@royalflusher hope this purchase makes you proud! pic.twitter.com/MSUJcnSgYo— DJ Danielson (@DJDanielson) September 27, 2018
Friday, September 28, 2018
Royal Flusher's Daily Vegas Pic - September 26, 2018 - Will the Little Giant Pass the Test?
If this catches on, maybe I should buy the company that makes these things!
Thursday, September 20, 2018
Three Aces with a King of Spades and a Crazy Eight Kicker
Tuesday Day 11
I wake and before I open my eyes, I remember 'I'm in Vegas' and then I remember 'I go home today'.
That last day, it's inevitable, but seems 1000 years away when you first arrive. It's just not as easy to have fun on the last day in Vegas - but I'll try.
There are texts from the Quad Queen asking me about credit card charges. The situation at Plaza is not resolved.
The best thing to do, I figure, is to go down in person and see my host, or someone else who can straighten everything out. I fire off an email to my host, explaining what I'm seeing and letting him know I'll be downtown today to see him.
A bit of Flushiepants advice - when there are disputes with the hotel or comps, take care of them before you leave town, in person if possible. You have 6.39 times more likelihood of success.
Two bucks gets me downtown in a flash, and next thing I know, I am sitting at the throne seat right on Fremont, playing video poker.
The next thing I know after the next thing I just knew, just minutes after that, I am holed up in Magnolia's Veranda at the Four Queens with a delicious breakfast paid for (again) with comp dollars, and an unlucky keno ticket, to pass the time between bites. $60 is gone already on video poker, and my keno ticket costs almost $40.
Of course it had to be Country Fried Steak and Eggs, with rivers of Country Throw-up Gravy (featuring unknown bits o' stuff). Once again, I am victimized by the phenomena of eggs over hard having been translated to the grillman as 'eggs cook the everloving shit out of them and turn them into shingles'. Note to self - start an education program in the restaurants and diners of Las Vegas about eggs over hard. They need to be cooked - not incinerated.
I wake and before I open my eyes, I remember 'I'm in Vegas' and then I remember 'I go home today'.
That last day, it's inevitable, but seems 1000 years away when you first arrive. It's just not as easy to have fun on the last day in Vegas - but I'll try.
There are texts from the Quad Queen asking me about credit card charges. The situation at Plaza is not resolved.
The best thing to do, I figure, is to go down in person and see my host, or someone else who can straighten everything out. I fire off an email to my host, explaining what I'm seeing and letting him know I'll be downtown today to see him.
A bit of Flushiepants advice - when there are disputes with the hotel or comps, take care of them before you leave town, in person if possible. You have 6.39 times more likelihood of success.
Two bucks gets me downtown in a flash, and next thing I know, I am sitting at the throne seat right on Fremont, playing video poker.
The next thing I know after the next thing I just knew, just minutes after that, I am holed up in Magnolia's Veranda at the Four Queens with a delicious breakfast paid for (again) with comp dollars, and an unlucky keno ticket, to pass the time between bites. $60 is gone already on video poker, and my keno ticket costs almost $40.
Of course it had to be Country Fried Steak and Eggs, with rivers of Country Throw-up Gravy (featuring unknown bits o' stuff). Once again, I am victimized by the phenomena of eggs over hard having been translated to the grillman as 'eggs cook the everloving shit out of them and turn them into shingles'. Note to self - start an education program in the restaurants and diners of Las Vegas about eggs over hard. They need to be cooked - not incinerated.
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
Electric Flusher Trip Report
At last! The full, complete, mostly untold story of the most ill-planned trip to Las Vegas ever. Here are the gory details, including incredible never-before-seen wins.
Will Flusher get caught in the looming WestJet pilot's strike?
Will Flusher's glitter wear off before the Electric Flusher Carnival ends?
Will Flusher ever remember when Memorial Day is again?
A Buck A Card
Day 10 - Monday - continued
I visit my nickel VP machine to play my daily $20 free play only to find it gross. Filthy. There are ashes all over the screen, buttons, armrests, there's a dirty water bottle, its cap, an ashtray full of butts and bits of garbage here and there.
I sit down and just kind of look at it in disbelief. Where to start? I flick the cap onto the floor and gingerly move the water bottle up on top of the machine.
This disgusting looking woman next to me gives me the stinkeye. Yeah, I know who the fucking pig is now.
Fuck it, I'm out of there, and go to the Men's room to wash my hands 500 times. There's a certain kind of gambler out there that I've run into more than once. You have too. She was one of them.
I play my freeplay elsewhere, on short pay Double Double Bonus and hit nothing. But I do get a drink, and my appetite shows up.
There's no question on where I'm going to have lunch - Red Asian. Every time I eat here it gets better and better, and today is no exception.
I order General Tso's chicken. I feel sorry that he doesn't have his chicken anymore - I have it.
It's great, fresh cooked... this is what they do - they cook. Fresh. Yeah. Fuck yeah.
You order and you get a stick with a number on it and you wait a few minutes, and they take the chicken away from General Tso and give it to you at your table. It's a huge portion - easily enough for two people, so commensurately, I exercise tolerance and eat it all.
Back in the room, the water is back, and the safe is functioning. I finally get the shower and shave I've been needing, and proceed to walk through the sunscreen station. You pull up, and this huge gantry swings nearby, amber flashing lights making it look like a Kmart special. There's a guy on a little stand at the end of the gantry manning a 200 psi nozzle, which has a long hose running back to a tank of sunscreen. They spray you down one side, and up the other and next thing you know, you are number one for sun.
My plan is to ride the Strip limo and see if I can find the Snarky Blackjack Dealer at T.I. I also plan to take them for a bundle on my $5 of freeplay.
It's my first time using the RTC app and it's great. It's about time they had something like this. You can pay on your phone and you get a scannable thingy to show to the electric eye dealy. Your phone knows how long your scannable thingy is good for. No fucking with dollar bills trying to get them into the machine while your ride careens into the stop.
What luck - thebus limo shows within two minutes, and I even get a seat on the top level, right at the front. It's a great place to watch the world go by. Or in this case, to watch the world outside MGM grand go nowhere for a full 10 minutes.
We pull up to the stop just as another Deuce is leaving and we sit there. And sit there. And sit there. It's aggravating. And it's 10 minutes of my vacation gone.
