And I actually WON something on the first spin!!!... only to realize, I’d played the wrong denomination and it didn't count. It was heartbreaking. I reset for dollars and went at it, one credit at a time.

I played with my eyes shut. I used the handle. I pressed the button with an elbow. I shouted incantations and salutations, spinning around and pressing the button.

It was grim. I’d won – a big, fat, wallet killing, egg-sucking nothing. This was getting infuriating.

What the hell was I going to write about once we got back home – that we'd had an Olympic slots competition to see who was the best at winning sweet fuck-all?

Part one of the Decathlon was over, thank God. We’d resume the next day at the two dollar level, but for now, we were tied at a pathetic total winnings of fifty cents apiece.

The second Olympic event of the day was to be Synchronized Spinning... Roulette.

The roulette layout is split into two halves. In the first period, Mrs. F would lead and I follow, for the second period, we would switch roles. For each move the leader made, placing chips in their half of the layout, the other athlete would have to mimic exactly, placing chips in the same relative position in their own half of the layout. Each period consists of ten spins of the roulette wheel. The winner, as usual, was the one who won the most (or more likely, lost the least).

The venue choices were limited, since we wanted to play for small stakes. We also wanted to pick the joint least likely to 86 us for screwing around at the roulette table. The venue selected for this event was… the Golden Gate.

We sidled up to the roulette table which had a limit of 25 cents. Perfect. We bought in and Mrs. F lead. She grabbed some chips. I grabbed some chips. She waved an arm over her half of the layout and I did the same over mine. She spun around chanting hare krishna, and I spun around chanting hare krishna.

I couldn’t have felt stupider if I had arrived at the Gate wearing a speedo, goggles and nose plugs.

Chips placed, the dealer signaled ‘no more bets’. I started yammering about our Olympics, and that we were competing and it was an event like synchronized swimming.

Neither of us won anything and Mrs. Flusher began making chicken motions with her arms which I was bound to imitate. She repeatedly put chips down and grabbed them back up again as I struggled to keep up.

“So, the event we’re doing, it’s like that synchronized swimming? You know?” I said apologetically to the dealer.

“I have not seen Olympics.”

“Not on TV? You know, the swimming event, where they all do the same motions?” I was sinking fast.

“No.”

Great. We’re looking for a little understanding, someone who will play along with our tomfoolery, and we get the one roulette dealer in all of Vegas who is from Tanktread, Exblockistan, who has never seen, nor apparently even heard of, the Olympics.

We fumbled meekly through the rest of Mrs. F’s spins, and then it was my turn to lead. I flung a few chips down and the Spinning Missus followed my lead.

“Not same place – should be 27,” said Olchevich the dealer, gesturing to her chips and referring to mine.

I looked up at Ochevich and he stared back unsmiling, with steely eyes.

Next spin one of my flat bet numbers (10) came in so I was looking pretty good.

I started to get fancy. “Arms out, and over the table, hover here, hover there, pinky up, pinky down, pinky up again, clockwise, counterclockwise, and… drop.”

We lurched through the rest of this ridiculous event. These things always seem like a much better idea over a few cocktails than when you have to suck it up and go out there and compete and make asses of yourselves.

The redeeming part of this event was that I won another Olympic Gold Medal, ending up with 12 chips to Mrs. Flushers 8. We kept playing until those were gone and high-tailed it out of there.

Of course we played a lot more that day and highlights included a monster run at Bonus Poker by yours truly, culminating in a straight flush that was just one card off the Royal (a harbinger?...).

We ate dinner at the Triple 7 brewpub at Main Street Station – prime rib for the Lady and ribs with cold, hand-crafted beer for the Gent. (It’s amazing how they can make a beer by hand in the back rooms of the Triple 7. It’s all in the wrist action.)

There were a few more quads and another straight flush for me. In the end, I was up a gold medal and down a few hundies. Mrs. Flusher for all the sound and fury of the day was up one single dollar, and a hell of a good time.

