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Saturday, October 20, 2018

Pounding Candy


I've been out and about most of the day, so now that it's Saturday night, I can spend some time getting you all caught up.

What a day. It's been... something. Intense.

After visiting my Buffalo ATM this morning, I got in the Nissan Altituda and drove down to the Nugget, where I thought I had $50 in free play waiting.

I had nought.

I played some of their less than stellar video poker, figuring I might need some points to trigger the freeplay.

Nought.

Then, the boothling told me, when I wanted my parking validated, that I had 10 points and needed 20. So I had to play more substandard video poker. And in so doing all of this crap, I donated like $60 to the Nugget.

Yep, you got me. Fine.

Over at the Cal, the lineup for the coffee shop was snaking down the wall outside the Redwood, so I opted for the counter. I didn't have to wait long. The western omelette I had was excellent, so good in fact, that no photo could do it justice. So I skipped that part.

So here's the thing. It was time for the walk of shame. I had to go and take a marker. Overall it's been a tough trip.

No sooner did I take care of that humiliating chore, I hit a quad on Slutty Times Pay nickels. And shortly thereafter, I hit a beauty of 5x Pointies.



5x pointies. No kicker, though.
The kicker would have made this a 10,000 nickel hit. Aka $500. Bygones. I even got a $1 scratchcard for each quad.


Now, aside from a brief bright spot at the Mikes bar at the Four Queens, in the guise of a quad, things went to shit. That quad played out and before I knew it, $60 had gone.


I'd played a few machines before leaving Main Street, post Aces - they all dumpered.

This contined at the Downtown Grand, and the El Cortez, where I went from game to game to game, doing horribly.

Exact same type of machine we used to play at Luxor when we first started on this - ahem - journey.

We can pinpoint when my day turned winning into disaster when I played nickel Ultimate X. I had three queens, pressed the buttons, and a fourth queen popped up, except only two had held. I blew a quad. It turned out the button was dodgy and didn't always work. I didn't know that, but it's my responsibility to make sure that my holds are good.

Then the worst insult of all. YET ANOTHER triple play four-to-a-Royal chance - with 8x multiplier on one of them. This could have been some serious coin.


Goddammit I was pissed.

Naked City Pizza provided a settle down snack, and I did a penance in the Keno lounge, playing both a ticket, and a machine.







I hate to say it, but for whatever reasons - anger, fatigue, nagging cold that won't quite go away, degeneracy - I went on tilt. More longshot machines, more losses.

One of the most enjoyable things I did today was when I put $100 in a machine and got a quad first hand. I then had a decent stake to take a shot at 50 cent double double. For half an hour I played full out, fast, intense, on edge, waiting for that quad that would make it all good, hopefully a premium.

It never came.

But at least I got to really go full out with a decent stake in the machine.

Despondent, I went to the slot club to swipe on the promo thingy and see if I had anything.

I did. Some freeplay, and some promo items.


A very cute boothling waved me over to the counter.

"I'd like to pound Candy," I said.

"Excuse me?"

"I'd like - sorry - I'd like a pound of candy."

"Would you like $5 freeplay instead?"

"Hell yes I would."

The total of $20 freeplay disappeared as well.

The racket of Fremont Street got on my nerves. I'd turned a great win into a disaster day and I wanted everyone to fuck off and shut up. I'd like to blow up every plastic 5 gallon pail in the city to keep morons from drumming on them.

And then... I saw him. My old friend, the steel drum player. Aging, skinny, gold teeth, and grey dreadlocks - and always smiling brightly. We exchanged silent greetings and I felt a bit better.

I felt better yet when I obtained dinner from Chicago Brewing Company.



It came to my room with me.

Candy didn't.

Super special Flushiepant shoutouts to not one, but two folks who provided generous donations to keep Jimmy Poon in my basement, running this place. Thank you to B.G., and to Casey, a true patron of the (degenerate) arts. You guys are the bomb.



    1 comment:

    1. Cmon Flusher, as a fellow degenerate surely you must know to call over a tech on that misplayed four of a kind; Ive had many casinos look at hand history and paid out....#letsgoflusher

      ReplyDelete

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