Along the way, I take a bunch of photos and I think they turn out pretty well.
I visit my nickel VP machine to play my daily $20 free play only to find it gross. Filthy. There are ashes all over the screen, buttons, armrests, there's a dirty water bottle, its cap, an ashtray full of butts and bits of garbage here and there.
I sit down and just kind of look at it in disbelief. Where to start? I flick the cap onto the floor and gingerly move the water bottle up on top of the machine.
This disgusting looking woman next to me gives me the stinkeye. Yeah, I know who the fucking pig is now.
Fuck it, I'm out of there, and go to the Men's room to wash my hands 500 times. There's a certain kind of gambler out there that I've run into more than once. You have too. She was one of them.
I play my freeplay elsewhere, on short pay Double Double Bonus and hit nothing. But I do get a drink, and my appetite shows up.
There's no question on where I'm going to have lunch - Red Asian. Every time I eat here it gets better and better, and today is no exception.
I order General Tso's chicken. I feel sorry that he doesn't have his chicken anymore - I have it.
It's great, fresh cooked... this is what they do - they cook. Fresh. Yeah. Fuck yeah.
You order and you get a stick with a number on it and you wait a few minutes, and they take the chicken away from General Tso and give it to you at your table. It's a huge portion - easily enough for two people, so commensurately, I exercise tolerance and eat it all.
Back in the room, the water is back, and the safe is functioning. I finally get the shower and shave I've been needing, and proceed to walk through the sunscreen station. You pull up, and this huge gantry swings nearby, amber flashing lights making it look like a Kmart special. There's a guy on a little stand at the end of the gantry manning a 200 psi nozzle, which has a long hose running back to a tank of sunscreen. They spray you down one side, and up the other and next thing you know, you are number one for sun.
My plan is to ride the Strip limo and see if I can find the Snarky Blackjack Dealer at T.I. I also plan to take them for a bundle on my $5 of freeplay.
It's my first time using the RTC app and it's great. It's about time they had something like this. You can pay on your phone and you get a scannable thingy to show to the electric eye dealy. Your phone knows how long your scannable thingy is good for. No fucking with dollar bills trying to get them into the machine while your ride careens into the stop.
What luck - the
We pull up to the stop just as another Deuce is leaving and we sit there. And sit there. And sit there. It's aggravating. And it's 10 minutes of my vacation gone.
Along the way, I take a bunch of photos and I think they turn out pretty well.
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Roomarooned with the Misused Safe Team
Day 10 - Monday
Memorial Day in the USA, the last pillar of my inept planning on this, the worst-planned trip ever. I managed to pick some of the busiest days in the calendar, oblivious to all of it until it was time to find a hotel room.
But there I am, ready to finish up at the Cal, and move on again to Tropicana. You have to love those offers that can be booked multiple times per period. Thanks Trop. I have to think, though, with my nickel play this time, I won't see those offers any more.
What is it I love about the counter at the California Market Street cafe? Maybe it's memories of visits to similar lunch counters as a boy - maybe at Gordy's where Mom would take me for a strawberry milkshake after shopping at Polo Park. Maybe those Kresge's and Woolworth's counters, where you'd have a cheeseburger or a blue plate special while watching the endless cascade of brilliant Honey Dew flowing down the inside of the glass rectangular tank on top of the dispenser. Maybe it's memories of places like the Bluebird cafe, sitting on a stool (that could spin!) drinking a huge Orange Crush float.
It actually causes me physical pain knowing that the Bay City Diner (which you might know as Du-Par's) has been ripped out, particularly the counter. All that history, and some of my history, gone, gone, gone for more gambling machines.
(Anyone know what happened to the glass dividers etched with scenes of San Francisco? Anyone else even notice these?)
Anyway, I love a counter.
So again, I have the (for me) perfect breakfast.
It's five times points today so I swipe my card at a kiosk in front of the slot club and play some video poker on Flashy. Flashy is in an alcove next to the ATM/Tito machine. Flashy's candle doesn't flash anymore (which I don't really miss) but to make up for it, Flashy sports a wicked reflection of a ceiling mounted white-hot-sun-strength stadium light in the ceiling on Flashy's chrome trim. It's bright enough to give you a George Hamilton fake tan in 3 minutes.
I get a quad and employ the Strict Rules of Parlay, and move up to 50 cents, whereupon my credits dwindle down to zero.
Like the kid said, more beans, please.
My second parlay run works nicely, and I get up to dollars, and cash out a good profit.
I'm playing savvily this morning, and protect my win with the cashout technique. Then I put $20 in but keep playing dollars. You know, just to see.
Memorial Day in the USA, the last pillar of my inept planning on this, the worst-planned trip ever. I managed to pick some of the busiest days in the calendar, oblivious to all of it until it was time to find a hotel room.
But there I am, ready to finish up at the Cal, and move on again to Tropicana. You have to love those offers that can be booked multiple times per period. Thanks Trop. I have to think, though, with my nickel play this time, I won't see those offers any more.
What is it I love about the counter at the California Market Street cafe? Maybe it's memories of visits to similar lunch counters as a boy - maybe at Gordy's where Mom would take me for a strawberry milkshake after shopping at Polo Park. Maybe those Kresge's and Woolworth's counters, where you'd have a cheeseburger or a blue plate special while watching the endless cascade of brilliant Honey Dew flowing down the inside of the glass rectangular tank on top of the dispenser. Maybe it's memories of places like the Bluebird cafe, sitting on a stool (that could spin!) drinking a huge Orange Crush float.
It actually causes me physical pain knowing that the Bay City Diner (which you might know as Du-Par's) has been ripped out, particularly the counter. All that history, and some of my history, gone, gone, gone for more gambling machines.
(Anyone know what happened to the glass dividers etched with scenes of San Francisco? Anyone else even notice these?)
Anyway, I love a counter.
So again, I have the (for me) perfect breakfast.
It's five times points today so I swipe my card at a kiosk in front of the slot club and play some video poker on Flashy. Flashy is in an alcove next to the ATM/Tito machine. Flashy's candle doesn't flash anymore (which I don't really miss) but to make up for it, Flashy sports a wicked reflection of a ceiling mounted white-hot-sun-strength stadium light in the ceiling on Flashy's chrome trim. It's bright enough to give you a George Hamilton fake tan in 3 minutes.