The Score

Four Queen simu-quads: QQ/RF 1
Dingers at the ElCo: RF 1
Las Vegas Olympiad Dressage Gold Medals: RF 1, EQ 0
Las Vegas Olympiad Synchronized Spinning Gold Medals: RF 1, EQ 0
Winning Days: 1 (EQ)
Pathetic Decathlon Standings (part 1): QQ: $0.50 RF: $0.50
Clean and Jerk Standings (no change) QQ: $10 RF: $0

Have you noticed that we completely forgot about the Clean and Jerk bets for the past 3 or 4 days? We would have to rectify that - the spectators in the stands were getting restless.




Monday, August 6, 2012

Dressage Redux -or- A Dinger at the El Cortez

Our morning play saw some lackluster Jacks results, some luster Bonus Poker results (both of us getting four Queens), and some super-luster BP Deluxe results with me hitting a $100 quad.

We talked about our plans over breakfast at the Golden Gate - steak and eggs for the Quad Queen and country fried steak and eggs for me. A country fried steak is like a piece of fried chicken without the chicken but with a big-ass hamburger patty stuffed into the coating, and then sensuously smothered in a pint or so of luke-warm gooey paste known as country gravy, which is not from the country, and surely is not gravy. But when you read the blurb in the menu and try to imagine the ‘mouth feel’ of the proffered dish, country paste doesn’t cut it, now does it.


First things first – we had to take care of unfinished business from the day before. After we busted out at the MGM Green we decided to low-ball the dressage tournament and hold it at the ElCo.

The Keno ‘lounge’ at the El Cortez is wonderful. A counter runs across front of the area and features a number of cashier stations. Behind that is another higher counter, and centered prominently is the air-blown cage o’ balls for determining the outcome. The walls are homey, decked out in nicotine-caked basement-style rec-room wall paneling.

The seating area lovingly coddles you with your choice of accommodation in one of four or five rows of custom Keno-playing armchairs reminiscent of school desks. Each features an ‘arm’ with a drink holder and ashtray, and tons of Keno supplies – newsprint game slips, payout brochures, and blunt-nosed broken black crayons. The best part – half is non-smoking, and half is smoking. The ambient air currents naturally carry the blue haze from the smoking directly into the non-smoking half.

This, was a venue suitable of our very classy Dressage event. The rules were simple. Each of us would purchase one 20-spot keno ticket, good for ten games at a dollar a throw. We would have to festoon our ticket with numbers so chosen as to sketch the outline of a horse. Winner was whoever won the most. A tie would be decided by whoever had the most numbers match on the non-paying games. If you’ve ever played keno, you know that most of the games wouldn’t pay horse puckey.

I created a carefully concocted front-on view of a horses head, eyes blazing in anticipation of the race, mane flowing down its curry-combed, glossy hide.

“Yours looks like a dog,” the Equestrian Queen said.

“Nonsense, it’s a perfect rendition of a winning steed. Let me see yours.” I laughed. The EQs looked like a 3rd graders ‘stickman’ horse. “That doesn’t look like a horse at all. You’re gonna lose.”

We trotted up to the cashier, and held forth our Olympic entries.

I pointed to the EQs entry. “What do you think this looks like?”

The cashier on duty peered at it. “It’s a horse. A picture of a horse.”

Not to be outdone I jabbed at my own entry. “What about this one? What does it look like?”

“Uhh. Umm… that looks like nothin’ much. I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a horse. It’s the head of a horse, can’t you see that? C’mon, it’s clearly a horse’s head!”

I heard someone say, “Looks like a horse’s ass.”

We retired to our seats to eagerly await the riveting dressage action. I could just imagine our mounts jumping over numbered fences and across numbered ponds.

Game 1: we each had 3 numbers hit – worth nothing. Game 2: I had 4 numbers hit and the EQ had 1 – still worth nothing. Game 3: EQ 3, RF 2 – nothing

We were off to a slow start. It took five matching numbers to win anything on the tickets we’d bought. Then on Game 4, I matched five to pull ahead. Game 4: EQ 4 RF 5 ($1) Game 5: EQ 3 RF 2 – nothing

This was about as thrilling as watching dressage horse poop steam in the sun. In fact, we were parched. So, we moved to the nearby bar.

