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Saturday, October 27, 2012

Keeping My Head Up Chippy Style

As I left the Cal, I saw a family grouped around some old skook coin dropper Blazing Ass Sevens slots. They had put pictures of family members up, and all sorts of trinkets, turning the machine into a Family Gambling Shrine.

I chatted with them for a bit and commended their family values. If only I had that kind of support in my down times on this trip. Everyone needs support to reboot their Vegas heart, right?

Okay, either support or a pantload of cash.

I managed to pick the perfect route to T.I. - down Main across Las Vegas Boulevard, pick up Paradise southbound, and then right on Sands, looked good for a quick left onto the Strip, and quick right into T.I. and into the welcoming arms of the Pirate Valet Team.

I crossed the threshold into million coconut land, the place of my 50 cent Bonus Poker and quarter Super Double Triple Fucker Bonus Poker demise.

I thought of our dog, the Great Dane / Chihuahua cross, Chippy, at home. Chippy is a great dog with terrible comportment. With her 12 pound head and 6 pound body, sometimes, when she is in a down mood, she kind of lowers her eyes.

This can result in her slowly losing balance and tipping forward. Her head drops, and her hind legs come off the ground. Like one of those bobbing drinking birds, her head slowly hits the carpet and her rear legs windmill pathetically, trying to reach sold ground.

Sooner or later, one of us will notice her mewling and windmilling and give her rear end a little wee push - just enough to gently cantilever her watermelon sized head up, and her little chihuaha legs down so she can start bumping into furniture again.

Well let me tell you, after the reaming I've been taking, I felt exactly like Chippy.

My head was on the casino carpet.

My legs were in the air.

I was mewling pathetically and what I really needed was that lucky push on the ass to get me moving again.

By the way, my host didn't call back, so I had to use some Flusher Social Skillz to get the comp fixed up from 1 to 2.

"Can I help you Mr. Flusher," said the natty looking boothling.

"Yes. Can you give my ass a push, and fix this comp up for 2?"

It's not as glamorous as it sounds... they told me I didn't have enough in my comp account so they wrote a $35 limit for 2 with 2 rounds comp instead. I assume I have now drained all my comps out of T.I.

That taken of, my head still dragging on the carpet, I made my way to the bar. I actually felt a chill come over me.

I was to meet BlueSkadoo at 7:45 and I was a little early.

I ordered an Absolut, and coldly slipped a 20 in the machine. "IT'S ALL HAPPENING AGAIN!" I screamed inside my head.

I took a pull off the ice cold vodka and played a hand. And a second. I could imagine dumping another hundy in the next 15 minutes.

As I played the 3rd hand, I got a text. Skadoo was just down the bar, and was playing as well.

I hit draw and just about fainted.

Suck on that, pirates. We call this The Royal Flusher Way.
That big hand I'd been chasing at the bar for soooo long... had just hit. Four 4s WITH KICKER for $500. On the third hand, out of nowhere!

I called Blue and she had news too - her very first every VP four of a kind. No longer would she be branded behind her back as the 'quad virgin of Skadooland'.

And no longer would my legs windmill. My head was high, and my rear feet planted firmly on Mother Carpet.

What an amazing feeling to have gone through the wringer, dealt with the fact that I'd been a loser at TI big time and it would stay that way, and coming out, unexpectedly, miraculously, the other side. Like Chippy, I may have wet the carpet, just a tiny bit.

And I also had my wonderful surprise Keno ticket that I hadn't checked in the morning!

And, with a Flusher Flourish, I realized that the stupid Keno ticket was safely stored back in my room at the Cal.

Dumbass.

We decided to tour around and play a little here and there, and wandered over to Mirage so I could show Skadoo where all the tropical decorations used to be and aren't no more. For some reason she insisted that I see the Kardashian store and she used her female passive aggressive soft skills to nudge me in that direction with my knowing it. Thankfully, it was closed, but we did have to look at stuff through the window.

We both concluded "We don't get it."

I played the best slot in the world - Double Diamond Haywire - to a dull thud. It didn't matter though, we were flying high, both our Chippy legs and big heads where they should be.

Dinner at Kahunaville as entirely awful. Let me summarize. Main dining room closed, so we had to eat in the bar. Loud noises made it difficult to communicate. Waitress beyond rude to us. Switched tables to one that was 1.5 decibels quieter, and thank goodness, non-rude waitress. Ribs tasty but room temperature. Mountain of stirfry with gallon 'o soya sauce, a sodium explosion in your mouth.

Coldslop seemed off, fries who cares, 1.5 pounds of meat, ok.

Left my card, of course.
While eating, the music got loud. Then louder. Then louder again. We literally could not communicate beyond gestures, pointing, grunting, and texting and we called for the check immediately.

Kahunaville? Not soonaville.

It must be said though that Skadoo's fortune cookie actually contained a fortune, in that it fortold future events. And even though I won't divulge it here in public, the description was particularly apt, given Skadoo's occupation as a Personal Shopper to the Stars.

As we said so long, I felt a heaviness in my tummy. It wasn't emotional, it was the fact that I'd eaten about 1.5 pounds of meat for dinner and nothing else. Heavy, dude....

It seems that Skadoo's plane being overbooked had some far reaching unintended consequences - she'd made out like a bandit on the compensation, gotten her first quad, and I'd found redemption against those bastard bartop machines that ate all the money I lent them.

I drove back downtown in a perfectly clear night, cool air, a few stars visible. I felt very, very good. I valet parked The Car at The Cal and deftly slipped the guy a couple of bucks.

"Keep it close, my good man," I said gesturing to the Ford Urbancan.

He sighed and squealed out.

Walking past the lucky wooden Budha - I'm telling you, that fat bastard gets more hand job action than anyone else on the planet - he's rubbed raw, I tells ya! - and up the little stairs.

What do I see? That family is still there. Its five hours later. Pounding those machines. Pounding and pounding them. Hours and hours of dollar action. They looked lightly sweaty and they looked glassy eyed.

"Still here?.." I said.

One of them nodded.

"Think of the all the points!" I reminded, and carried on my way.

Played a little and hey, hit a couple more quads. It should be noted that during the drought, I had 56 tries from 3-of-a-kind to get a quad and failed on all of them. The Eights below happened on try number 57. It seems like the drought.... may really be over.

Good thing, I have a VP tournament tomorrow.

Let's go over the numbers, shall we?

VP: day +60 trip (-950)
BJ: day +30 trip +250
Craps: day 0  trip 0

Trip overall (-670)

Hmmm, craps is still a wash at no money won or lost. What's up with that?...

It should also notice that this was a WINNING DAY.

Maybe tomorrow would be too.


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