El Cortez, Let's Elope!

That mewling sycophant Norbert strolled through the lunch room again today. He wore his racing car driver knock-off sunglasses, and had two more pairs perched on his $48 baseball cap - one of them facing forward, and one of them facing backwards.

I saw him coming with his Magnum P.I. mustache and his beltless too-tight jeans. He wears those ones that women like that end two inches below the top of where their pubic hair would be except that they pluck or trim or weed whack or something.

Was that disgusting? Sorry. I'll rephrase.

They pluck or trim or string trimmer or something.

Sadly, Norbert doesn't, so it's not really a sight you want to see in the lunch room after having wolfed down three greasy but cold pulled pork bun-wiches, a pint of chocolate milk, three Ding Dongs, and three quarters of a bag of Fritos.

And that's when I asked myself this question.

How important is it all, really?

I've poured my heart and soul into the size 7 grommet line and it's given me a decent enough living such that I can go to Vegas a couple times a year and write about my debaucherous, degenerate, drunk, and somewhat lame adventures here on Las Vegas: The Royal Flusher Way.

The thing is, I bring it. Because I love it. When the tough orders come in, I'm there, I'm the first one in line for paid overtime, as long as it isn't on American Idol night, and doesn't go too much past say nine or nine thirty.

When we ran out of releaser compound, and we had an important grommet production run on the go to provide grommets for a leading office furniture parts supply warehouse jobber shipper, who was the first one who whipped it out and peed in the releaser reservoir?

Royal Flusher, that's who.

Just like the first world war vets who used urine to cool the barrels of their death-spewing machine guns when the water ran out, I was there with my willy and a bladder-full.

And who offered to park cars when Norbert got married, at the reception, in lot A?

Royal Flusher, that's who.

(Never mind that I hid a salmon in Norbert's Corvette while no one was looking.)

I want to make the best size 7 grommets you've ever seen, better even than the 87% 'acceptable' rating percentage we've been hitting. I want to strive for 88% or even 89%.

I really need to forget about anything other than making grommets, and then getting home to my cold 8-pak of Champale.

And I need to find some other things that interest me.

Maybe write a book that, like this blog, only degenerates will read.

And I need to let go my anger over that sniveling sycophant Norbert and how he gets all the breaks and I get schtupped.

Well, maybe it's my turn. Maybe Royal Flusher will get some breaks, eh?

And indeed, guess what?

The email which I wrote to the El Cortez read like this:

From: Royal Flusher
To:  clubcortez

I don't know if anyone will see this but a lot of people out there including myself don't understand why you are stiffing us on our offers.

After years of getting comp room offers, and actually increasing my play, now I'm at casino rate.

Next month I'll be staying at Four Queens, or MSS/Cal/Fremont where I am comped.

Fuck You Yours truly,

Royal Flusher

Well guess what happened?

The head of Club Cortez and Player Development at the El Co phoned me. He must have dug up my info on the El Cortez Super-Computer and seen that I am a Savvy Gamblester.

And he told me he would comp my room nights and all I had to do was phone him and let him know when I was coming in!

I LOVE THE AWESOME EL CORTEZ AGAIN!!!!!!!!!

There is some justice in the world

There really is!

Sometimes the little guy gets a break.

Sometimes dicks like Norbert swing their girly hips towards your last few mouthfuls of Fritos.

And sometimes, dicks like Royal Flusher deftly stick their foot out so the sunglasses-blind Norbert can take a fucking nose dive.

I think he hit a few spots of my cold pulled pork bun-wich BBQ sauce.