Anal-Lisa and Erica America Star in 'Can We Get a Nipple Over Here?'

I'm going to keep this one brief because it's really more of an inside joke than a funny story, but I said it would make it on here so here it is. If you haven't already, read the She Ends Every Text with Her Name, That Means She Likes Anal story because that introduces the 'Anal-Lisa' character.

The other character is 'Erica America' - a chick John had met Friday night who's name he got busted forgetting in the middle of their conversation. After she proceeded to get pissed about him not remembering her name, she reiterated it for him by saying "it's Erica, like Erica America". This had us all fuckin' rolling (not to her face of course, we found out about this classic 1-liner after the fact), needless to say this moronic rhyme scheme ensured none of us forgot her name...ever again.

Saturday afternoon we're all sittin in John and Chris's room, laughin our asses off and recapping the evening prior (this was a continuation of the convo that began at Hooters), and the discussion shifts to how we need to get both Anal-Lisa and Erica America to do a porno since they already have porn names. I believe the male lead in said porno was going to be Romeo Horsecock - I tentatively have to credit Pete with coming up with this name weeks before, Chris and I just kept referencing it. Anyway the punch line of this entire conversation came when Chris suggested the title of the porno be "Can We Get a Nipple Over Here?" (a reference to this story). This had me laughing so hard I literally said "that's it I'm done" and left the room.

The 'Kevin is a Dead Man' Post: Explained

So this is yet another story of me being an asshole with no regard for...well let's face it, anyone. Although really it all came about as the result of a misunderstanding, but I'll give my ego fair share of the blame here too. So here's what happened:

John had disappeared, Chris had disappeared - he was probably on the dance floor shimmying (ask Chris to show you his moves), I have no idea what I was doing but I wasn't at the table. I come by the table and Kevin is sittin' there talkin' to these less than attractive skanks. Anyone who's read the preceding stories sees where this is going, I wanted them gone. I ask the bouncer to get rid of them, he goes over to do that and returns to tell me my boy(Kevin) said they were fine and that they could stay.

I left it be as far as the bouncer but in my head I'm thinkin' "wtf Kevin, don't override me, you're not even single". For the time being I figured I'd leave them be, go down to the Playboy club to kill some time and hopefully the situation would resolve itself. Now you'll have to forgive me because I know I went down there with someone but I can't remember who it was: John or Chris. It was at this point, standing at the bar in Playboy, still pissed about Kevin, that I shot off the 'Kevin is a dead man' text that was posted.

When I return back upstairs the scene is exactly how I left it and I decided enough was enough. I went back over to the bouncer I said something along the lines of "I don't care what my boy says anymore, I need these chicks out of here, if he has any problem with that take him off too". Yes, I know I'm an asshole, a huge one, and fortunately it didn't come to that because it would have probably been one of the dick-est things I'd ever done.

When I return to the table after the ensuing argument which was brief but apparently heated, at least from an outsiders perspective, we come to realize the misunderstanding that had sparked the whole controversy. The first time the bouncer had come over Kevin didn't say the group was fine to stay, he had said the one he was talkin' to was fine to stay and nothing about the others - the bouncer either misheard him, or hadn't hear him. Once we established that everything from that point on was fine, I apologized, Kevin apologized and the night continued on its merry drunken way.

For Once I'm Not The Asshole

John said he wanted to tell this one but if you know John you should know that it will never get done, so I'm going to go ahead and write it.

There we all are - Saturday night at TAO again, it's maybe a little after midnight and the club is absolutely slammed. The sheer number of people in the place was making it like a sauna in there and John had been using cigarette breaks as an excuse to leave the club and get some fresh air even though he could smoke at the table. Now because we had a table we had stamps on our wrists indicating as much which allowed us to go in and out without waiting in line or any other hassles. Although John seems to also think the door guys were told who we were because they seemed to know he was good without seeing his wrist.

On one of his smoke trips, a particularly observant chick who noticed John had a table approached him.

Her: So, you have a table inside?
John: Oh, yea.
Her: You should bring me and my friends in with you.
John: Uh, no I don't think so. [He then attempts to walk away]
Her (becoming more insistant and grabbing John to keep him from leaving): No, I really think you should bring us in with you. You'll have a much better night.
John: Listen, I know you think you're hot shit, but there's a reason you're still out here standing in line. [He then once again attempts to walk away]

At this point she grabs John again and reels back to smack him in the face. At the same time John turns and leans back to avoid catching it in the face and instead is smacked across the chest / shoulder area. John then goes back into the club and proceeds to tell us all what just happened.

My response was basically "that's exactly what I would have said" because it was, who the hell did this bitch think she was? More importantly it was hilarious that for once i WASN'T the one who said it. Not only that, after John finished telling me this story, I repeated it to the chick I had been talking to. She responded with "oh, so is he the asshole of the group?". I replied "I probably shouldn't tell you this but actually, no, I'm the asshole of the group". She refused to believe it, John had been branded, and for once I wasn't the asshole.

John and Chris's Dirty Limericks Featuring the #1 Hit 'Please Come Lick My Balls'

The song "Shoot Me Down" by Lil' Wayne off Tha Carter III sort of became the official theme song of this trip. Not because we were hearing it in the clubs, mostly because I had it stuck in my head and kept singing / playing / referencing it. To this day hearing the song reminds us all of the trip.