I get a quad and employ the Strict Rules of Parlay, and move up to 50 cents, whereupon my credits dwindle down to zero.
Like the kid said, more beans, please.
My second parlay run works nicely, and I get up to dollars, and cash out a good profit.
I'm playing savvily this morning, and protect my win with the cashout technique. Then I put $20 in but keep playing dollars. You know, just to see.
Monday, September 17, 2018
Best Casino Name Ever
Day 9 - Sunday - continued
My Keno magic has disappeared - I win something like $3 on a $39 ticket. Slowly but surely, the Keno pit is raking back my winnings. If only there was some way to stop them!
I try a parlay using the Strict Rules of Parlay, and get a quad on quarters, and then at 50 cents.
I have $150. I decide it's time to really take a flyer, and funnel it all into 50 cent Boner Deluxe, thinking a quad run could make me some real money. This is the first time in the trip I commit a decent amount of money at a higher denom at video poker. About 25 times I get dealt three of a kind but can't close to get a single damn quad. All I need is one and I'll add $200 to the meter. It's a struggle and in the end, futile. But I get to push the buttons for a while.
I find myself frustrated. Some other things happen that completely piss me off, but there's no point in discussing them here. The smart thing, I decide, is to drink heavily in my room until I can enjoy myself again.
After a couple of hours of fussing, I finally go down for my nap. I'm a bit bloaty and gassy too. But I don't spit up, so there's that.
My Keno magic has disappeared - I win something like $3 on a $39 ticket. Slowly but surely, the Keno pit is raking back my winnings. If only there was some way to stop them!
I try a parlay using the Strict Rules of Parlay, and get a quad on quarters, and then at 50 cents.
I have $150. I decide it's time to really take a flyer, and funnel it all into 50 cent Boner Deluxe, thinking a quad run could make me some real money. This is the first time in the trip I commit a decent amount of money at a higher denom at video poker. About 25 times I get dealt three of a kind but can't close to get a single damn quad. All I need is one and I'll add $200 to the meter. It's a struggle and in the end, futile. But I get to push the buttons for a while.
I find myself frustrated. Some other things happen that completely piss me off, but there's no point in discussing them here. The smart thing, I decide, is to drink heavily in my room until I can enjoy myself again.
After a couple of hours of fussing, I finally go down for my nap. I'm a bit bloaty and gassy too. But I don't spit up, so there's that.
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Crash Sato!
Sunday Day 9
For me, the third Sunday in May marks the beginning of summer. That's when I watch the Monaco Grand Prix in the morning, and eat Indy Dogs, and watch the 500 in the afternoon.
That's today!
I get up quite early (5:30) feeling great, having slept the deep sleep of the minus one hundred forty six dollar degenerate.
The reliable Little Giant is poised to make me a great cup of Indy Coffee. Water in the hopper? Check. Carefully measured (shake shake shake shake shake shake shake shake) grounds for a cup of my java in the reusable filter? Check. Coffee cup?
Shit. All I have on hand are the flimsy plastic room cups they give you. I always feel weird taking a plastic cup out of plastic wrapping, but that's of no concern right now - my concern is my veins which are screaming for Little Giant caffeine.
To me, those little flimsy plastic room cups they give you are not appropriate receptacles for my Joe.
Putting that problem aside, I solve another one, easily - the Grand Prix race is coming in on the hotel TV - one of the US networks is conveniently carrying it, without ads nonetheless, for some reason.
Monaco is about three things. The start. Reliability. Weather. If you start more than 4th on the grid, you have only a faint hope of winning. If you get out of the start unscathed, in first or second, you are in great shape. The race has been won by the driver on pole 45% of the time. The furthest position that coughed up a winner is 14th on the grid - Olivier Panis, in 1996, and that's only because all but three cars crashed on a track wet and slippery from rain.
But the start is when all the cars are as close as they are going to be in the race, bunched up, and everyone trying to get ahead. This equals drama and flying carbon fiber.
So, I watch the start and the first eight or ten laps, until Monaco gets into a rhythm. Then I go downstairs and eat breakfast.
My keno ticket from the night before yields a 'win' of $13.80 on a $39 ticket. No six out of sixes for me - that gravy train has sailed. Speaking of gravy - after throwing $10 at Ultra Bonus (nothing), I eat the Market Street breakfast buffet, which rivals the food of many penal institutions. It has a hot and cold running supply of CTUG, and taters, so I make the best of it. On the way out, I get a couple of styrofoam cups for the Little Giant.
The Grand Prix finishes (Daniel Ricciardo, winning from pole, I rest my case) and I'm ready to gamble.
For me, the third Sunday in May marks the beginning of summer. That's when I watch the Monaco Grand Prix in the morning, and eat Indy Dogs, and watch the 500 in the afternoon.
That's today!
I get up quite early (5:30) feeling great, having slept the deep sleep of the minus one hundred forty six dollar degenerate.
The reliable Little Giant is poised to make me a great cup of Indy Coffee. Water in the hopper? Check. Carefully measured (shake shake shake shake shake shake shake shake) grounds for a cup of my java in the reusable filter? Check. Coffee cup?
Shit. All I have on hand are the flimsy plastic room cups they give you. I always feel weird taking a plastic cup out of plastic wrapping, but that's of no concern right now - my concern is my veins which are screaming for Little Giant caffeine.
To me, those little flimsy plastic room cups they give you are not appropriate receptacles for my Joe.
Putting that problem aside, I solve another one, easily - the Grand Prix race is coming in on the hotel TV - one of the US networks is conveniently carrying it, without ads nonetheless, for some reason.
Monaco is about three things. The start. Reliability. Weather. If you start more than 4th on the grid, you have only a faint hope of winning. If you get out of the start unscathed, in first or second, you are in great shape. The race has been won by the driver on pole 45% of the time. The furthest position that coughed up a winner is 14th on the grid - Olivier Panis, in 1996, and that's only because all but three cars crashed on a track wet and slippery from rain.
But the start is when all the cars are as close as they are going to be in the race, bunched up, and everyone trying to get ahead. This equals drama and flying carbon fiber.
