Vegas… again
March 01, 2007

Every story about Vegas is worth documenting. That’s why every time we go to Vegas, Las Vegas (like there’s any other), we keep a journal about almost everything that happens. Well… ok, almost everything. There are some things that can’t be documented in this manner, mostly because of the litigious nature of this country, but that’s a story for another time and almost a digression.

Vegas is the place of dreams. It’s one of the few places on earth that you can see a guy arguing with a hooker standing next to a family of five getting their picture taken by drunk, bachelorette party girls on their way to a pyramid hoping to see 25 male strippers shake their junk. That shit is magical. How can any experience in a place like that not be worth taking notes?

The first time we went to Vegas (as adults) we walked up and down the strip. The whole god damned strip. That was the last time we did that. But regardless of that fact, during that walk we realized several things. First of all, we will get asked where to score drugs every time we go to Vegas. Secondly, having no money in Vegas sucks. Third, cheap hookers are easy to spot. And finally, you’re probably gonna lose your ass so accept it and go to Vegas knowing it.

As you can probably guess, we just got back from Vegas and we kept a journal. We’ve done this before but as we already said, every time should be an adventure worth recording for future generations.

Our trip began on Friday after a brief work day…


  • We’ve been trying to get our friend, who we’ll call Phil, to go to Vegas for about four months and it took a phone call from another one of his friends to convince him to go. But whatever, we’ll take it.
  • We found out on Thursday that the reason everything was so damn expensive was because we were headed to Vegas the same weekend as a big ass NASCAR race. That meant that we would be sharing Vegas with a million of America’s finest white trash. We were excited by the prospects of fun this could mean.
  • Originally there were eight of us scheduled to go to Vegas as part of the Bell party at the Sahara Hotel and Casino. When we left Flagstaff, it was just J. Allen and Aaron. Fuckin’ shitty friends, always bailing on us and shit.
  • We made promises to our friends and families. We promised that if we won the jackpot, we’d do something special. If J. Allen won, he’d buy everyone a Vespa. If Aaron won, he’d get everyone tattoos. Phil promised to buy everyone a nice suit, apparently not realizing who was with him. Aaron in turn promised to make Phil buy him a purple and yellow pimp suit.

Friday: 8 p.m.

  • Worked (in the loosest sense of the word) in the morning. Left work by 11 a.m. and we were in the car and on the way by 12:30 p.m.
  • On the way, J. Allen called his OnStar buddies to set up his brand new OnStar account. While getting everything set up, J. Allen had a couple questions for him; could OnStar tell us where to bury an “accident” where no one would ever find her… we mean it; could OnStar help negotiate a deal with a certain type of person, for certain types of services if the certain type of person doesn’t speak English; could OnStar use its satellite to fire a giant laser at our enemies; and if we pass a hot chick in a car with OnStar, could OnStar connect us with her and arrange for some services to be rendered.
  • Made it to Vegas in four hours.
  • When we passed by the Statosphere we saw a man and a women arguing but it turned out that this wasn’t a normal argument. This was a conversation between a woman, who was a hooker, and a man, who was arguing with a hooker. As we said before, families were walking by the pair, seemingly oblivious to fact that a man was arguing with a hooker… who may have actually been a dude. We were several feet away and couldn’t get a good look at the hooker but there was at least enough visual evidence to make us wonder.
  • When we got to Vegas we had to go shopping for shoes. For three hours. We were in Vegas… Las Vegas… and we were shopping for shoes. Our friend Phil and his wife wanted to go shoe shopping when we got to Vegas. For three hours.

Saturday: 1 a.m.

  • J. Allen got his ass handed to him at the tables. We were only gambling for a couple hours but J. Allen is already down almost 200 bucks. Aaron is doing ok… not good, not bad… just ok. After dinner, gambling and some other random expenses, Aaron is only down 15.
  • J. Allen discovered that if he dry humped the slot machine while Phil pumped money into it, the chances of Phil winning increased.
  • We went to the Boulder Station Casino and Hotel. Fuck that place. That is apparently where all the hardcore locals go to drown their sorrows and hope for that big jackpot that has eluded them for the past 60 years – and they smoke a lot.
  • We saw a man win 10,000 pennies. That was mildly interesting.
  • Totally wussing out. It’s only 1 a.m. and we are going to bed. Tomorrow will be better.

Saturday: 10 p.m.

  • J. Allen wore a shirt that said “I’m with stupid.” He spent the rest of the day making sure he stood next to Phil.
  • J. Allen starts the day off by losing the chance at a $200 bet. Because he didn’t put his money in the right place he lost 200 bucks. Dumbshit. What made the event even more special was the fact that the dealer made it a point to make fun of J. for the rest of the time he was sitting at the table… and every time he walked by.
  • We went on an epic search for the “best pickle ever” in New York, New York. Unfortunately, the pickle remained a myth. Many tears were shed. Actually, no tears were shed at all, but one of the girls who was with us was really bummed out.
  • We came to a sober realization today. Despite the fact that for the first time in our history we actually have the money to gamble, we are way too big of pussies to actually do it. If the table is more than 10 bucks to play, we don’t have the balls to play.
  • A half-pound hot dog is not as good as you can imagine that it would be. We ain’t sayin’ it’s bad… just you know… OK. Topping it with cheese and chili is a good start to making it great though…
  • Saw “300.” It was pretty good. That chick that gets naked in it is hot.
  • The only thing we can say about the Treasure Island Siren’s Song show is that it’s nice to see that someone has taken the initiative and started teaching our young women that using sex as a weapon never ends badly. Who knew that gyrating hips and booty shakes could sink a pirate ship?
  • One our way back to the Sahara we saw a guy two and a half minutes away from either passing out, throwing up five hours worth of alcohol or dying. His girlfriend wanted us to help get him on the train. We tried but he managed all by himself. She then wanted us to go with her to take him to the hospital. Considering the statement we used to open this paragraph, there is no way we were going to be a part of any of those three things. We told her we were going the other way, then booked it to another train.

Sunday: 3 a.m.

  • J. Allen changed shirts because it was gambling time and Phil had left so there was no need for the “I’m with Stupid” shirt. So he picked his communism shirt knowing full well that he was in a casino full of drunken rednecks.
  • J. Allen learns that rednecks don’t know what the symbol for communism is.
  • J. Allen also learns that Chinese dealers do know the communism symbol and won’t talk to you, or even look at you, if you are wearing it.
  • Mental note: communism shirts are fuckin’ lucky as shit! Esoteric, geek oriented shirts… not so much.
  • J. Allen won 300 bucks in two hours. Aaron lost 200 bucks in that same timeframe.

Sunday: Noon

  • J. Allen won more money making this one of the most successful trips to Vegas he’s ever experienced.
  • Had a crappy lunch at a crappy, cheap place in the Boulder Station. But during that lunch, we proceeded to send text messages to our friends telling them that J. had punched a cop and Phil was in jail. Oddly enough, no one believed either of these statements.
  • J. Allen takes one last shot as he’s walking out the door. He makes his way to the roulette table and puts a $100 chip on black.
  • We learned that red comes up when J. Allen puts money on black.

    And with that… it’s over. We leave. Ready to come back as soon as possible.