Saturday afternoon when we're dickin around in the room getting ready for dinner and so forth I decide to add my own lyrics to the tune - specifically the chorus, which I have embedded the video to start at for reference, and sing them to Kevin (John and Chris were in their room at the time).


Actual lyrics:

Please don't shoot me down,
'cause I'm flyin', I'm flyin', i'm high uppp.
Please don't shoot me down,
'cause I'm flyin', I'm high upppp.

My lyrics:

Please come lick my balls,
'cause they're dry, they're dry, so dry-eyyye.
Please come lick my balls,
no not you, there - that guy, that guy-eyyye

I decide to let Chris and John in on my remix over dinner, which leads into a discussion about dirty limericks, the time we made up a song on the spot on a voice mail while high, and basically that we need to do it again. John insists it should be completely unscripted and spontaneous though. So basically the story revolves around the idea of creating a dirty limerick album. I'm really not sure why this needed to be posted, maybe because the song was repeatedly sung all trip, or simply to illustrate what an immature child I am. Either way.

Kevin and John Nearly Kill Themselves

This series of unfortunate and/or hilarious events (depending on how much you like seeing John and Kevin in pain) come to us courtesy of the copious amounts of alcohol consumed over Saturday night at TAO. Just to provide some perspective and what I mean by "copious" - we had consumed three liters of vodka, a 750mL of Patron silver and maybe 12-15 Coronas. This wasn't your mom's Sunday brunch, this was serious fuckin drinking. We literally witnessed John consume an entire glass of Patron on the rocks and proceed to attempt to dance with a newlywed in front of her husband at the end of the night - he was wasted. Kevin just sort of hit this point where he was riding such a high he was completely amped up and uninhibited - he too, was wasted.

At 4:30 or so, things had wound down, the club was closing soon and we went to leave. The set up at TAO requires you to exit from the club down a flight of stairs into and through the lounge area below. On our way down the stairs John loses it half way down and tumbles and rolls down the remainder. A girl on her way up the stairs at the same time gasped at the sight, the guy she was with along with the rest of us cracked up at John's expense. At the base of the stairs John immediately pops up and dusts himself off as if it was some sort of elaborate stunt he performed intentionally.

In addition to the girls gasp and the rest of our laughter, the third response he received was paranoid concern on the part of the bouncer he spilled out in front of. However his concern wasn't with John's level of intoxication, he was genuinely concerned that he hadn't hurt himself - I'm sure they don't want to get sued. He was very insistent that they had excellent insurance and if he has hurt himself in anyway they could and would take care of it. John insisted he was fine and we were off. According to him he had slipped on a slice of lime which was on the stairs, yea right John, whatever you say...

We're leaving the Venetian, as I've already established John and Kevin were three sheets to the wind, on the way out from the Venetian there are outdoor moving walkways which you ride from the front of the hotel to the sidewalk. For some reason John decides to bolt down the thing at full speed followed by Kevin who does the same. Unfortunately while John was able to make it to the end without incident, Kevin completely spills out right at the end and catches the back of his head across the handrail. Unlike John's fall this one looked too painful to elicit laughter, at the same time I was impressed Kevin was able to keep the beer in his hand from breaking or spilling as he collapsed to the ground.

Kevin was reasonably fine - apparently there was some blood but no concussion and with the exception of a bad headache the next day he was no worse for the wear.

Oxygen in the casino...

One night during the trip a heated debated ensued: whether or not oxygen is actually pumped in to casinos. It isn't, but the boys didn't believe me - in fact, I believe I was ousted from the conversation like a new-born in a trash can. Regardless, fuck you all.


http://www.snopes.com/luck/casino.asp

Next Trip - March 2009

I arrived home Monday evening and not two days later I received a letter in the mail from AMEX inviting me to take advantage of an offer for a free two night stay at the Wynn in Las Vegas. This seemed too good to be true, the Wynn is the nicest hotel in the city, the regular rooms are $300 a night. The fine print had blackout dates, usual legal mumbo jumbo, but no catch, because there wasn't one. There were only two weekends which weren't blacked out between now and the end of the promotion and the first was next weekend, so I took the second. March 13th and 14th I'll be back in the city of sin, I guess I can wait that long.

It case it hasn't become fully apparent - I'm a complete addict. Even for me though, this was an incredibly fast turn around - returning from one trip Monday evening, booking the next that Friday. But there's no way I'm passing up on a deal this good, so now the question is: who's comin' with me?

There's WHAT in the Fridge?

So Saturday night we were set up with a kick ass table at TAO in the Venetian. In fact, the table set up there was so good, it came with a fully stocked mini fridge included in the price. As we're led up to the table, I'm being explained the set up, how things work, being introduced to our waitress, etc, etc. The guy then starts tellin' me about the fridge and what it contains; red bull, coronas, water, edible panties...Wait, what were those last two? Yes, you read right - edible panties. At the time the conversation went something like this:

VIP Host: ...edible panties
Me: Wait, what?
VIP Host: Yea, there's edible panties in there.
Me: Great, so if I get hungry later I'll just have a few pair of panties and I'll be good to go.
VIP Host: Well, I usually put them on someone first, but that's just me.