So, I watch the start and the first eight or ten laps, until Monaco gets into a rhythm. Then I go downstairs and eat breakfast.
My keno ticket from the night before yields a 'win' of $13.80 on a $39 ticket. No six out of sixes for me - that gravy train has sailed. Speaking of gravy - after throwing $10 at Ultra Bonus (nothing), I eat the Market Street breakfast buffet, which rivals the food of many penal institutions. It has a hot and cold running supply of CTUG, and taters, so I make the best of it. On the way out, I get a couple of styrofoam cups for the Little Giant.
The Grand Prix finishes (Daniel Ricciardo, winning from pole, I rest my case) and I'm ready to gamble.
Saturday, September 15, 2018
Dropping the Extra Quarter
Day 8 - Saturday - continued
A couple of trips ago, when Max was selling me a Keno ticket with a bunch of ways at 25 cents each, he said to me, "Why don't you throw an extra quarter on the seven out of seven - make it worth your while in case it hits, and doesn't cost much."
It was sage advice. And I'd forgotten all about it. SHIT.
See, this is the way the gambler's mind works. I had won $1200. I was ecstatic. But after remembering what Max said, I'm upset - I could have won more 'if only'.
A second quarter on the six out of six on my ticket would have netted me an extra $500. Goddamn.
But then I thought about it some more - that would be $1700. There's no tax deducted on keno wins up to $1500. The extra $500 would take me over the line. They'd deduct 30% tax off the top for being Canadian. That's $510. I'd be left with... $1190.
Sure, I could file and get the tax back if I had a losing year. I'd see it in 18 months to 2 years from now, if everything went smoothly. There are no guarantees when filing taxes.
My baby brain got soothed from its temper tantrum and finally went down for its nap. It was okay. I could be happy.
I was never really that unhappy, but you know how you second guess things... I COULD HAVE!!!
The remaining games were non-events, and when it was done, I went back down in triumph, told Max, "I told you this was the one," collected my dough, tipped the keno crew out, and...
...played the numbers again.
The ticket I'd cashed on the Diamond Head machine while in the throes of a keno klimax was worth $47.50 - a nice little stake for triple play deuces. In the first eight hands, I don't see a single duck. It's so bad that I check to see if I'm really playing the right game.
The $47.50 goes in 90 seconds. That's the way luck is sometimes - it can spike, and then it can lay down like it never got out of bed in the first place. Nobody wants bedridden luck, I can tell you.
Treasure Chest is nearby and I pick a good little upright. Ten bucks lasts me a solid hour, but I don't get a single quad. When it's out I put in $20 and it lasts for a solid hour. I get two quads, and on one of them, I facetime the QQ so she can pick a chest. She tells me which one she wants and I drunkbutton the wrong one. SORRY!
A couple of trips ago, when Max was selling me a Keno ticket with a bunch of ways at 25 cents each, he said to me, "Why don't you throw an extra quarter on the seven out of seven - make it worth your while in case it hits, and doesn't cost much."
It was sage advice. And I'd forgotten all about it. SHIT.
See, this is the way the gambler's mind works. I had won $1200. I was ecstatic. But after remembering what Max said, I'm upset - I could have won more 'if only'.
A second quarter on the six out of six on my ticket would have netted me an extra $500. Goddamn.
But then I thought about it some more - that would be $1700. There's no tax deducted on keno wins up to $1500. The extra $500 would take me over the line. They'd deduct 30% tax off the top for being Canadian. That's $510. I'd be left with... $1190.
Sure, I could file and get the tax back if I had a losing year. I'd see it in 18 months to 2 years from now, if everything went smoothly. There are no guarantees when filing taxes.
My baby brain got soothed from its temper tantrum and finally went down for its nap. It was okay. I could be happy.
I was never really that unhappy, but you know how you second guess things... I COULD HAVE!!!
The remaining games were non-events, and when it was done, I went back down in triumph, told Max, "I told you this was the one," collected my dough, tipped the keno crew out, and...
...played the numbers again.
The ticket I'd cashed on the Diamond Head machine while in the throes of a keno klimax was worth $47.50 - a nice little stake for triple play deuces. In the first eight hands, I don't see a single duck. It's so bad that I check to see if I'm really playing the right game.
The $47.50 goes in 90 seconds. That's the way luck is sometimes - it can spike, and then it can lay down like it never got out of bed in the first place. Nobody wants bedridden luck, I can tell you.
Treasure Chest is nearby and I pick a good little upright. Ten bucks lasts me a solid hour, but I don't get a single quad. When it's out I put in $20 and it lasts for a solid hour. I get two quads, and on one of them, I facetime the QQ so she can pick a chest. She tells me which one she wants and I drunkbutton the wrong one. SORRY!
When the second quad comes around, I do it again and do it right. Maria comes by to take a drink order and I put her on facetime. She great, so pleasant - she humors me and says Hi to the QQ.
In return I don't let it go on for more than 15 seconds. She goes, and a rowdy drunk group wanders by and it seems like a good idea to put them on facetime, which I do.
The yell, and whoop, and sway, and most of a beer gets dumped on the seat next to me. The rest of that beer gets dumped on Royal Flusher. I don't mind. I'm a winner.
Friday, September 14, 2018
The Big White Keno Circle
Day 8 - Saturday - continued
Two keno numbers to go, 10, and 30.
I wait and a big white circle shows up. I honestly can't believe it, but it's thirty. 30. THIR-TY. Holy dogshit! I've hit 5 out of 6! I'm going to make some damn money here, and have a good 'one that got away' story!
But I start chanting anyway.
"Ten... ten... TEN... for once... ten. C'mon ten... ten... TEN!"
A big white circle shows the last number drawn in the game.
IT'S FUCKING TEN!!!!
"I did it! I actually did it!!!" I shout. "YES!!!"
I pound the cashout button on the VP machine, not wanting to run off leaving almost $50 in it.
I sit down and get my keno ticket out. Last thing I want to do is find out that my bet games ended the game before this one or some other ironic soul-crushing shit.
The ticket says the first game I played is 501, and the last game will be 516. The screen says this is game 510. I look at my numbers and look at the board.
My numbers are all there, all six of 'em. Just for good measure, the numbers in the other variation that I usually play up in that corner are there as well. This one was MTB.
