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Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Plonk Goes the Vodka

Still reeling with disgust at having sat in some sort of (possibly bodily) fluid soaked into the seat of the Airplane slot, I hauled (wet) ass through Mandalay Fuck You Bay (as I now think of it), through the crowds of people who all of a sudden I resented, and who imagined were looking, pointing and laughing at me.

Passed some rich Mom and her stuck-up kids, fresh from frolicking outside, towels wrapped around their probably Gucci bathing suit clad butts. As I rode up the escalator, I tried to kind of hide myself, imagining what the huge wet spot all over the back of my pants must look like.

Needless to say, I used some Royal Flusher Way stealth mall-walking techniques to get me safely by the Peter Lik gallery. Those memories of the leather sofa room are bittersweet now...

Dear God it is a long way from Mandalay Wet Ass Cluster Fuck Bay to my pathetic room at Excalibur. All the way through the shops, all the way through Luxor, with people looking at me, the long, long walkways and the Excalibur shops and the Excalibur shops that sell liquor... hmmm.

By now, in the low humidity air, my behind was actually getting near dry, so it was a great consolation that I only had to worry about dry piss baked into my clothes and next to my skin, instead of the once wet piss soaked into my clothes and next to my skin.

But desperate times call for desperate purchases, and it was worth the risk of further embarrassment to nip into the little store (I think its name is "Excalibur Overpriced Sundries and Gouging"). I spotted a bottle of Absolute. $25. Uh-uh. I'm not worthy of it at that price. A bottle of Smirnoff. $15. Nope. A mickey of Plonknyett. $7.


Down the escalator, into yet another casino for further ass-humiliation (I wonder what sort of people will get lead to that word on my blog from google searching...) and finally, finally, into my room.

I emptied my pockets. Anything in the back pockets went into the garbage. I stripped and everything went into the shower. But first, the moment of truth.

I had to know. The sniff test.



Then I remembered the kids in swimsuits. Mandalay Ass-Humiliation Bay is big on pools and wave ponds and such aren't they...

I'm now pretty much convinced I was the victim of a wet bathing suit sponge-by shooting.

Small consolation. I put myself into the shower and scrubbed and scrubbed. The clothes got a good two hour and 15 minute soaking.

Okay, you got me, that's just wrong. It was two hours and 45 minutes.

There were three bright sides to all of this that I could think of.

ONE: I have proven that a 'one pair of pants' trip, is probably not feasible, especially if you are staying at Mandalay Buttshame Bay. Emergency pants are now de rigueur for the Flusher.

TWO: Thank God it was actually one day past 'change pants day'.

THREE: I had a bottle.

The next couple of hours were spent writing up stuff for the blog, and sucking back jet fuel and coke on ice cubes with holes in them. Finally, I hit 'Post' for the previous days adventures, and hit the casino for one last bash.

These hot babes have boyfriends who don't look like they've peed their pants.
By the time I reached the machines I realized I was in no shape to be playing the 10-card variety of video poker I seemed to have sat down at. With some effort, I refocused and could see many of what were actually five cards.

I talked to myself, giggled, cursed, and played all sorts of stupid games. Some I didn't even know how to play.

Got myself a Wild Royal with Sevens, wtf is that???

Oddly, I managed to run my $20 up to almost $100. Did I cash out? Not on your life. Remember what (little) judgement I possess was long gone with all that Plonknyett brand vodka.

Finally, it was done, I was done, and I staggered up (in my clean pants!) to the room. I would have dreamed of leather couch wearing Art Babes if it hadn't been for the Post Traumatic Ass Stress Disorder I now have. Instead, I dreamed of cold, wet, casino seats.

Through all the shenanigans, I lost $120. And was still up on the trip, by a very thin revenge margin of $311.


    1. Your writings are pure laugh out loud reading. Thanks!

    2. My sides hurt!!! I have never laughed so hard while reading a trip report. I'm afraid I'll wake the sleeping child & husband. I cannot control my laughter. Wow!!


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