The east bar at the ElCo is the kind of bar where you can listen to the bartender argue for 45 minutes with somebody whether it is ‘Brazil’, or ‘Brasil’. We fired up our bartop video poker games and ordered. We could do shots, play VP, and still see the keno game. After all, it was 20 minutes past our normal drinking start time of ten AM.

On Game 6, I pulled further ahead with another $1 win. Game 6: EQ 3 RF 5 ($1)

We prepped for Game 7 with another round of whiskey. Game 7: EQ 3 RF 2

I popped another dollar on Game 8 and was really putting some distance between me and the competition. It was $3 to zero for me. My steed was dressaging like a bastard! Game 8: EQ 3 RF 5 ($1)

At Game 9 it began to get really interesting as the EQ’s numbers started to roll in. She finished with 6 in all, a hefty win of $4 – enough to put her in the lead for the gold.

Game 9: EQ 6 ($4) RF 4

Game 10 – the final game. Although I don’t believe in drinking and riding, this clearly called for another shot each. We ordered, and watched the keno balls get spun around in their globe, and sucked into history in the selection tube. Balls have never had so much fun.

As the numbers got called, I had a match, then another. Then the EQ hit one. And I hit one. And so it went. With a few numbers to go, we were both in the money with five numbers each – a $1 win.

We were down to the wire, our horses neck in neck as we sloshed around on our bar stools. The final number was called and…. it matched one of the eyes on my dog. I mean on my horse. That was a $4 win for me and another Olympic Gold Medal!

Game 10: EQ 5 ($1) RF 6 ($4)

Final standings: EQ ($5) RF ($7) and a gold medal. (Careful observers will notice that we each bought in for $10. Plus whatever we lost in the bartop machines. But hey, the drinks were FREE.)

One of the coolest Olympic events is the decathlon, where competitors partake in ten different activities involving running, jumping, or throwing shit. Our version would be even more of a test – we’d play ten different slot machines at ten different denominations with the winner being (can you possibly guess?) whoever won the most.

We’d start the competition soon, but first we had some meat winning to do at the Fitz. The T-bone Temptress was down to 10 credits and dealt three Aces. She had me do the honors and I pressed the button to reveal the fourth Ace for $100 and a free steak dinner.

These machines are a lot of fun. Real video poker pros shun them because they are slow and the buttons stick. And when you cash out, they dump actual coins into the hoppers, old-school. No ticket-in-ticket-out nonsense here. They remind of us the old days when we were first beginning our gambling careers.

And like the old days, they jam when you try to cash out. I called a slot tech over to fix my jammed machine so I could get my coins. He opened the machine up, exposing its filthy innards which contained decades of lint, coins scattered here and there of various vintages, denominations, and countries.

Quickly locating the cause of the jam using his extreme high-tech toolkit (ball point pen), the machine resumed spitting out quarters when something happened that I’ve never seen before. The machine started beeping to high-heaven, lights were flashing, the screen was screening, buzzers going – it was pandemonium.

I looked on the screen and it flashed the following in huge letters: “WARNING!!! EXTRA-COIN ALARM”. Apparently, giving the poor grinders an extra quarter is akin to an impending nuclear attack, and warrants full-scale counter-measures.

Having finally cashed in my bucket of quarters (including 1 extra – woohoo!), we strolled down to the ElCo and tried a few hands of dollar VP, visiting a machine where Queenus Emeritus had won last trip. I decided to go for it as well, plopping down next to her.

Hand after hand of nothing. I mean, once in a while its nice to be dealt a paying pair or something, and the machine gives a little ‘ding’ to tell you to hold the pair, and you can even hope to maybe build on it.

“How are you doing, I’m about even,” said the Flying Flusherita.

“I’m doing crap. Haven’t won anything, haven’t even had a dinger!”

Just then I started a new hand and was dealt a paying pair. DING!

“Hey, I got a dinger!” I said, giggling. “I’m not sure I want one now.” It sounded like something else entirely.

“You got a dinger at the ElCo… you got a dinger at the ElCo,” she teased.

The arrival of drinks, and the departure of my buy-in signaled that it was a good time to start the Decathlon.