Remembering the lesson of the lost $100 chip, I carefully stow the keno ticket and the TITO in my snap purse, and put that in my lunch money security pocket, and lock it all down with a couple of safety pins.
What a feeling I've got! I'm a little bit stunned, and I don't quite believe it - there are still some hoops to jump through and I try not to count it as money won - until I see the money. I'm tingling all over, just pumped and jazzed with adrenalin. I need to get to the Keno lounge - NOW.
It's hard to keep from running, and I literally almost run into McGoo in front of the elevators.
"Flushie! Hey, how's it going?"
My jaw works a bit and little squeaks come out.
"I... I.... shit, I think I just won at Keno! I've gotta go!"
At the Keno lounge, I take out my ticket and run it through the scanner. It's one of the sweetest sights I've ever laid my peepers on.
Two keno numbers to go, 10, and 30.
I wait and a big white circle shows up. I honestly can't believe it, but it's thirty. 30. THIR-TY. Holy dogshit! I've hit 5 out of 6! I'm going to make some damn money here, and have a good 'one that got away' story!
But I start chanting anyway.
"Ten... ten... TEN... for once... ten. C'mon ten... ten... TEN!"
A big white circle shows the last number drawn in the game.
IT'S FUCKING TEN!!!!
"I did it! I actually did it!!!" I shout. "YES!!!"
I pound the cashout button on the VP machine, not wanting to run off leaving almost $50 in it.
I sit down and get my keno ticket out. Last thing I want to do is find out that my bet games ended the game before this one or some other ironic soul-crushing shit.
The ticket says the first game I played is 501, and the last game will be 516. The screen says this is game 510. I look at my numbers and look at the board.
My numbers are all there, all six of 'em. Just for good measure, the numbers in the other variation that I usually play up in that corner are there as well. This one was MTB.
Remembering the lesson of the lost $100 chip, I carefully stow the keno ticket and the TITO in my snap purse, and put that in my lunch money security pocket, and lock it all down with a couple of safety pins.
What a feeling I've got! I'm a little bit stunned, and I don't quite believe it - there are still some hoops to jump through and I try not to count it as money won - until I see the money. I'm tingling all over, just pumped and jazzed with adrenalin. I need to get to the Keno lounge - NOW.
It's hard to keep from running, and I literally almost run into McGoo in front of the elevators.
"Flushie! Hey, how's it going?"
My jaw works a bit and little squeaks come out.
"I... I.... shit, I think I just won at Keno! I've gotta go!"
At the Keno lounge, I take out my ticket and run it through the scanner. It's one of the sweetest sights I've ever laid my peepers on.
Thursday, September 13, 2018
Ten And Thirty
Day 8 - Saturday
Ah, Saturday. I love waking up and realizing it's Saturday. I love even more waking up and realizing it's Saturday in Vegas.
On the other hand, in Vegas, every day seems like Saturday, and every night is Saturday night.
I take stock of my budget. There's not much left. Creeping up over the 'grand in the hole' mark has me feeling edgy. Maybe today I'll make back some ground. I shower and shave and dress like my very best gambling self. I'm a winner today.
In the California casino, I play 1400 hands of electronic gambling with out of focus computer cards. I play carefully, methodically, every hand held to perfection. It's a thing of beauty to watch (I'm sure) and I do nothing but win money.
Manny is on duty at the buffet and he whips me up a beauty of an omelette. It's got every kind of vegetable, including jalapeno, and it's got cheese, melting on the inside. I build on that with some home fries topped with a little of the beige bounty - that Vat-Tastic Buffet Country Throw-up Gravy. It's slobbery good!
I want to make some bets on the Indy 500 which runs on Sunday, so I head back to the room and on the way, I stop off at the Cal sports book to pick up an odds sheet. The little Cal sports book is a gem. It's loungy, it has a bar with video poker, it has comfy seating... it's like a giant home man cave.
Back up in my room, I spend as much time as possible fucking around on the internet, blogging, posting stuff on message boards, and researching drivers for the race.
Every year, Takuma Sato is our mascot, because almost every year he crashes out and often diabolically takes someone with him. He has shocked us by actually winning the race once, though. On the other hand, he has also crashed on the last lap of the race when challenging for the lead.
I get some good advice from a fellow Flushie, Tony B., and pick four drivers. Down in the sports book, I buy my tickets, and of course I put some money on Sato.
Ah, Saturday. I love waking up and realizing it's Saturday. I love even more waking up and realizing it's Saturday in Vegas.
On the other hand, in Vegas, every day seems like Saturday, and every night is Saturday night.
I take stock of my budget. There's not much left. Creeping up over the 'grand in the hole' mark has me feeling edgy. Maybe today I'll make back some ground. I shower and shave and dress like my very best gambling self. I'm a winner today.
In the California casino, I play 1400 hands of electronic gambling with out of focus computer cards. I play carefully, methodically, every hand held to perfection. It's a thing of beauty to watch (I'm sure) and I do nothing but win money.
Breakfast... where? The buffet at Main Street Station, that's where. Just outside the cage, though, the progressive on a bank of dollar machines is at $7800 for the Royal. I'm underfunded for any kind of dollar play, but I have to take a shot at it. I fire two twenties and get nowhere fast. Poondammit!
Manny is on duty at the buffet and he whips me up a beauty of an omelette. It's got every kind of vegetable, including jalapeno, and it's got cheese, melting on the inside. I build on that with some home fries topped with a little of the beige bounty - that Vat-Tastic Buffet Country Throw-up Gravy. It's slobbery good!
I want to make some bets on the Indy 500 which runs on Sunday, so I head back to the room and on the way, I stop off at the Cal sports book to pick up an odds sheet. The little Cal sports book is a gem. It's loungy, it has a bar with video poker, it has comfy seating... it's like a giant home man cave.
Back up in my room, I spend as much time as possible fucking around on the internet, blogging, posting stuff on message boards, and researching drivers for the race.
Every year, Takuma Sato is our mascot, because almost every year he crashes out and often diabolically takes someone with him. He has shocked us by actually winning the race once, though. On the other hand, he has also crashed on the last lap of the race when challenging for the lead.
I get some good advice from a fellow Flushie, Tony B., and pick four drivers. Down in the sports book, I buy my tickets, and of course I put some money on Sato.