In addition to the edible panties we came to find out the fridge also included personal lubricant and condoms - the wrappers for which said "TAO Nightclub - Always a Happy Ending" on them (I'll throw up a picture of it when I get the chance). Here's my question: what the HELL did they think we were going to be doing at our table? It wasn't exactly a private area, we were in a recessed spot but it was shared with one other table. There was a curtain which could be pulled to separate it from the main part of the club, but the curtain was sheer. The condoms I get, you meet some chick at the club, you're about to go back to her room but you don't have a rubber on you, but edible panties? Lube? This was not a situation in which I would have ever thought "damn, if only I had some lube and edible panties right now".

She Ends Every Text with Her Name, That Means She Likes Anal

So there we all were, Saturday afternoon, all four of us sitting around a table at Hooters (don't judge, its cheap and it was across from our hotel). Anyway, we're all sittin' there recapping, the other three recouping - I happened to be fine following the previous evening's failed 'social experiment'. These afternoons are possibly the best part of Vegas trips, when everyone's story from the night before comes together into one interwoven, unified, and generally god damned hilarious story.

The conversation turns to women from the night before, who got what numbers, who talked to who, the good, the bad, the ugly, the braces, etc, etc. Not five minutes into the conversation, Chris receives a text from a chick from the night before, a chick he didn't even recall giving his number to, shit he didn't even know who she was. We narrowed it down pretty quickly to one of two women, but who she was isn't where the story lies, her name was the catalyst for hilarity here.

Maybe her second or third text she asks Chris if he remembers her name, which we found peculiar seeing that she had ended every text to this point with her name. It became obvious that her name was set as an auto-sig at the end of every text, and she had failed to realize this prior to asking the question. Well this lead to a lengthy discussion regarding her name, Ana Lisa, and whether or not she was retarded for not realizing every text ended with it. In the midst of this discussion John blurts out "wait, her name is Anal-isa?" playing off the now obvious fact that the first four letters of her name spelled out anal.

Funny as this was, it was made funnier by the opportunity to use this spelling realization when she responded, after Chris replied with her name, asking what her friends called her. Well this was just too perfect of an opportunity, how could we not respond with "Anal-isa?"? Unfortunately we couldn't talk Chris into sinking that low, damn moral high ground.

Now here's where the story completely stops making sense, as if it did to this point. If someone can update this story and better explain the transition here - feel free, because for the life of me I feel like the comment flew out of left field completely unprovoked. Kevin, in his infinite wisdom and unmatched understanding of the female psyche, decides to share with us his revelation that because she ends every text with her name, she must enjoy anal sex. I couldn't explain the rationale behind this if I wanted to, and we were laughing too hard at the time to press him for an explanation. [Kevin - feel free to try to explain this one]

Later that evening this came up in conversation again and from what I recall Kevin's argument was two fold: first - I would be surprised how kinky and dirty women are when you get down to it, and therefore how many enjoy anal sex, and second - this is Vegas, the land of inhibition, where the likelihood of hersey highway haberdashery increases exponentially. Whether I agree with this thought process or not, this was the explanation we received.

The whole Anal-isa enjoying anal sex thing became a running joke for the rest of the trip, and appears in at least one or two other stories in some context.

My Extra Night: Explained

So the reasoning behind my lengthened stay is four-fold, but in the end the first reason would have been all that was needed. The next three are in no particular order so you can read into my decision making process on this one all you like.

Reason 1: Minneapolis
So I went in and booked John and Kevin's tickets then instructed Chris on which flights to take. Fortunately for Chris, he didn't wait for me to book mine because that's when things went awry. The flights out to Vegas were perfect, everyone was right next to each other on the same flights. However when I went to book my own return flight, I must have been looking strictly at flight times and not at flight numbers because while our initial flights out of Vegas all matched, the other three were departing from Minneapolis (our layover) that night while I was departing at the same time, but the next day. This would have meant a 24 hour layover for me, by myself, in Minneapolis of all places.

The silver lining in this is that I was contemplating staying an extra night anyway, the research of which caused me to realize my error prior to heading to the airport. Since I was going to have to switch my flight anyway, I took the opportunity to give myself another night in sin city.

Reason 2: Martin Luther King

No one thought enough to tell me I was booking this trip over the long weekend thanks to MLK day. I found out I had Monday off on Thursday morning as I left the office to head to the airport. Obviously the lack of responsibilities to tend to on Monday would work hand in hand with the irresponsibility of staying in Vegas another night.

Reason 3: Partying
Obviously an extra night spent in Vegas isn't so much fun if you're by yourself with nothing to do. Fortunately, although no one else was staying with me, both my buddy Darko (our hook up at Tao on Sat night) as well as a few people I had met that night had invited me out to the club with them on Sunday, so I had several people to party with.

Reason 4: A Woman
Of course there's a woman! There's always a woman! The girl I had met Saturday night wanted me to come out with her Sunday night, and who am I to refuse a beautiful woman?

So there you have it, full disclosure. Unfortunately no stories really came out of the extra night, so don't expect to see any discussion of it here.

Kevin Has a Conversation with Carpet

So in the aftermath of Kevin getting blasted on Friday night, some of which we've already seen in The Epitome of a Vegas Trip on a Hotel Floor, there remained a mess of a different kind elsewhere on the carpet.

As John, Kevin and I are hanging out in the room waiting for the day to get going, Kevin proceeds to start cleaning the carpet, and without question he's still drunk. There's really not much of a story here, just John and I, observing Kevin on all fours, scrubbing the carpet, talking to it.

