Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Welcome to Flushulous Las Vegas





Day 9 - Sun Oct 30 - part 2

I texted Piffles and told him I was leaving downtown. It came together perfectly - they'd already walked up from T.I. to Wynn and were waiting for the word from me. I set out in the rental for the Four Queens just as they continued north to our dinner restaurant - the Peppermill.

Meanwhile, the Quad Queen was taking it easy at Wynn, nursing what might be the beginnings of a sore throat. I suspect she was nursing it with a steady supply of Jameson's throat ointment, the directions for which are 'apply liberally'.
The flashy mirrored neon 'we never left the 70s' Peppermill!
My texter went off ("FRED!!!!!") just as I was waiting to turn left into the Peppermill - they'd arrived and had snagged a table.

Perfect!



"Piffles!!!!" I shouted, sliding into their booth by the window.

"Flusher!!!" shouted Piffles.

"Flusher!!!" shouted Ronco.

"Roni!!!" I shouted.

"Ron..." started Ronco. "Oh... never mind."

You have to love the flashy mirrored neon 'we never left the 70s' Peppermill. Its turned into one of my "must go every trip" locations, one of those great places that is steeped in history and fry oil, one of those Vegas institutions that, if you blink, it'll be gone before you know it and you'll be going, "ohhh I miss the Peppermill, I wish I could go there and then go gamble at the Riviera just up the strip."

Love it now, too many of these places are disappearing. Which reminds me, I need to get to the Sinatra booth at the Golden Steer one of these times - never visited the place. But now that the Golden Dragon (aka the Flaming D) is open next door, it's a two-fer.

Piffles and Ronco had had a pretty good day, taking it easy for a while, doing some walking on the strip and seeing some things.

And now they were seeing me take pictures of their food.
Peppermill Cobb Salad. All prizes, no fucking around.
Some other salad that could have been a cheeseburger, but noooo.

My cousin and his wife had really made some pseudo-healthy choices. I had to counter that with a turbo-burger with cheese and bacon, and of course 30 huge onion rings. I only managed to eat 22 of them.

Peppermill. Highly recommended for savvy comfort food, and for comfy savvy food.

After dinner, we took a look at the Fireside lounge. We got lost in there for ten minutes, even though it is only 100 square feet.

Mirrors.

I had a couple of thoughts about how to spend the evening - we hopped in the car and I suggested a nice slow drive down the strip, to look at the lights and see the sights. This suited them just fine and outside Caesars I had what you would call 'an idea'.

That is to say, instead of the vacuous, normally dormant grey matter slumping inside my skull - wondering whether it had the energy to go to the mental 7-11 for just one more six-pack while wearing the biological equivalent of a moth-eaten wife-beater - producing nothing of substance, the old brain-eroo sat up a tiny bit in its cranial La-z-boy, sputtered into some sort of neurological life, albeit dim and yellowing like a dying Christmas stocking flashlight, gasping for breath on its two nearly drained 'C' cells, and drooled forth something marginally creative, but heretofore unthought of, at least today, before belching, scratching its synaptic nuts, and focusing once more on finding the TV remote.

"I. Have... Idea," I said.

"Great, what's on your flight path?" asked Piffles.

"It's.... Idea," I grunted.

Driving was taxing me to the limit, and I didn't want to divert any more of my 9 brain cells from that fairly involved task.

"You.... Wait. Like."

For the second time in my life, and the second time this year, I would visit The Sign. And Piffles and Ronco would too.

A parking spot magically opened up, and I swung into it with all my drively might.

We grabbed a few pics, and hung out for a while at the famous, storied, now iconic Welcome to Flushulous Las Vegas sign. And 90 seconds later, we rolled outta there.

I headed south. Turned left. Did a u-turn. And pulled into the McCarran runway viewing area.

Piffles jumped up and down in his seat and clapped his hands together a little bit. I knew he'd enjoy this.

We hopped out and watched the planes for a while, and I noticed that Luxor and its light (clearly running on more than two 'C' cells) was shining on the clouds in a spectacular fashion.
It was getting on and I ferried my cousins back to T.I. I smartly valeted the car (you'll see why later) and we had a nightcap in their room. I had maybe a couple nightcaps. And actually, I think I bored them to tears when I got on a death-rant about Veeblefetzer, and various grommet production intricacies.

We said good night and I walked back to Wynn. It was a nice night, perfect for sitting on a pedestrian bridge whacked out on some kind of street drug and rocking back and forth. For some people, anyway.

Those bridges are a no-mans land - does anybody of any semi-official authority regulate what happens up there or ensures the safety of important gamblers like moi?

Outside Wynn I had a nice moment with some very Vegas music playing, and the cuckolded Wynn version of the Bellagio fountains squirting along in perfect watery harmony.

Ahhhhh Vegas!



Continued...

1 comment:

  1. "That is to say, instead of the vacuous, normally dormant grey matter slumping inside my skull - wondering whether it had the energy to go to the mental 7-11 for just one more six-pack while wearing the biological equivalent of a moth-eaten wife-beater - producing nothing of substance, the old brain-eroo sat up a tiny bit in its cranial La-z-boy, sputtered into some sort of neurological life, albeit dim and yellowing like a dying Christmas stocking flashlight, gasping for breath on its two nearly drained 'C' cells, and drooled forth something marginally creative, but heretofore unthought of, at least today, before belching, scratching its synaptic nuts, and focusing once more on finding the TV remote." ~ That's Pulitzer material right there sir!

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