Sunday, August 5, 2012

My warm and jingly nickels

Dressage

So far, the members of the public we’d explained the Olympics to had responded in one of two ways – either with feigned interest, or unreserved skepticism tinged with a sort of bored disgust, as if we were slightly crazy and they should get away from us as soon as possible or they’d call security.

And so it was with some trepidation that I enlisted the help of Marion, the tough as leather security guard in the front of Binion’s to present the medal. I explained the situation and he looked at me quizzically. I showed him the ‘medal’ – a yellow reflective polyester key keeper meant to be worn around the neck, emblazoned with the storied Olympic motto “I (heart) MEXICO”. Cost: $1.00. At least it had an international flavor.

Marion glanced around us to see if we were some sort of diversion in a plot to knock over the joint.

Meekly I held forth the incredibly cheesy I (heart) MEXICO medal. I was kicking myself. Surely we were about to be 86’d from Binions forever more for such silliness. But to my surprise, Marion chuckled and made a big show of placing it over The Fabulous Fource’s head and kissing her on the cheek in congratulations.

The Vegas Olympics felt more official than ever! Now all I had to do was win the rest of the events somehow.

Our morning session yielded some quads, including my first $100 quad of the trip. Taking a break, we fueled up on steak and eggs at the Golden Gate – well, actually, QQ fueled up on steak and eggs. I ordered the exotic sounding Spanish Omelette which turned out to be eggs with some Old El Paso salsa dumped over them. It was barely edible, especially since my loving wife kept asking me how my ‘spanish vomelette’ was.

We walked down to the Fitz to squander some free slot play we’d been mailed. That business was no sooner done (without anything of note happening), when a bank of machines caught my eye. Video Poker. Slant tops. Old school. Our favorite game and you win a free steak dinner with any four of a kind. We never even thought twice, sitting down and having at it.

“This is an awesome promotion. Where else can you win a slab of meat playing video poker?”

I held three tens. “Look I’ve got three to a t-bone already!”

“Get a Royal and they bring you the whole cow!”

Before long, QQ nailed four Aces for $100 and a coupon for a free steak dinner. It doesn’t get much better than that.

Next we headed down the (Fabulous) Las Vegas Strip in (Fabulous) Las Vegas on the (not-so-Fabulous) Deuce double decker bus. One of the two hamsters that powers the thing must have been off sick, ‘cause it took an hour to roll the four miles to Luxor. I’m sure on my deathbed I will cherish this exchange of my irretrievable vacation time for the savings of eleven dollars in cab fare.

The next competition was the classy Keno Dressage event. We thought it would be cool to do this in the Keno lounge at the MGM Grand, which was featured in the now-classic major motion picture ‘Vegas Vacation’. If, by now, you have made me for a fool, you have made me right.

We stopped off at Luxor, playing a bit in our old haunt, and having what was probably our last meal (lunch) in the Pyramid CafĂ© which, at this writing, seems doomed to become a trendy, cool-vibe, upscale, ultra-lounge hot spot, like the 15 other trendy, cool-vibe, upscale, ultra-lounge hot spots they’ve gutted the old pointy girl to make way for.

We worked our way back through Excalibur (where the missus nailed a $100 quad, and I lost), across Las Vegas Boulevard to the now very tired looking Tropicana. My general losing trend continued as I dumped a quick hundy on craps. But it seemed that I could bring luck to others. Like the nice honeymooning couple next to me, playing VP one quarter at a time. He held four to a Royal and took forever to push the draw button. Sure enough, he got the fifth card for the Royal Flush (worth $62.50 with one quarter in, instead of $1000 when you play five).

I felt so good about this young naive husband and and his pretty wife that I took time out from my daily regimen of having my ass handed to me to point out that he had just enjoyed an event that happens about every 43,000 hands. I can be incredibly thoughtful, its true.

Actually, it reminded us of... us, more than 15 years ago and that very first royal I ever got, with only one coin in. It set us on an adventure that spanned many hundreds of wasted dollars and too much buffet food. This wonderful, bittersweet feeling rushed through me and warmed my heart for what must have been five to ten seconds. The buffet food heartburn would last much, much longer.