This carpet is awesome, it's just like 'hey scrub me a little bit and I'll be alllll clean'.

This may have been one of those had to be there moments, but John found it so funny he had to commemorate the event with a lovely drawing which I just had to throw up here (no pun intended).

The Epitome of a Vegas Trip on a Hotel Floor

This is really more of an image with caption rather than a story. An image is worth 1000 words, in this case it's worth the description of an entire trip. This shot comes to us courtesy of Kevin being absolutely hammered Friday night. Upon returning to the room, Kevin proceeded to empty his pockets onto his bed, hang up his jacket, walk back over to his bed, sweep everything off it and onto the floor with his arm, and pass out kneeling on the floor with his head and arms on the bed, almost as if he had fallen asleep praying.

The next morning we woke up and saw the resulting mess and what the individual pieces making it up were, and thought "that right there is the epitome of a vegas trip". You'll notice hooker cards, a club pass, cigarettes, rolling papers, change, a green bag (no comment), and a receipt and straw wrapper from mcdonals (breakfast at 5am? You brilliant bastards!).

I Begin and End a Board Meeting With Tits in My Face

So Thursday night we decided to get a bit liquored up and head over to one of the high end Vegas strip clubs called Sapphire. We head out of our hotel and jump in the limo (the strip club provides free limo service - pretty sweet deal). When we get there we pay the cover ($30 god DAMN) and head over to the bar.

You can pick up on the bar portion of the story by reading the upcoming post 'If Only I Were Ripped Like Jesus'.

Following a short stint at the bar we head over to sit at a table towards the middle of the room by what I presume was the main stage, not that I got much of a chance to look at it. You have to understand, 4 decent looking guys who look (relatively) disease free and seem to have at least some money send out some kind of fucking pheromone only detectable by strippers. I swear it was a non-stop barrage of dance offers and fake stripper flirtation. I actually pissed a few of them off by being dismissive and dickish, but cmon! It was non STOP!

Anyway, yada yada, we're not going to get into extreme detail in regards to what may or may not have gone on or how much money may or may not have been spent. Let's cut to the chase of this story.

This one smokin hot stripper approaches me and pulls up a seat next to me. I'm not talkin trashy stripper hot (if you excuse the fake tits), I'm talkin legitimately hot, early 30's (gotta love them older women), tan, tight and tall. At some point during the initial small talk I find out shes got 2 kids - 5 and 7. Judge all you want, the kids weren't there and MILFs are a fantasy of most guys my age.

Now I wasn't there to spend money on strippers, I'm really not the type, but there was no way I was passing up gettin a dance from this chick. I'd like to think I showed some self-restraint by not ripping my shirt open, dumping the entire contents of my wallet out over myself and saying 'go'.

So in the middle of dance, or maybe it was just after...my mind wasn't exactly focused on much else at this period so forgive me if my memory is a tad hazy. At some point she finds out what I do for a living and this perks her interest. After the dance she sits back down (I think at least part of the subsequent conversation occurred with her on my lap, but again - hazy memory), and she starts to discuss this business idea of hers - basically linkedin meets myspace but for amateur strippers and porn stars to have a way to network and self promote.

To be perfectly honest this is actually a damn good idea. Say what you will about strippers being idiots but this idea has potential. Anyway, so she wants to pick my brain about this idea, hear what I think, get an idea of what it would take, etc, etc. I'm more than happy to oblige, I'm not paying for this time and I get to sit and talk to a smokin hot chick wearing next to nothing. Take that out of the strip club context and any guy who tells you he wouldn't have done the same is a liar. Plus I was right at that level of drunk where you think you're a god damned genius so I would have been willing to talk 'intelligently' at length to anyone willing to listen, and she was.

At some point one of the bouncers comes by to inform us that we have to move to a different table because that section was being closed. It is only at this point that I realize everyone else at the table had disappeared - Chris, John and Kevin were gone. Like I cared.

As we're being led to a new table, I see where they have relocated to and we (the stripper and I) join them and continue the conversation where we had left off. At the end of it, she asked for my number and told me not to go anywhere, she was going to go make some money and come back. My reaction at the end was "damn, I feel like I've been in a board meeting" to which she replied with "I know, I'm sure this isn't what you wanted to do on vacation, want me to put my tits in your face?", my response was "well that IS how I like to end all my board meetings" to which she laughed and obliged.

We stayed for a brief period after that, she didn't return and she never called, whether or not she was actually intending on either will never be known. Here's the bottom line that totally strokes my ego: her time is money, a LOT of it, and according to John, Chris and Kevin, our conversation had lasted "well over an hour".

I think the dance had cost me $40 and I bought her 1 drink, so lets say my monetary outlay to this chick was $50. On the other hand, lets say she had talked to me for just an hour after that (though I'm told it was much more), based on what she makes (yes that came up) just an hour of effectively not working cost her over $100 at MINIMUM in cash she would have made (thats called opportunity cost for all you business majors). So the net total of our interaction was, at the least, a loss of over $50 for her.

Long and short of it: fuck you bitches, strippers pay ME.

Upcoming Stories

So since I was lazy and didn't blog enough while the trip happened I at least wanted to list some of the story titles which can be expected to offer a preview of what is to come.