The Keno lounge seems like a good place to make my fortune. I sit down and work out a multi-way ticket. It's much the same as the typical multi-way ticket I have been playing, but I adjust the the number selection from my typical choices.
It took me a while to understand how to play Keno using 'ways'. Now that I know this, I can lose money faster.
Basically, what you do is age until you are 40 years older than the average retirement age. You have your choice of cane, walker, scooter, pallbearers, or wheelchair to get to the Keno lounge. In any case, your movements should be about a quarter of normal speed no matter what you do.
Basically, what you do is age until you are 40 years older than the average retirement age. You have your choice of cane, walker, scooter, pallbearers, or wheelchair to get to the Keno lounge. In any case, your movements should be about a quarter of normal speed no matter what you do.
At the Keno lounge, you find a desk you like, and build up a portfolio of about 500 different tickets, none of which you know are over or not. So every ten minutes, you shuffle/roll/crawl up to the front and spend a lot of time scanning tickets, looking confused, and sorting through your pockets for that lost dollar you need to buy the 501th ticket.
You do not drink alcohol in order to play Keno 'way' tickets - you drink coffee. There should be at least four styrofoam cold half-cups of coffee situated around your Keno nerve center.
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
It's the Knuckles
Day 7 - Friday - continued
On the way, I snap a pic of the moon rising over the Cal.
The moon looks bigger in person. That's because the moon is 2,159 miles in diameter. But in this picture, it's only an eighth of an in diameter. Another mystery... solved!
I've sure met some nice people by jotting all of these words in this here blog and one of them is Texas Steph, who is in town with Hubs.
I don't actually remember Hubs' name, but online she calls him Hubs, so I'm going to stick with that.
Texas Steph and Hubs have invited me to dine with them at the Triple Seven as their guest and at the appointed hour, I head over.
We have a delicious meal featuring Onion Rings for me. If you haven't tried the rings at the 777, you must.
We share the Southwestern Egg Rolls, which I find to be excellent. If I remember correctly... let's see... they feature marinated grilled chicken, diced peppers, onions, sweet corn, fresh cilantro, black beans and jack cheese, and are fried in chinese egg roll wrappers and served with chipotle sour cream dip.
I'd definitely have these again.
We have a terrific time together with interesting conversation and great food. Thanks again for dinner, you two, I very much appreciate your hospitality!
Back at the Cal, I visit Pinchy and Flashy. But the quads aren't coming. I had done 1200 hands at the Boar's Head, and another 400 in the alcove with P and F. And I have but one quad and no royals (natch) to show for it.
Time to see how my blackjack luck is. Because I'm down $300 on the machines.
On the way, I snap a pic of the moon rising over the Cal.
The moon looks bigger in person. That's because the moon is 2,159 miles in diameter. But in this picture, it's only an eighth of an in diameter. Another mystery... solved!
I've sure met some nice people by jotting all of these words in this here blog and one of them is Texas Steph, who is in town with Hubs.
I don't actually remember Hubs' name, but online she calls him Hubs, so I'm going to stick with that.
Texas Steph and Hubs have invited me to dine with them at the Triple Seven as their guest and at the appointed hour, I head over.
 |
| Not Texas Steph. |
We share the Southwestern Egg Rolls, which I find to be excellent. If I remember correctly... let's see... they feature marinated grilled chicken, diced peppers, onions, sweet corn, fresh cilantro, black beans and jack cheese, and are fried in chinese egg roll wrappers and served with chipotle sour cream dip.
I'd definitely have these again.
 |
| Also not Texas Steph. |
 |
| Definitely not Texas Steph. |
Back at the Cal, I visit Pinchy and Flashy. But the quads aren't coming. I had done 1200 hands at the Boar's Head, and another 400 in the alcove with P and F. And I have but one quad and no royals (natch) to show for it.
Time to see how my blackjack luck is. Because I'm down $300 on the machines.
The Human Parade
Day 7 - Friday
When you are surfing the comped room offers on a trip, you have to get used to moving a lot. I try not to unpack too much stuff, to make the pre-move chores a little easier.
Today is another moving day and it's back downtown to the California, the third stop on the Plaza-Tropicana-Cal-Tropicana gambling choo choo train.
I get a message from the Quad Queen about the Plaza - there are some charges on my credit card:
On May 19 193.80 US
On May 23 176.66 US
On May 23 53.03 US
I don't see any credits from them
Oh great. Looks like a snafu to sort out. That's when I remember something weird that the deskling told me when I checked in. She mentioned that my your stay was booked on two different reservations, but I wouldn't have to change rooms.
That's when I get a nasty feeling in my gut (not the same blowout nasty feeling, a worry nasty feeling). The second reservation would be for the comped third night. The first reservation for the first two paid nights that I was under the impression had been comped on the back end. But when the checkout Sheila told me there was no charge - she was only looking at the second reservation for the comped night.
I realize that maybe nothing additional had been picked up, because it looked like there were a couple of nights plus resort fees, and the $53.03 would be food I charged to the room perhaps.
I decide to give it a day and see if any charges got reversed. I can go and see my host when I'm downtown if needs must.
It's always, always best to take care of these kinds of things while you are in town. There's nothing like a face-to-face meeting to get things done. But once you are gone, somehow, you drift off in the wind like a tiny piece of Electric Daisy Carnival boob glitter - once sparkly, now just a distant forgottenmammary memory.
Last night I slept very well and the Flushie bod feels mighty fiddle.
This calls for Vegas Breakfast.
Flusher's Moving Day Vegas Breakfast
- two (2) cups of Little Giant in-room coffee, complete with stolen gas station creamers
- one (1) good tot of vodka in each cup of coffee
- one half (1/2) bag of potato crisps
There's no way I'm giving the Tropicana any more play this stay, so I do a couple of hours of interneting until check-out time. I pack up most of my gear and check for the WAX times and I'm pleased and somewhat shocked that there is a bus due in perfect time for me to finish packing, stroll to the bus stop in a leisurely fashion, and take a few nature photographs, after which the bus will appear like a long, noisy limousine.
Two Dollar Luxury!
The only issue with this plan is that I have but one single dollar bill in my possession. One.