We took the elevated walkway to the MGM Grand, that big green behemoth. We strolled past the Lion exhibit (with recorded lion sounds piped in that seemed to scare the real lions held captive there), through the casino, past the endless BJ pits, past the large open empty space sparsely filled with slots where the Keno Lounge used to be, past the bars and slot club, and to the lobby at the far end of the casino, some 3 miles from where we had first entered the maw of the ‘MGM Green’.

Keno Lounge. Used to be.

Say it loud, say it proud, El Stupido had forgotten that MGM-Mirage-Behemoth-Co had removed all Keno from its properties because it didn’t fleece the suckers efficiently enough.

We confirmed this at the slot club. Putting my suckiest, whiniest voice to use, I employed my Sonyc-Vysion Secret Comp™ wiles to obtain some free play from the boothling - $5 for Mrs. F, $10 for me. I think the ‘my dog is sick’ story was the decider.

Free play, and some bar shots did not do much to help my mood. I’d thoroughly screwed up this day and I was feeling pretty sad after recounting the story of our sick pooch. Still there was no news on his prognosis.

Fortunately, we had show tickets for Zumanity – maybe seeing some naked boobies would cheer me up and change my luck. We trucked over to New York New York where half the casino was hidden, inaccessible, behind a giant wall. It was in the process of being gutted to put in, no doubt 19 trendy, cool-vibe, upscale ultra-lounge hot spots.

We grabbed some fast food for dinner and went in to the show. I was not disappointed in the boobie department. My nickels were getting warm and jingly, was my luck changing for the better? Was the buzz in my pants excitement or just my cell phone on vibrate?

The taxi whipped us back downtown in no time flat and as a last gasp on the evening we tried some 50 cent Jacks at the Boar’s Head Bar, Mrs. F putting in $20 and taking out $50 and me putting in $20 and taking out dick all. It was all so familiar.

The Queen retired to bed and I stupidly decided to play on throwing good money after bad. The trip was really kicking my ass so far. I tried some quarter deuces and hardly got a paying hand. ‘Okay,’ I said to myself, ‘try to at least get a $100 quad on bonus deluxe’. I started plunking away.

It’s amazing how a video poker player can stay hopeful and optimistic with hours of non-eventful play decimating his bankroll. I suppose its because of the faint hope that each hand you play can potentially be a big one. I was dealt three to a Royal and automatically held the high cards and as always tried to think positively and imagine the needed cards plopping into place.

What happened, was the needed cards plopped into place. I knew I had it before the machine even responded. Finally, finally, finally a ROYAL FLUSH in spades, for $1000 and I was alive, alive, alive. I ordered a drink and the attendant locked up my machine. I got on the house phone to the Queen.

“Hi, just wondering if you were coming down to the casino again.”

“Is there a reason I should?”

“Yes, if you want to see my Royal Fucking Flush, there is!!! By the way, you owe me another Gold Medal…”


Queenus Camerus arrived just after my cool grand in cash did and took some pictures. Just to show off, I’d gotten a $5 scratch card. We savored the moment for a while and let the wonderful cards burn their way into our memories for a minute. Finally, I played it off and started the long journey again, on to the next Royal, who knew how far off in the future.

We headed up to the room and I checked for messages. Dr. Jack’s recorded voice rattled at me across the long miles. I swallowed hard and braced myself for the news. Negative. The tests had all come back negative – no cancer found at all! If we could get Duke’s stomach inflammation under control he had an excellent chance at full recovery. I could barely burble the news to Mrs. F through my tears of joy.

As I lay in bed counting semi-trailers to drift off to sleep, I reveled in my good fortune – in Vegas, loving wife beside me, big win, back to even on the trip, and best of all Duke would be with us to see the summer and hopefully for a few more years. The smile on my face would stay all through the night until dawn, and beyond.

The Score

Non-Cancerous Dogs: ONE
Spanish Vomelettes: 1
Quads of various flavors: 12
Royal Fucking Flushes!: RF 1
Free Meat: QQ 1
Dodgy Las Vegas Boobie Shows: 1
Club Sandwiches: 2
Postponed Keno Dressage Olympic Events: 1
Winning Days: RF 1

Clean and Jerk Standings (no change) QQ ($2 Big wheel): $10 RF ($2 Big wheel): $0