So here are the titles of some of the stories you can expect in the next few days:

I Begin and End a Board Meeting With Tits in My Face
If Only I Were Ripped Like Jesus
The Epitome of a Vegas Trip on a Hotel Floor
Kevin Has a Conversation with Carpet
She Ends Every Text with Her Name, That Means She Likes Anal
Anal-Lisa and Erica America Star in 'Can We Get a Nipple Over Here?'
John and Chris's Dirty Limericks Featuring the #1 Hit 'Please Come Lick My Balls'
Kevin and John Nearly Kill Themselves
There's WHAT in the Fridge?

...and more

Plus - The Full Explanations for the "Kevin is a Dead Man" Post, and the full story behind my extra day stay

Throw Your Hands Up for Las Vegas, I Love This City

I know I haven't been keeping this as up to date as I would have otherwise liked, but the reality is when your here it's simply not a priority.

Bottom line as far as this post goes is this: I wasn't ready for this trip to end for me so....it isn't. Everyone else flies out in 7 hours, I switched my flight and increased the hotel reservation so that I could be here for another day.

Don't worry, I have people to party with tonight, several actually, but for anyone and everyone expecting me back in Chi at some point today - I wont be. Anyone who doesn't believe it, ask John, Chris or Kevin.

When I return Ill start filing the huge backlog of posts that will inevitably make their way onto this blog, I assure you there's lots to be said.

PS - There is more to why and how I'm sticking around than I have mentioned, and its tragically comic (or at least to me). Again, all will be revealed in due time.

Kevin Is a Dead Man

More to come, but the boy is fuckin up

Can We Get a Nipple Over Here?

so apparently I drink too slow especially when John is waiting. So in an atempt to mock me he yells 'can we get a nipple over here?' To which I responded with enthusiastic head nodding...making John realize what he had just said.

Hit Me!

So in our several hours of layover John and Chris have decided to owe each other money until the flight. But hey, it's gambling and drinking so we're doin' ok. The argument's have already started, Chris has been down by as much as $10; I don't know what the tally is now.

Branson, Missouri - Silver Dollar City!

John is a god damned drunk, I keep threatening to send his ass to Branson 'cause he's acting like a god damned retard. I've never heard so much profanity on an airplane. He slept for 90% of it and he still managed to completely offend at least two people in the immediate seating vicinity. Now we're on our layover, which has ballooned to 3hours because our flight into sin city is delayed, sitting in the Houston airport drinking soooo I fully expect John to end up in handcuffs....or in Branson if I have my way.

It Begins...

Already started drinking in the airport club at O'Hare, there's a good 4 shots of vodka in that glass. I plan to be good and drunk by the time we land in Vegas. As long as we don't get kicked off the flight I'd call the trip successful.

p.s. - The posts from my phone are either on a major delay or are not working properly, so if this ends up double posting from my phone ignore it.

Next Trip - January 2009

Wanted to go this November, but alas, I've run out of people as insane as me for the time being, so the next trip has to wait until January 15th. There's four of us going from the 15th-18th, we have two rooms in the MGM Grand. The group is Kevin, John, Chris and myself.

The tentative schedule is a strip club the 1st night, then tables Friday and Saturday nights at Moon and either LAX or Tao.

I'll be blogging and posting pics in real time during that trip so mark your calendars, it will be the first trip completely documented to prevent us from losing any detail or forgetting any story.

Etymology of "2girls1bloodycutupdick"

Why use the domain 2girls1bloodycutupdick.com you ask? How was this URL not already taken by some pervert? Both questions have a simple answer: I have a dirtier mind than most, but let me elaborate and tell the story.

Both the decision to begin a blog as well as what domain the blog would be registered under came from my last Vegas trip in August with Steve, Lenny and John. Friday afternoon we were hanging around in the hotel room eating Sonic and getting fucked up. The three of them had scored some grass but everyone had neglected to bring anything to smoke it with. Lenny, being the pot-macgyver that he is, had crafted a bowl out of an empty Red Bull can left over from the night before.

Now I had developed a reputation on a previous Vegas trip for discussing...in crude terms...the fucking of inanimate objects (which I neither confirm nor deny having ever actually done). The story of how I got that reputation will come in another post but needless to say I have it, and its only in Vegas that such conversations arise.

As they're sitting there smoking out of this can, I made some comment about cutting a hole into it and fucking the can. This comment elicited disgust, laughter, and a full blown conversation about can fucking. This conversation inevitably led to the idea of a porn site called "2 Girls 1 Bloody, Cut up Dick dot com". This idea was then mated with the idea of blogging about all these trips and voila, there you have it: a Vegas blog under the URL www.2girls1bloodycutupdick.com.

I Swear I Didn't Roofie That Chick!

So the August trip John, Lenny, Steve and I had a table on the balcony at Moon (table 42, I recommend it) both Thursday night and Friday night and both nights led to interesting stories.

Friday night, nearing the end of the night Lenny and John pulled over these three chicks to our table. I started chatting up one of them, Lenny got roped into talkin to one who was into him but he wanted nothing to do with because he was interested in the third. So basically the scene was me talking to this one chick, John talking to the one Lenny wanted just to be a good wingman and Lenny trying to piss off the chick talking to him so she'd leave him alone and he could hit on the one he wanted.

