A sweet reward for my pal Jimmy Poon

Every morning, I drive my 1972 Plymouth Roadrunner (in sweet blue glitter paint) to work. It has an engine with more displacement than a Sumo wrestler's diaper, a 'slap-shift' selector for banging through the gears in street drags, a small steering wheel with welded chain for the struts, and a whimsical chrome gas pedal in the shape of a bare foot, complete with little rounded chrome toes.

I roar in, balls to the wall, with a throaty hard-on growl, squeal into my spot beside the fragrant, perfectly manicured lawns of the Executive Offices of North American Veeblefetzer, right into the spot with my name on it - "Royal Flusher".

The Roadrunner door slams with a solid 'thwunk' that says "I'm ready and waiting for you to unleash me big boy, any time you want..." And every morning I walk by my buxom receptionist, who has my coffee ready just the way I like it, and who licks her lips and smiles at me, usually glancing impishly below my waist, and stroll into my office, ready to make deals and take calls.

There are only three things wrong with my life right now. First of all, the 1972 Plymouth Roadrunner classic muscle-car (in sweet blue glitter paint) is actually a 1994 Toyota Tercel. Second, I work on the size 7 grommet production line at North American Veeblefetzer, not in the offices, and as such, have the privilege of parking in the 'D' lot, some 278 yards from the factory door. Third, my buxom receptionist often licks her lips and smiles at me, usually glancing impishly below my waist, and gives me my coffee which is on occasion not quite as I like it!!!

Fine, no buxom hotty. Coffee is from one of those vending machines with a huge picture of coffee on the front. It has a 10,000 foot roll of filter paper in it, and coffee grounds that date from the Gulf War.

My first day back, I gave Jimmy Poon the 'plastic long-legged woman with huge boobs perched on a mug' mug that I brought him from the souvenir shop kitty corner from the Four Queens on Fremont Street.

"Hey Jimmy," I said, approaching from behind as Jimmy ate lunch - some sort of stir fry with rice in a tupperware container.

Jimmy Poon popped up from the table like a whack-a-mole, just about knocking his chair over in the process. Jimmy does this, every time I see him, he pops. He's always showing respect like that.

Well, Jimmy Poon is a hard worker and a smart cat, and he has my respect too. And he did dump a pail of grommet releaser compound over that cloying over-cologned Norbert, just in the nick of time before I headed out for my last Vegas trip. Even so, I don't pop for anyone. It's just not the Royal Flusher Way.

"Sit down for fuck's sake, Jimmy." I pressed on Jimmy Poon's shoulder and finally, he sat, about the same time I did.

"Jimmy...," I said, and began unwrapping the bundle from its protective tissue paper.

Jimmy Poon's eyes got as big as size 9 grommets and he popped up again.

"Jimmy, I brought you this plastic long-legged woman with huge boobs perched on a mug from Vegas."

Jimmy Poon looked at me with those big, dark, soft whack-a-mole eyes. I could tell he was touched. And why not, the plastic babe was pretty damn hot looking, even if she was made of extruded North Korean petrochemical oligomers.

"Royal, is beautiful!" Jimmy Poon said. He held the precious souvenir aloft so all the lunchroom could see. "Look! Look what Royal bring me!"

It's said that Jimmy Poon has a PhD in astronomy. But that doesn't keep that dear whack-a-mole buddy of mine from tearing up at the sight of what would be the biggest resin boobs on a mug this side of Vegas.

The sight of the racy souvenir was met with a resounding chorus of bored silence. I wasn't deterred though. I could tell that Jimmy Poon was really happy with his gift, and I was happy that he'd dumped that stuff on Norbert. We were both happy.

"Jimmy, " I said to Jimmy Poon, "I hope you didn't get into any trouble over the dumping of the whale-jism-like grommet releaser compound all over that fuckhead Norbert."

"No, no... they called it an accident, reset board to '0 days since', and no other fallout. It was evaluated to be convergence of disparate and un-corelated factors, all at the right moment - bad luck, if you will - just like a fucking Norbert eclipse of the whale jism heart. Nothing happen to me."

We laughed. "Ha ha ha," we went.

"Jimmy," I said to Jimmy Poon, "I'm going back... back... back to Las Vegas!"

"Vegas?! So soon?"

"Yes... they awarded me a 25 years of service anniversary trip to Vegas, as long as I use up all my Aeroplan points."

"Royal, that is wonderful! Maybe you can bring me a hot plastic guy mug... to keep this one company!"

There was more to Jimmy Poon than met the eye. More than a PhD. More than a woman.

"My wife, Mrs. Flusher, is headed out there in a few days. And after a week, I can join her! Maybe I can win back the rest of the $3000 that Vegas fucked me out of in November by not giving me any Royals Flush!"

Ha ha ha, oh how we laughed at that.

I was serious though, I'd taken my revenge on Vegas to the tune of $250 to the good - but that hot bitch of a town still had a lot to answer for - and I had that hot bitch of a town's number, if a town could have a single phone number. And if it could, I had it. Big time.

I sat down and ate my lunch of 3 day old egg salad sandwiches. I prefer e.s. sandwiches, because they don't need refrigeration. So convenient!

And I regaled Jimmy Poon and the others on my line with tales of my last trip to Vegas... and portends and visions of the trip to come. Revenge, that is, more revenge... would come to me... it was Vegas Revenge - Part 2 the Sequel 3: Avenged.

And, oh dear sweet Lord, it was going to be whatever the next 'in' word for 'epic' is. Whatever that is, that's what it was going to be.

I just can't bring myself to say epic.

But it's going to be that. A LOT of that.

Just keep reading and see!