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Sunday, April 1, 2018


Sunday - Day 2

I sleep for five hours less the 6 seconds it takes to fall asleep. I wake with that sore, tired, body feeling you have after an endless travel day to Vegas followed a long first night, or after having been thrown clear in the wreckage - which is probably about the same thing. But it’s time to get up. Because VEGAS!
I did not hit this. Some other mook did. But it sure is pretty.
When I remember, and when I can be bothered to, and when I'm sober enough, I make these little recordings to remind me of all the great stuff that happened that I should write about in the blog.

This morning, I make my recording with the same croaky breathy rasp that makes twice over-the-hill refinery-town bar fly hookers so endearing.

My recording picks up all the air conditioning noise and fan noise in the room, which I hadn’t even noticed was there, but turns out to be considerable. On playback, the recording sounds as though I am chained to the deck in the engine room of H.M.S. Loser.

One thing that has been on my mind is the $90 or so in comps I have on my Four Queens card. After I had my little shit-fit at Binions four months previously (something I am less proud of and more ashamed of with each passing week) I realized that sanctions might have been applied to my account. Such as canning it. And because the Four Queens owns Binions, it was possible that I would be gambler-non-grata there as well, and my $90 in food would go up in grill smoke - not to mention free play, cash back, and the ability to redeem coupons and offers.

Today is the day I will finally find out if I've shot myself in the feets.

I make some coffee in the one cup Keurig k-cup thingy, which is a wonder of stupidity-proofing. You have to do 19 things correctly, in sequence, and within certain unpublished and randomly changing time limits in order to successfully make a cup of $3.75 a pop shitty coffee.
Anti K Fuck You Cup pods.
So, like a savvy traveller, I plug the unit in, press the big button on top, close the thingy with a satisfying snap, look in the reservoir, and put some water in there, close the flap, press Brew. Nothing happens, so I press the big button, close the thingy with a satisfying snap, close the flap and then power on the machine and then press Brew.

Nothing happens, except complaints that I have to Place Cup. It takes fewer steps to launch a Falcon Heavy rocket (which probably makes better coffee).

Of course. I place cup, press Brew, and nothing happens. The machine has brilliantly powered itself off. I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt this is not a Keurig machine, this is a Freddy Krueger occupied machine.

Press the big button, close the thingy, close the flap, replace the cup making sure its correctly placed, make sure the machine is powered on, press Brew and... I successfully make a cup of dirty water. I repeat this another time or two and then actually make a cup of something hot and brown.

I get ready, check that I have all my cards and head across the street to the Four Queens. I march up to the first machine I encounter and shove my player's card in the slot.


Shit. I try it again.


Double shit. I walk to another machine and repeat the experiment. This time the card is read.


Triple shit. This is not a good sign. I try a third machine.

"Welcome Royal. You have $89 comps."

Fuck yeah! That's almost $90 worth of country throw-up gravy!

At the slot club, I proudly hand over my working card in good standing and redeem the LVA coupon for $10 free play. I'm informed that I have $31 in cash back.

"I WANT IT! ALL OF IT!" I shriek, before the booth dweller even finishes her sentence. With all of that done, I continue my quest to strip the Four Queens of all of its profits, one royal flush at a time. I have yet to get a dollar royal there, and my last quarter royal there was a few years ago.

I play the $10 free play on quarter Jacks, fumbling around the re-arranged casino to find the machines 14 feet from where they were before the changes on the casino floor. I love a gambling challenge. I win this one, hitting a quad and brilliantly cashing out while I still have some money left. I've turned my $10 free play into $40 cash.

Four Queens cashout ticket tito

At Magnolia's, I order an omelette with sausage in, and Lucky Spanish Sauce. Hash browns. Toast. It's great,although I can't really notice the sausage as I eat, so next time, sausage on the side, not as omelette prizes.

Magnolias four queens breakfast omelette
Mr. Potato Head and Mrs. Omelette aren't speaking this morning. But my coffee spoons with me.
Walking out of the Four Queens, I check to see that the official Royal Flusher Sticker festooning my seat (which I occasionally let others use) at the bar, right on Fremont is still there. It is, and I'm out the door into the 57 degree morning, I feel great. I'm in Vegas, I'm in shorts, and I'm up $71 cash and a comped omelette on the day. Nothing can stop me!

downtown grand las vegas video poker progressive

Last night the temperature was about 35F and it’s still pretty cold out. But I’m out there, strolling along, in short sleeves, like fuck you, I’m in Vegas, I’m not wearing any damn jacket. Yeah, I'm all Flushers Gone Wild on the sidewalk.

Like I said, nothing can stop me - except a sky-high progressive royal at the Downtown Grand. I've had amazing luck on the Grand's progressives. I decide to hit the royal using my $10 LVA freeplay.

My bartop is ice cold, and the freeplay is gone in seconds, so I wander to a nearby bank of machines with the same progressive on them. A woman sits down two seats over from me and within two minutes, she let's out a yip and a long 'wowwww'. She's either had a spontaneous back seat of the car climax, or she's hit the royal. Or both.

Sometimes you get the feeling you picked the wrong car.

I finish up and step over, pondering the idea of giving her an official v. 2.0 Royal Flusher Business Card. It seems appropriate in some sense, but I feel weird about it and don't. People feel edgy when they have just won two large and some strange idiot starts shoving things at them.

Politely, I ask if I can take a photo and she says sure. I do, smile, and congratulate her on her savvy play while I'm thinking in my head 'Fuck you and your invisible backseat boyfriend - that royal should have been mine. You can keep your sloppy climax'.

downtown grand hand pay jackpot royal flush

downtown grand hand pay jackpot royal flush
This is not my royal flush. It's some yipping woman's. It should have been mine. But it's yipping women who have multiplier climaxes.
Now, it's about 50F, its a little warmer in the sun. Compared to Flusherville, it's a huge solar upgrade. I walk straight east, along the side of Neonopolis, and cut across the street to the El Cortez walkway. I gots business at the El Cor Tezzz, yes I do.

Special shout-out to my readers in Japan.

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