The situation progressed in this fashion for a while. We gave them a drink each from the bottles, and we all did a round of shots. The chick that I'm talkin to seems to be pretty into me so I get her up to dance. Shes dancin ok considering we're both drunk and she can still conversate (this becomes important later). She keeps wanting to dance at the glass so we can see the view but there are no spots and everytime one opens up it's quickly filled. Finally I see an opening and just pick her up by her ass and carry her over to it and continue dancing. I bring this up for two reasons: 1. I thought it was a pretty good move and I want to brag, but more importantly 2. because she didn't mind which to me indicated the deal was sealed.

We finish dancing and return to the table and continue talking, note: she can still hold a conversation at this point. The conversation turns back to the whole group and all of a sudden out of no where and without warning the chick I had been talkin to pukes everywhere. I get some on my left leg as I jump up from the table. John jumps up equally quickly, looks over to his left and catches eyes with the bouncer and screams "what the FUCK is this!?!?!" while gesturing at the girl who had just puked.

Immediately after finishing puking, the chick slumps over unconscious and her friends can't wake her up. She hadn't died or anything, she just puked and passed out. The bouncer runs over after John's outburst, surveys the scene and responds "oh, god damn it" at which point our waitress and bottle runner begin getting things cleaned up and moving us to the adjacent table. Another bouncer arrives to get the chick who passed out to leave, of course this means all her friends have to leave too because who else is going to take care of her?

The roofie thing came about because when the girl passed out, I was parranoid that it appeared I had drugged her. So as I'm standing at the table watchin her friends attempt to revive her, I said to no one in particular "I swear to god I didn't roofie her". Fortunately all the staff were more concerned with getting shit straightened out for us than accusing me of anything (thats what comes with spending that kind of money I guess) so I never had to explain myself. However, when we sat at the new table a heardy round of joking about the situation ensued much of the jokes being made at my expense, even the bouncer and our waitress joined in.

Not only was I the butt of the roofie jokes, but the event had basically solidified my horrible luck with getting laid in Vegas. It was a unanimous agreement that I was guaranteed some action, but god in his infinite wisdom could not allow that to happen. My bad luck had officially become biblical.

I Can't Believe that Chick was Married!

As I have stated previously, my bad luck with women in Vegas is biblical. It has grown to be something beyond the realm of luck and into what I would now consider divine intervention. The only upside is that it makes for some rather amusing stories and I must laugh to keep from crying.

This was Thursday night of the August trip, John, Lenny, Steve and I were on good ol' table 42 on the balcony at Moon. As I do every time I get a table at a club, I introduced myself to the bouncer, Scott, who would be taking care of any problems at our table and told him I would give him a holler if I needed anything and that no one would complain if he sent a few attractive women our way.

A little ways into the night he takes me up on this and leads a very cute blonde (nice choice Scott) over to our table. She walks over and the conversation progresses as follows:

Her:That guy said I should come over and talk to you.
Me: Oh, that's Scott, he's just looking out for our best interests.
Her: Oh, and whats in your best interests?
Me: You are.

Ok, so not the SMOOTHEST thing I could have said, and yes I got flak for that comment, but there are plenty of worse things I could have said so cut me some slack. Either way, it didn't seem to deter her, we had a pleasant conversation for a few minutes while her friends looked on. Side note: not really sure what the deal with her friends was, they never came over and introduced themselves, they just stood back and watched with this longing look. So I have no idea, the blonde was the only one who ever came over and talked.

Anyway, after a few minutes the friends walked away, shortly followed by the blonde excusing herself to go find her friends. Scott comes over to me and asks "what happened?" I replied "I dunno, she said she was going to go find her friends". Scott then says "she told me you couldn't seal the deal". Which I responded to with some kind of reserved flip out, "wtf, thats bullshit" - something along those lines.

Some time passes and the group of the blonde and her friends returns. Not to join us, they were basically dancing in a group in the vicinity of our table. Scott comes by, once again to offer his observation. "So they came back" he said "well, sort of, they're just dancing" I replied, to which Scott said "hey, theres a million places they could dance in this place, they chose to dance right by your table". True enough, but what was I goin to do? Barge into a group of women only one of whom I actually met and just start dancing? I couldn't pull that off, I don't know anyone who could, so I left well enough alone but took it as something of a sign.

Fast foward a little further into the night, I leave the table under the watchfull eye of Scott and we head down to the Playboy club to grab a drink down at that bar and so those of us who had never been there could check it out. We're standing at the bar more or less side by side deciding what shot we wanted to order when who walks up to the bar one person down from me? That blonde. Well this is too perfect, she's by herself once again, it seems to me that shes making a point to get noticed, so I can't let this one go. I lean forward over the bar, look down it at her and strike up a conversation once again.

Me: Are you stalking me?
Her: No, are you stalking me?
Me: Hey, I was here first.
Her: *laughs*
Me: So what's this I hear about you talkin shit about me to Scott?
Her: Who's Scott?
Me: The bouncer who had led you over to our table in the first place.
Her: Oh, what did he say I said?
Me: He told me you said I couldn't "seal the deal"
Her: No, all I told him was you seemed nice and you should have asked me to sit down (shit, I hadn't explicitly offered that, my bad).
Me: Oh, I'm sorry you're right, I should have offered. Well let me buy you a drink to at least save some face.

