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Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Even the Lap of Luxury Ride Needs a Seatbelt


I'm ensconced here in the lap of Steve Wynn, or rather, his luxury resort EnWynn, actually, in the Encore part of it.

Unfortunately, Norbert back at Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer has kept me busy three hours over the planned stopping time with training Web Conferences including "Work Smarter, Not Smarter and Harder", "Safety in the Workplace - with Two-Finger Taz Johnson", and "Time Management For Grommet Producers".


Monday morning in Vegas. The weather looked ominous out there, sort of like there was something not belonging, a trend that was not for the desert. Gray despairous but deceptively fluffy clouds. Grim darkness. The look of complete collapse.

I thought to myself, "Today is going to be a GREAT day of gambling!". I had $200 cash on me, and I knew that would be enough for the day. Anyone could tell that, right?

In preparation for the online Web Presentations originating from Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer, where I jerk grommets off the size 7 line for a living, I set the alarm for quarter past un-Godly early. And I failed miserably ate paying attention to it.

I even set it to one of those Latino Mexi-Polka stations where every song sounds like the happiest moment of your fucking life, over and over and over. I hoped to hear the beep beep beep song, but alas - no.

My guts were still sore from the Jimmy Buffets I ate a few days ago. There have been no overt symptoms - I am sparing you here, reader - but honestly, I felt like crap with soreness and a bit of a fever. I'm hungry with no appetite if that makes any sense.

So, I constructed a round of turkey taco cheese rollwiches, using an extra ice bucket bag for a plate because I lacked the foresight, despite buying $30 of cheapstravaganza in-room Stick it to The Wynn Man suite picnic groceries, to get anything resembling a serviette (that's Canadian for napkin) or a plate.

Returning to the scene of the two hour dollar play marathon (on not much money) I deftly slid a $100 bill into the machine, certain that it would last an hour or two and net me more room offers and comps. When it was gone, I deftly slid a second $100 bill into the machine, cheerily even, certain that it would bring me hours of entertainment, and possibly, vast riches.

Both were gone in less than five minutes.

I've played video poker for nigh on 20 years and the only thing I've really figured out about it, is that it is one fickle motherfucker. And I usually conveniently forget that on days like today.

In spite of the rain, I had chores to do. Had to get downtown, check out of the Four Queens, get my to-the-room meals comped, and get my cashback.

I loaded my aching hulk into my rental and drove north on the Strip. Almost got sideswiped by some beater with six colors of paint on it, signalling left, but changing lanes right. It was seriously close.

I went and saw the host and he picked up my Magnolias meals. The whole FQ stay was comped. I got my $31 in cashback and played it out at - guess where.

I have too many sentences starting with I, I noticed.

Maybe the best thing that would happen to me in the day happened when Big Mike brought me my coffee. He showed me a picture of his little guy, face beaming with joy, holding that big model convertible I'd given him the day before. He was holding up a big sign saying, "THANK YOU FLUSHER!" If that doesn't touch your heart a little bit, then you need to reach in a little deeper and give it a mighty sign-language talking to. Sort of with your hand? or something.

And natch, there was no joy at the bar. I said my see ya laters and drove back to the Encore. And didn't I get another El Primo Spotto at the end of an aisle right by the door a second time? I did!!! So many good non-monetary things were happening to me in the desert rainy day!

Back at Encore, I thought I'd kill some time and go on walkabout. I made it to the exit from the Encore Suites lobby (yes, the super-elite have their own lobby) and it was pouring.

So, I went back to the room and prepared.

The Walk Of Shame - as you will recall from Royal Flusher's Unreal Victory Trip Feb/Mar 2013 we came back with pretty much all our stash and then some, enough to pay for everything. Well, I'd gone through all my readies. And it was time to dip into the Forbidden Traveller's Cheques. I always feel like such an ass when the cashier is being polite to me and I'm being chatty and 'Have a Nice Day-ey' to them. We both know it is a complete charade. There's nothing pleasant about this transaction, and I have a ten pound neon sign swinging from my ballsack that flashes "LOSER! LOSER! LOSER" in molten pink letters.

Okay, so the casino has 7/5 Bonus Poker single line. And the triple play version of it is 6/5. And its like this at every single place I've ever seen. So, you bet triple the money and... they lower they payouts? What kind of perverse logic is this?

Someone call Ralph Nader! Or that 60 Minutes guy!

Played quarter triple play on a hundy for maybe 50 minutes. And even got a quad or two. But, per de Niro, 'in the end, we get it all'.

Knowing I was in trouble, I stuck with the quarters. And I dumped $100 on Double Double, trying to win it all back. And I dumped a third hundred on Dollar Bonus Pokwer, trying to win it all back.

The crossroads loomed in front of me. The sky darkened, and the rain fell like 50 foot Maui waves tumbling from the sky, and directly onto my crotch, where they short-circuited the neon Loser sign sending 50,000 volt jolts into my ballsack and also pounding my ballsack with the ballsack pounding weight of 50 foot Maui waves tumbling onto it.

Think about it, right, my daily budget is usually 300 or 400, I blew through all my cash, was down $650 at the end of yesterday (with a long way to go here in Vegas) and I've blown through $500, and I'm in EnWynn, wanting to play heavy to keep those offers coming because I love it here, and want to be A Somebody (in the lowest fiftieth percentile of EnWynn gamblers) and holy shit if I go through this last hundred, not only will I be sitting in my room watching Fox for the rest of the night, I'll be down - gulp - almost $1300.

There is Plenty To Do in the Casino Besides Gamble
Not only that, there is, frankly, the public embarrassment of having to publicly own up to this in front of my 10s of readers!

I'm sitting at there at the machine thinking, this is the moment, what are you going to do, are you going to save some for later and slink off, are you going to blow through it in five minutes, how will that feel, is there any luck left in this fucking day?

And I slid the hundred into the machine. (CUE CHEERING.)

It started to drop. $90. $80. Got a full house. Pair or two. Up over $100. $120. $130. IT'S GOING UP! I got up to $150. And I thought, okay, I make it to $200 I cash out and have some dough for after dinner. I go to $100 and I cash out, keeping a little for later, anyway. And maybe I hit a quad. Or something

Next thing I know I am at $105. Punch the button. Lose. I'm at $100.

Cash out. Slink off. The chugga chugga Charo ass-shaking groove music of Encore mocks my ballsack neon sign flashing LOSER!

I'm down $500 on the day. I don't count the $31 cashback because it's too degenerate.

It's about 3:00pm.

What the fuck am I going to do???


Check back to for the dullard conclusion to this Cheapstravaganza blog entry!


    1. Are you teasing us with a train wreck to come? That is the question...

    2. I appreciate the honesty! I can totally relate! I look forward to every installment. Thanks!


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