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Sunday, January 6, 2019

The Amazing Strict Rules of Parlay

This trip was quite a shit-kicking. It's amazing how a trend can persist day after day after day. Funny how that happens with losing, but rarely winning. Or maybe it's not so fucking funny at all!

We regrouped in the room, packed up as much as possible - we had a ball-busting blood-shot-eye 3:30 AM wake up call for a punishingly early flight out the next day - and set up some travellers, and headed down to the California casino to start what would be our last night of the trip.

We decided to try to do some Strict Rules of Parlay play, and after a couple of false starts, we settled in on our old friends, Flashy and Pinchy. I took Flashy.

The Quad Queen parlayed up from 25 cents to 50 cents and then to dollars, where she fought a really good fight.

Me? I had one of those perfect sessions, like I've had so many times before on this particular machine. One time it ended in a dollar Royal. A guy can hope, can't he?

I played for quite a while on quarters, and worked my way from $20 up to $40 the hard way - no quads. Then I bumped up to 50 cents.

Flashy was banging, and for one of the only rare times this trip, I felt the flow. The feeling that I was part of a frantic button-pushing luck dance, with the sense that I was surfing a gambling wave, and that the hands were interconnected, and had to be capitalized on before the wave broke, which it always does. When this happens, I get into an alpha state zone and I see everything so clearly, such as the low pairs I miss holding because I'm playing so fast. But it's all good, I know the hits are coming

Sure enough, on one hand I held three to a royal... I almost got it but was a 9 of clubs instead of the needed Ace. Damn.

Still, I've picked off a straight flush, and at 50 cents, it's worth $125. Just like that, the session got serious.

View from the alcove. I love this place. I hope they don't make it unplayable.
As the Strict Rules of Parlay dictate, I bumped up to dollars. Finally, I had a chance at pulling some decent money out of the machine.

I played for a long time, dipping down, getting back up, and finally the quad I wanted was there. Four sixes, on dollars, which was the highest denom that Flashy has. Got the kicker too.

Being at $290 and trying for $300 is often the kiss of death, and sure enough, I dropped down as low as $180 on the love meter, but a couple of fulls house and a few hands of this and that and I popped over the $300 mark, to $315.

Now I had an opportunity to go further - because there was no way I was not going to cash at $300 if I dropped down. The hope was I'd get a bit more head room and be able to play my way higher.

I won a few, I lost a few. And then the display said $300 even. I looked at it for a long while.

And for once this trip, I cashed a great profit.

The Strict Rules of Parlay, and some rare self-discipline, had taken me from $20 to $300. It was pretty sweet.

Meanwhile, the Quad Queen had dumped down her stake back to 50 cents, then 25 cents, then out. She tried again and took a flyer and hit paydirt.

Why have I stopped playing leaned over craps? Or hands on hips craps? Or craps of any stature for that matter?
Instead of handing my host a generous thank you and perhaps getting a few bucks to eat at the Redwood Steakhouse, we skipped all that and basically fired her. How did we do this? By hiring a host that has helped us out in the past in an efficient and communicative manner.

Not by setting up two reservations for the same room (yes, that was what happened this trip) and not by fixing a shit room we were in, after reserving two months prior.

We shook on it and it's as simple as that. I don't like to hurt anyone's feelings but I have to ghost my host. I'm sure you'll read how I get on with the new one. Hopefully we can come to a satisfactory mutually beneficial relationship that helps us, her, and the casino (barely).

So dinner? Steak? Lobster? Nope, coffee shop.

Where we scored one of the coveted "Eye Tables".

These beauties are custom made. I'm not sure why they are called the Eye Tables though.

I had the Hawaiian Hamburger Steak and for some reason, it wasn't that great. Very disappointing. I even had to ask for more gravy. There's nothing worse than not enough gravy. Not overly high management expense ratios, not international tensions between colorfully costumed peoples with opposing headdresses, not global farming and not dying Monarch butterflies.

Not Enough Gravy tops the list of the Good Earth's ills.

After dinner, I went into some kind of stupor, maybe from too much gravy, and wandered from machine to machine, putting my $300 TITO in, playing a bit, and then cashing it out. Except every time I cashed it out, it wasn't $300 anymore, and was less than the time before.

The magic, however magical and enjoyable, had gone, at least as far as I was concerned.

The Quad Queen, in her special way, knocked off a bunch of nice hands, bless her pointy little head.

When we'd moved on to some slant tops, she got Pointy Little Head Pointies. A cute Bonus Poker set, for $100.

I remember the first time she ever hit this on Bonus Poker back in the day. We couldn't believe it. We thought we had enough quarters to play for-ever!!!

This was back in the day when we took turns playing hands, trying to make our $80 a day last. That's $40 each. I hated that we were restricted and fettered by our lack of resources, but if I could revisit a time in Vegas... that would be it.

I was tapped out, eventually, and she'd had enough, and we went to bed, another Vegas trip in the books, and a brutal one by any measure. The worst or perhaps second worst trip ever.

Four hours of sleep later, we were up and flapping around, and then it was Lyft to the airport, where I made my final stand on Triple Double Bonus, and just like last time missed the goddamned kicker, so that I hit $100 instead of $500.

I played it out, trying for Aces kicker, which nets $1000, and in keeping with the traditional ass reaming of this trip, I didn't hit it.

We didn't go straight home to Flusherville - we were off to Tampa, for some warmness time in sunny Florida. Four days after that it was time to go home to the monochrome freezing Flusherville winter.

And that's pretty much the end of the trip report.

However, I'll probably add a recounting of the incredibly stupid travel woes I inflicted upon myself, just because it's traditional for me to have anything but a smooth and speed bump free travelling experience.

If travel experiences were kids on a school trip, my kid would be the one that invariably pukes on himself, and possibly others, nine minutes after leaving home.

Does this all sound depressing?

Well, it should. But I tell it like it is (and was), good or bad. That's how you know it's for real.

And then there's the accounting spin which tries to make comps seem like real money. That's in the pipeline too, so we're not quite done yet!

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