So we order a round of shots, I let her decide what we're shooting and the conversation continues, I ask her what she's doin the rest of the night, if she'd like to come sit at our table now, what she was doing tomorrow, what she was in town for, etc etc. The usual conversational crap. I forget what they were doing the next day, but the long and short of it was that she thought her friends had already left and she needed to go find them, and basically she wasn't going to stay. Hey, fair enough, so just before she's going to leave I ask "Well, hey, can I get your number?" She replied "Oh, well I don't think that would be very appropriate" and as shes saying it she lifts up her left hand and flashes a nice fat diamond wedding ring. Pretty much a unanimous "ohhhhh" of almost dissapointed anguish rang out from my mouth, and I think Lenny, John and Steve's as well. "I feel so stupid" I say, "I ALWAYS check for that". She says something like "well it was really nice talking to you" I said the same and that was basically that.

After we go back upstairs I track down Scott and tell him "hey, I can't seal the deal when you're sending me married chicks!" He kinda laughs and questions "that chick was married?" I said "yea, how could you not check for that? I always check but I didn't this time because I figured you already had!"

Needless to say, no... he hadn't, and for the rest of the trip I would randomly shout "I can't believe that chick was married!" My bad luck had struck again.

Red Bull and Orange Juice - It Does a Body Good

The first night we arrived on this last trip in August we got in reasonably late. John and I were the last to arrive around 8:30 I want to say. Needless to say we didn't waste anytime getting started. Before we even left the room we had gone through half a handle of vodka, 2 cigars and an 8th between the three of us.

I had gotten us listed at Ghostbar so we could check it out since it was in the hotel and it wouldn't cost us anything. We got up there, it wasn't half bad there were a decent amount of people there so we stayed for a bit and had a few drinks. Ultimately though, we decided it wasn't living up to our standards and the discussion moved to where we were going to go next. It's a Wednesday so the only two clubs that are reputably decent that night are LAX or Body English. At Body English Wednesday is house night, and since the group included Mr. house music - Lenny, the decision was quickly made to head there.

Somehow the bouncer convinces us to book the last remaining table at a 1 bottle minimum right next to the dance floor. Actually not a bad gig considering it saves us grease money and cover, which is nearly equal to half the cost of the table for four people. The scene was decent, it was certainly crowded, we had a good table location and plenty of booze. In Vegas most of the bottles are 1 liter rather than the typical 750mL. So add a liter of Belvedere vodka to the running total of consumption for the evening. Not a significantly tall order, but apparently enough to get Steve to start to quit out on us.

It started out reasonably enough, Steve began drinking more and talking less. This progressed to Steve pouring himself two drinks for every one the rest of us had and not talking at all. Recognizing that Steve was getting wasted, we attempted to dissuade him from pouring more drinks but every attempt to do so was met with silent resistance in the form of either taking the bottle out of reach and pouring, or simply staring at anyone who raised objection while giving that person the finger, it was actually quite hillarious to see Steve essentially flicking off the whole table in silence.

Eventually he drank himself out of consciousness and Steve began to fall asleep/pass out at the table. Immediately I noticed he had left a full drink sitting right in front of him and since he had had enough anyway, I took it for myself. In the low lighting of the club it looked like a screwdriver, but to be honest I wasn't paying all that much attention because I didn't really care, booze was booze, right?

Wrong, booze is only booze when there's booze in it. Steve, in his drunken wisdom had invented a new drink - Red Bull and orange juice without a trace of vodka in it. At first I couldn't decifer what it was, all I knew was it tasted disgusting. After a moments thought and a glance at the ingredients available on the table I realised what Steve had done and told John.

Shortly afterwards the bouncers noticed Steve was passed out in the booth and we had to leave, which coincided with us finishing our bottle so we didn't have a problem with that. However, the story of that night followed Steve for the remainder of the trip. There is no better way to describe how that night went for Steve than saying "he made himself a Red Bull orange juice".

I Horrify an Old Woman

Let's get one thing straight - Vegas is Vegas, I'm pretty much going to be drunk all the time, I'm going to spend a lot of money, and I'm not going to care what you think about anything I say or do.

It was the middle of the afternoon one day during the May trip and John, Chris and I were sitting at a table in Treasure Island playing blackjack. We had pretty much been drinking all day (shocking, I know) and my luck had been flat out terrible. I can't describe how bad my cards were that entire trip, it sucked. But hey, I don't gamble it if I'm not willing to lose it so I wasn't in a shitty mood, it was more of a 'this shit is rediculous' type of mood.

So we're sitting at this blackjack table with two other people if I remember correctly. The seating order, from left to right around the table was something like: Me, John, Chris, this old woman, two empty chairs, then another person on the end.

The cards are dealt out and the dealer is showing a face and I have twenty so I figure push at worst. The dealer goes to check to see if she has blackjack and I say "no way she has it". I was wrong, backdoor blackjack. Here was my response:

Ohhhhh, that's not even fair! That's like when a chick looks hot from the back but then when she turns around she's ugly...or pregnant.

This comment was made to the entire table mind you. John and Chris bust out laughing, even the dealer grins. The old woman next to Chris though...she looked at me with this look of horrified disgust, like I had just said all old people should die. As funny as the joke itself was, the look on this poor woman's face was priceless.

Sorry lady, I make no apologies in Vegas.

