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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.


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.

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