When you are surfing the comped room offers on a trip, you have to get used to moving a lot. I try not to unpack too much stuff, to make the pre-move chores a little easier.
Today is another moving day and it's back downtown to the California, the third stop on the Plaza-Tropicana-Cal-Tropicana gambling choo choo train.
I get a message from the Quad Queen about the Plaza - there are some charges on my credit card:
On May 19 193.80 US
On May 23 176.66 US
On May 23 53.03 US
I don't see any credits from them
Oh great. Looks like a snafu to sort out. That's when I remember something weird that the deskling told me when I checked in. She mentioned that my your stay was booked on two different reservations, but I wouldn't have to change rooms.
That's when I get a nasty feeling in my gut (not the same blowout nasty feeling, a worry nasty feeling). The second reservation would be for the comped third night. The first reservation for the first two paid nights that I was under the impression had been comped on the back end. But when the checkout Sheila told me there was no charge - she was only looking at the second reservation for the comped night.
I realize that maybe nothing additional had been picked up, because it looked like there were a couple of nights plus resort fees, and the $53.03 would be food I charged to the room perhaps.
I decide to give it a day and see if any charges got reversed. I can go and see my host when I'm downtown if needs must.
It's always, always best to take care of these kinds of things while you are in town. There's nothing like a face-to-face meeting to get things done. But once you are gone, somehow, you drift off in the wind like a tiny piece of Electric Daisy Carnival boob glitter - once sparkly, now just a distant forgotten
Last night I slept very well and the Flushie bod feels mighty fiddle.
This calls for Vegas Breakfast.
Flusher's Moving Day Vegas Breakfast
- two (2) cups of Little Giant in-room coffee, complete with stolen gas station creamers
- one (1) good tot of vodka in each cup of coffee
- one half (1/2) bag of potato crisps
 |
| Vegas Breakfast |
Two Dollar Luxury!
The only issue with this plan is that I have but one single dollar bill in my possession. One.
Tuesday, September 11, 2018
A Magical Day
Day 6 - Thursday
How did I know up on waking that today would be a magical day?! How could I have known?!
I allot myself $100 to play nickel video poker, plus my $20 freeplay for the day.
When that is gone, I take a break.
Then I allot myself another $100.
When that is gone, I took a break.
Yes, it is one of those days. As great as the quad deluge had been the day before the quad drought I'm in is just as bad or worse.
Here's what I have to show for the day.
After hitting that last quad, I play 2,000 hands (400 hands of 5-play) without hitting a quad, or anything higher. It is definitely an outlier in terms of luck, but its effect is to eat all my credits.
The high point of the session is being dealt four-to-a-Royal. The low point of the session is not hitting any of them. That's five chances down the tubes.
I take another break. A long break.
At some point I have some sort of punishment breakfast in the room - the last bit of the Desperation Cookie, and some pocket lint, along with some delicious Little Giant Cheap Bastard coffee. I am saving my daily food comp dollars for the buffet for lunch.
After unsuccessfully fucking around looking for entertaining things to do in the room, I decide that it seems like a good time to do just that.
It was... okay. The little individual shepherd's pie is pretty good. Better than a sheep pie, I can assure you.
The dessert thing on the right is excellent. The cookie makes its way unscathed to my room - imagine that!
I take another long break. I don't really feel like going out and about - I've been pushing it, eating things I probably shouldn't - I'm still not feeling great. It's a drag, but not a deal-breaker. I know sooner or later I'll feel better.
The next plan has a number of options. I'll take a third hundred (gulp). I'll pick up comped tickets to the David Goldrake Imaginarium magic show for 7:00pm. I'll gamble a little and if it doesn't go well, I'll see the show.
In the casino, some jerk-face button masher is pounding hell out of my nickel machine. I make a couple of passes but he shows no sign of moving on.
His modus-annoyance-I is to hit Deal, survey the cards, and then as quickly as he can possibly manage, whack the hold buttons and immediately whack Draw. This is as stupid as it is annoying. The opportunities for finger-checks abound. I watch for a while, just off his shoulder.
He plays a hand and I notice something, something he didn't.
I loudly say, "Shoulda held the pair of sevens..." and stroll off, feeling smug.
Yep, playing fifty hands at a time, rushing, he missed seeing a pair and dumped them. I feel vindicated, but it doesn't get me onto my machine.
I decide to pluck at keno a quarter at a time and get a drink. It takes forever, and I end up leaving. Fifty paces away, I spot the CW with (I assume) my drink on board her tray. I chase her down and get my drink. Vodka soda. She asks me if I want a second one - there's another one on the tray. Hell yes I do.
Off to magic I go, double-fisting the drinks, which I know I won't be allowed to take into the venue.
I get a seat and after a while of watching the photo Sheila work the room, taking pics of groups to sell back to them later at some exhorbitant cost, the show starts.
There's a lot of smoke and flashy lights and shit. It looks pretty good.
I brazenly take some pics of David Goldrake, holding his arms out in that patented 'look what I just did!' way that magicians do, waiting for the long arm of the law to shut me down. It doesn't take long. The usher uses the 'shine a 60,000 candlepower highly focused white light beam at the perpetrator' method to get my attention. This has the desired effect, with the added bonus of embarrassing me as the entire room looks at the uber bright illumination.
Fair enough, I've got what I want.
Overall, I enjoyed the show. The production values are pretty good, and Goldrake is professional throughout. But it's tough when the room is only a third full.
A few of the illusions had me stumped, a few of them I've seen before (look, magician is over here at the side of the room all of a sudden!), and a couple I figured out how they were done.
It's tough to be critical on a guy who's had some terrible luck in life - his wife suffered a tragic accident on stage recently - and is not backing down from continuing with what he has dedicated his life to.
So my gentle observations are that there were too many - way too many - times when Goldrake was calling for a 'round of applause'. Every audience participant (multiple times), every member of the show, every trick. It seemed a bit much and I was really, really tired of clapping. "Our assistant lighting director's ex-partner's mother - let's give her a big round of applause!"
When you are having to drum up excitement, the chemistry isn't there yet. And perhaps this is attributable to the small crowd.
Secondly, there just wasn't enough content to make a show. There are a handful of big illusions, and a couple of long audience participation numbers, surrounded by billows of flashy smoky fill. I would say that the core of the show is barely an hour. The end of the show with all its introductions and rounds of applause seemed to take ten minutes on its own.
