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Monday, June 8, 2015

How to get into Daisy 'Brickhouse' Jalanski's Hot Pants

Day 6 - Saturday - part 1

Today was the day of the fight of the day, I mean the century. I woke up at 7:00am and dragged my ass out of bed with both hands, still tired hung over from last night's revelry, wine and bourbon. Zero regrets.

My eyes were so bloodshot that all of the people milling around on Fremont looked like they were wearing pink clothing. And what were so many people doing out on Fremont at 7:00am anyway?
Another beautiful day in Las Vegas. Slot Players Eat Free! Dollar Specials Every Day! Plus weather.
Ah yes, the Run for the Cure. It was great to see the huge level of participation for this worthwhile and much needed cause. And it made me sad to think that all of these people have been touched by cancer in one way or another. For the record, fuck cancer. My life has also been touched by it, as have many of you. So yeah, fuck cancer.

My head noggin was doing a bit of a Fremont Street Bobblehead so I wombled my way down to Starbucks. I could already taste that wonderful flat white that Beansy would make for me, which was surely just moments away, its dark deeply drawn smoky espresso taking the creamy milk from behind, gently but with authority, and jangling my synapses into ecstasy.

The line-up at Starbucks was 40 people deep, all of them wearing pink. How long would I have to wait???

I made a brilliant snap decision and took off through the Golden Nugget, past the lobby and that little bar, past the pool, past the Bone Jumper, past the useless shops that no one ever buys anything in and made my way to... the Alternate Starbucks by the Carson Tower elevators!!!!

This was a truly inspired plan. The time it took me to walk to the A.S. had to be much less than the time I would have waited in line at the Fremont Starbucks. Yes, this was a genius plan of poindextrous proportions.

Except for one thing. The line-up at the A.S. was 60 people deep, all of them wearing pink.

I hate waiting in line when I'm on vacation. It seems like time lost forever, and I guess it probably is, unless you are some zen motherfucker that can see something wondrous in your surroundings whilst waiting in line, like the beauty of a solitary bent staple perched 'just so' upon the casino carpeting. Or maybe you can see a universe of stars in the dust pattern on a single leaf of an artificial flower in a planter. I am not such a motherfucker. No, I had to deal with the line-up in the old fashioned way, by waiting in it, grumpy-style.

Coffee achieved, with an extra shot (this morning, my Starbucks name was Jackie, btw), I made my way back to the Four Queens to drill some test holes on the 9/6 Jacks and do some Strict Rules of Parlay play, with the goal of taking those assholes for a dollar royal built up from playing quarters on a $20 bill. A lofty and worthy goal, I thought.

I did manage a fair bit of dollar play in this way, starting out from $20 on quarters or fifty cents, but I never got to any point where I could cash out any kind of profit. In other words, losing.

I got four sixes on 50 cents, as you can see above. Aren't they nice, all black and red and black and red?

For a change, I played some quarter Double Double at the King's bar, but it didn't go well, as evidence by the lack of pictures of winning hands here. I dumped about $100 into that. (My notes say 'didn't hit fuck all'.)

Breakfast? I needed something that would clear my head, gird my loins, and probably cure cancer. I headed up to Magnolia's where I did a double-take - Mini Madonna, with her blonde blonde hair and sexy dark eyebrows was there again or still there (?) to pour me some coffee. I think she lives there.

Anyway, I ordered 'it' with extra 'lucky you know what'.
Good old chicken fried steak and eggs with country throw-up gravy! I would need the calories, because I had a plan to while away the Saturday afternoon in a unique manner (that would be disclosed in a future post).

Breakfast (and enough calories for lunch and possibly a light dinner) squared away, I ambled down the stairs to the casino to make my plan and my fortune.

Perhaps I needed to take a wild flyer on something... so I tried Shockwave. Knowing that quads come in bunches (except when they don't) this seemed like a fun idea. First, get four of a kind. Then, get a second four of a kind within 10 hands and you win $1000. Easy-peasy. Plus I had never achieved a Shockwave quad.
I achieved the first part of the Shockwave process - getting a quad - which sent the machine into cool colorful Shockwave mode. Shockwave mode consists of the machine rapidly changing background colors in a delightful, bamboozling flashing frenzy that is sure to delight small children and cause epileptic seizures in everyone else.

Well, see for yourself. (Not responsible for seizures.)

I played my 10 hands, and no big winning $1000 shockwave quad ensued. Goddammit.

Next, I thought I'd drill a test hole on a dollar slot. I put $20 in a likely looking candidate, and hit the Play Max Credits button and a fortunate, but kind of unfortunate thing happened.

I won.

But the machine was one of those multi-denom ones with the weird square multi-denom buttons, and it was set for quarters, not dollars.


I switched to dollars and played a bit, and then spent some time jumping around from machine to machine, doing hit and runs. It went pretty well, I went right down the line and won a bit on each of the five machines in the row. And I ended up cashing out $140. So that worked!

Then another parlay session on Jacks and this:

It was fun kicking around the Four Queens instead of camping out on a Jacks machine for 6 or 7 hours like I'd planned. And, I had a really different kind of outing planned for this day.

Although it has gotten buried in my whining, losing, rude comments to bartenders and such, the underlying theme of this trip is to go back to the roots of my Las Vegas experience, and Las Vegas itself. And I planned to go way, way back.

But first, lunch! Wagnolia's! Take out! Comp dollars to cover another Taco Salad in a Party Boy Bowl! Which I hauled up to my room, so I could do internet things on the niPad whilst eating.

Artists rendering of the room service Taco Salad in a Party Boy Bowl.
I felt pretty tired out from Vegas in general, and last night in particular. I didn't actually feel like going anywhere except for a) I had planned to go somewhere, and b) I'd rented a car which, for the past 3 days, hadn't even made it out of its Avis stall and c) I had an obsession.

Because I refuse to drink and drive, the window for operation of a rental car is extremely restricted in Las Vegas. There is a slot of about 12 minutes between 10 and 11, and another around 3 in the afternoon for 9 minutes.

In any case, after consuming the Party Boy Bowl, I crashed. Hard. And when I woke up, yeah, I was ready to take on a quest that had consumed my every thought without cessation for the past 20 years. (And no, the quest wasn't how to get into Daisy 'Brickhouse' Jalanski's hot pants at the Veeblefetzer annual picnic.)

I was going to find Ground Zero for everything that Las Vegas is.

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