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Sunday, January 6, 2019

Good Luck Bobby G.

It's pretty hard to do a coupon run when all the coupons have expired. This is the story of my fucking life. Gravestone: "His coupon expired."

We had a nice break in the room after I conquered the Keno machine and very nearly hit another one out of the Keno park on a couple of tickets I had - one number short of $1400. One stinking ball away.

At least it was a well waxed ball.

I got my stuff together, LVA book, ACG coupons, and headed out - first stop, the Plaza.

The Plaza continues to have a heavy amount of scent in the air, such that it makes me cough. I like the Plaza, but they need to ease up on that crap. The two most fragrantized places I encountered on this trip were the Plaza and the El Cortez.

At the slot club desk, the boothling politely informed me that I'm an idiot and that my coupon for free play (and every other coupon in my possession) was no good after December 28th. This will teach me for putting off my coupon run when I was in town in October.

So couponing was dead.

Instead, I hit up a Buffalo machine that I've had luck on and had some luck on it, enough to cash out $40 profit.

Then I headed down to The D, where I reliably have a tiny bit of free play each month. Five bucks worth, to be exact.

Guess what?


I played a bit at the Vue bar, but the progressives were low, so I went to the Fremont for some Bonus Poker Super Slutty Times Pay and some fake Chinese. I don't know why I like it but I do.

I managed to play a while on the Bonus Poker, but ended up losing.

Meanwhile, I had been exchanging some messages with a fan and supporter of Royal Flusher Vegas, who was playing at the Downtown Grand.

When he told me what the Aces Kicker progressive was up to, I practically ran over there.

Over $1200 for Aces Kicker sounded good to me.

Mr. Bobby G. was at the bar and easy to find. We said hello, shook hands, ordered drinks, and got busy. I hand delivered a lucky Official Royal Flusher Business Card 2.0 with the SROP on the back.

It was fun chasing the progressives and talking about video poker and gambling stories. The bartender comped my Maker's Mark, no problem.

Then things got weird when a very drunk young fella with severe tobacco breath clambered onto the stool next to me and said, "You guys look like you're having a good time, might as well join you."

The guy was hammered. I looked at Bobby G. and he looked at me and we looked at the guy and then we went back to chasing the Aces.

Then it was a round of "d'ya have a light? how bout you? no? there's matches over there, where's the guy? where do I get them - d'ya have a light?" and then the worrisome "What's up with you?!!".

Directed at Bobby G., who was not going to be fucked with, not today or any other day. He responded, "I dunno, what's up with you?"

That brought a couple of rounds of further discrete enquiries into the current activities, hopes, and concerns of each of the two involved parties.

"What's up with you?!!"

"Well, what's up with you?!!"

"So, what's up with you??????"

Fortunately, this exchange ended in laughter instead of an Anchorman-style escalation, which was good, because I'd left my trident back in the room.

For the next five minutes or so, we just played video poker, and uncomfortably ignored the drunkard, with who we still did not know what was up.

Then came the pity ploy, "Looks like you don't want me around here."

Silence from us, and more button pushing.

"I'm outta here, you're probably not going to miss me, right?"

Meanwhile, I'd managed to hit a quad to keep the Aces quest alive and about ten minutes later, I noticed that the drunkard had sidled himself up to some other poor bastard at the bar. One more minute after that, he was probably being quizzed on what was up, I'm sure.

A new bartender came around and I ordered a refill of my Maker's Mark.

"Sorry, we can't comp that."

What the Downtown Grand Fuck-up??? This is why they struggle, just the latest in stupid bullshit. Here's a couple of guys pounding away at the machines, stuffing bills in, and they sometimes don't comp the drink that costs them 30 cents more than the gun plonk whiskey.

I looked at the bartender and said, "What's up with you????!!!"

Eventually, I got offered some sort of Bulleit rye, which actually wasn't half bad.

Overall, I was losing badly at the Aces chase, but I decided to give it a really good shot, given my outstanding history at pegging the Pointies (with kicker) at the Furnace bar.

When $180 was gone, so was I, and it was time to chalk up yet another memorable meet-up story.

Perhaps the wistful lyrics of Flusherville's 'New Justin Bieber' street poet, Burce Steenpoon, said it best:

Maybe you'll be out there in a bar somewhere 
In some Deuce or monorail traveling along 
In some comped room there'll be a radio playing 
And you'll hear me steal this song
Well, if you do, you'll know I'm thinking of you
And all the pointies in between
And I'm just calling you one last time
Not to change your mind, but just to get all the kickers - 
Good luck, goodbye, Bobby G.

This would be followed by the sentimental sound of the Thin Guy's signature penny whistle sound in the coda that drifts the song to its welcome end, and generally brings Flusherville's dogs a-runnin'.

    1 comment:

    1. Hey Flusher, WHAT'S UP WITH YOU?????!!!



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