My wish for this show is that it catches on, and the audiences grow to fill the room. That would drive everything forward. The illusions are certainly good enough to do so and the visuals of the show look great.
After the show, I give Slutty Times Pay a try. Once again, the four-to-a-Royal draw eludes me. That's eight chances in one day, including three at 3x pay. All fails.
At this point in the day, I have my work cut out for me.
I spend some time thinking over if the contents of an emergency parmesan cheese packet would mix with the Smirnoff to make a good 'vodka smoothie'.
Fortunately, I think better of it, and go down and get a re-run of last night's cheeseburger.
My plan was to get soused in the room - I don't even do that. I have one stiff one and then crash.
Vegas has good days and not so good days. Today is a not so good day, but I am hopeful that tomorrow will be better. It's back to the Cal.
I have some freeplay there, and that's good, because I'm pretty much out of cash, and almost out of budget for the entire trip, with about five days to go.
Machines: Day -$300
Trip: -$941
How did I know up on waking that today would be a magical day?! How could I have known?!
I allot myself $100 to play nickel video poker, plus my $20 freeplay for the day.
When that is gone, I take a break.
Then I allot myself another $100.
When that is gone, I took a break.
Yes, it is one of those days. As great as the quad deluge had been the day before the quad drought I'm in is just as bad or worse.
Here's what I have to show for the day.
After hitting that last quad, I play 2,000 hands (400 hands of 5-play) without hitting a quad, or anything higher. It is definitely an outlier in terms of luck, but its effect is to eat all my credits.
The high point of the session is being dealt four-to-a-Royal. The low point of the session is not hitting any of them. That's five chances down the tubes.
I take another break. A long break.
At some point I have some sort of punishment breakfast in the room - the last bit of the Desperation Cookie, and some pocket lint, along with some delicious Little Giant Cheap Bastard coffee. I am saving my daily food comp dollars for the buffet for lunch.
After unsuccessfully fucking around looking for entertaining things to do in the room, I decide that it seems like a good time to do just that.
It was... okay. The little individual shepherd's pie is pretty good. Better than a sheep pie, I can assure you.
The dessert thing on the right is excellent. The cookie makes its way unscathed to my room - imagine that!
I take another long break. I don't really feel like going out and about - I've been pushing it, eating things I probably shouldn't - I'm still not feeling great. It's a drag, but not a deal-breaker. I know sooner or later I'll feel better.
 |
| In-room entertainment for the afternoon. |
In the casino, some jerk-face button masher is pounding hell out of my nickel machine. I make a couple of passes but he shows no sign of moving on.
His modus-annoyance-I is to hit Deal, survey the cards, and then as quickly as he can possibly manage, whack the hold buttons and immediately whack Draw. This is as stupid as it is annoying. The opportunities for finger-checks abound. I watch for a while, just off his shoulder.
He plays a hand and I notice something, something he didn't.
I loudly say, "Shoulda held the pair of sevens..." and stroll off, feeling smug.
Yep, playing fifty hands at a time, rushing, he missed seeing a pair and dumped them. I feel vindicated, but it doesn't get me onto my machine.
I decide to pluck at keno a quarter at a time and get a drink. It takes forever, and I end up leaving. Fifty paces away, I spot the CW with (I assume) my drink on board her tray. I chase her down and get my drink. Vodka soda. She asks me if I want a second one - there's another one on the tray. Hell yes I do.
Off to magic I go, double-fisting the drinks, which I know I won't be allowed to take into the venue.
I get a seat and after a while of watching the photo Sheila work the room, taking pics of groups to sell back to them later at some exhorbitant cost, the show starts.
There's a lot of smoke and flashy lights and shit. It looks pretty good.
I brazenly take some pics of David Goldrake, holding his arms out in that patented 'look what I just did!' way that magicians do, waiting for the long arm of the law to shut me down. It doesn't take long. The usher uses the 'shine a 60,000 candlepower highly focused white light beam at the perpetrator' method to get my attention. This has the desired effect, with the added bonus of embarrassing me as the entire room looks at the uber bright illumination.
Fair enough, I've got what I want.
Overall, I enjoyed the show. The production values are pretty good, and Goldrake is professional throughout. But it's tough when the room is only a third full.
A few of the illusions had me stumped, a few of them I've seen before (look, magician is over here at the side of the room all of a sudden!), and a couple I figured out how they were done.
It's tough to be critical on a guy who's had some terrible luck in life - his wife suffered a tragic accident on stage recently - and is not backing down from continuing with what he has dedicated his life to.
So my gentle observations are that there were too many - way too many - times when Goldrake was calling for a 'round of applause'. Every audience participant (multiple times), every member of the show, every trick. It seemed a bit much and I was really, really tired of clapping. "Our assistant lighting director's ex-partner's mother - let's give her a big round of applause!"
When you are having to drum up excitement, the chemistry isn't there yet. And perhaps this is attributable to the small crowd.
Secondly, there just wasn't enough content to make a show. There are a handful of big illusions, and a couple of long audience participation numbers, surrounded by billows of flashy smoky fill. I would say that the core of the show is barely an hour. The end of the show with all its introductions and rounds of applause seemed to take ten minutes on its own.
My wish for this show is that it catches on, and the audiences grow to fill the room. That would drive everything forward. The illusions are certainly good enough to do so and the visuals of the show look great.
After the show, I give Slutty Times Pay a try. Once again, the four-to-a-Royal draw eludes me. That's eight chances in one day, including three at 3x pay. All fails.
At this point in the day, I have my work cut out for me.
I spend some time thinking over if the contents of an emergency parmesan cheese packet would mix with the Smirnoff to make a good 'vodka smoothie'.
Fortunately, I think better of it, and go down and get a re-run of last night's cheeseburger.
My plan was to get soused in the room - I don't even do that. I have one stiff one and then crash.
Vegas has good days and not so good days. Today is a not so good day, but I am hopeful that tomorrow will be better. It's back to the Cal.
I have some freeplay there, and that's good, because I'm pretty much out of cash, and almost out of budget for the entire trip, with about five days to go.
Machines: Day -$300
Trip: -$941
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