The Table Gets to John's Head

So as far as assholes spending a bunch of money in the club and being douches about it, I'd like to think we're not that bad. However, when you are treated as if you're better than everyone else, it becomes difficult not to let it go to your head a little bit. Now I'm a self admitted spoiled bastard who likes to think he's better than everyone else so it's not a huge stretch to think of me being a bit douchey about it, but John isn't nearly as bad so it makes for a much funnier story.

This was the May trip with me, John, Chris and the STL boys and Johns first time in Vegas. Also his first time getting a table in a club save for the night before when we had a table in JET but the service there wasn't nearly as good. We're in Moon, table 42 on the balcony (as usual) and we were all pretty taken back by how bad ass it was. Couple that with the fact that we had been drinking all day and how good the service there was and you had a recipe for acting like a dick.

On one of Johns trips to take a piss he gets bumped into on his way back to the table and he spills some of his drink on himself, a pretty common occurance in a crowded club, usually nothin you can do about it and nothin to get worked up over. Unfortunately for the chick who bumped into him, John was in "the douche zone".

So she bumps into him, he spills some of his drink on himself and he turns to this chick and looks her up and down as if to say "hey, wtf". She appologizes, I can't attest to the sincerity of the appology since I wasn't there but there was an appology never the less. Instead of taking the appology John yells at her, dead serious and legitimately pissed "you FUCKING CUNT" and then proceeded to turn around and walk back to the table.

However, the "douche zone" didn't end there. On a subsequent trip to the bathroom the attitude reared its head for a second appearance when John was once again bumped into. This time a guy walking with some chick was the culprit and cause John to spill quite a bit. Again, followed by the turn and the look to say "hey, wtf". The appology received was half hearted with an undertone of "whats the big deal". Johns response to this was equally rediculous as his tirade at the poor girl who had bumped him just shortly prior. John looks at this guy, turns and looks at the girl hes with and, addressin the girl, goes "ditch this FUCKING tool" while pointing at the guy who had bumped him. The exchange once again ends with John turning and walking back to the table and the two recipients of Johns outburst left in stunned silence.

My appologies to the three people whos nights were ruined, but it makes for a god damned hillarious story. I have to also extend my appologies to John because I've progressively corrupted him and turned him into a mini-me. Oops, my bad.

This is What It's Like When Stories Collide

Note: You need to have read John Keeps Me From Getting Laid and The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, and The Braces in order for this story to make sense.

So the fateful night described in 'John Keeps Me From Getting Laid' had at least been successful for one of us - Chris had scored the number of the chick he had been dancing with and they knew we had a table at Moon the following evening because he had told them. Now we didn't call them, I think the textual interaction was initiated by the one chick texting Chris to see what we were up to.

This wouldn't have really progressed except when we were at Moon I was almost certain I saw the chick I had been dancing with the night before on one of my trips to the pisser. At the time I wasn't aware Chris had told them where we would be so I chalked it up to seeing what I wanted to see, plus I didn't get a great look so I wrote it off and never approached her.

When I returned to the table and mentioned by suspicion however, Chris brought up the fact that his chick had texted him and that he had told them the night before that we would be at Moon. This was enough to convince me that it must have been the same chick. I told Chris to text his girl and ask if they were at Moon. I easily could have explained away our sudden departure last night and hopefully gotten another shot with this brunette. Chris received a reply that yes, they were at Moon so I instructed him to invite them to come over and say hello.

After this point we all kind of forgot about them for a while until I realized those girls still hadn't come by. I told Chris to shoot another text to ask if they were going to stop by. The jist of the reply he got was that they had stopped by, but it looked like we were busy with some other women so they didn't come say anything.

Immediately I realized what had happened: when those ugly chicks were on our table, before I had them thrown off, must have been when the women from the night before came by. Seeing that we had pulled another group of women they must have thought a. we were pigs and b. it would be awkward for them to approach the table.

Unfortunately by the time we found this out, the women from the night before had already left the club, those fat, dumpy, braces-wearing chicks had screwed us from talking to attractive women. Additionally, I had screwed myself by not approaching the brunette from the night before when I initially saw her in the club.

Starting to understand the extent of my curse in Vegas? This is star alignment levels of fate and bad luck.

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly, and The Braces

As I've stated in a previous post, I'm a spoiled bastard. Having a table in the club doesn't get to my head because my ego is huge to begin with. Therefore, I naturally feel if I'm spending that kind of money, and since I'm the shit anyway, that you have to be of a certain level of attractiveness if you think you're going to sit down and join us. Additionally, the bouncer on this fateful night had told us at the begining that he would be there for whatever we needed, grab women and bring them over, get people off the table, whatever we needed. He actually wound up being my right hand man the whole night.

This was once again the night at Moon during the May trip (this night has a lot of stories), a group of women came by, as they usually do, and one of them began chatting Chris up. In Chris's defense, she was hot, no denying that. However, the problem lies in the fact that her friends were not...not one of them. As this one was talking to Chris (their group was still standing at this point), John and I were discussing going down to the Playboy club to check it out and do some gambling. As soon as Chris invited the group to sit down and I saw what we were working with, there were four of them I believe: the one hot one talking to Chris, then there was a fat one, a dumpy looking one, and one had braces. BRACES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, BRACES! Needless to say I took the opportunity to excuse myself and John and I got the fuck out of there and went to Playboy club.

Quick tangent: we went down to Playboy club and I sat down at a $25/hand blackjack table with 1 other guy on it. I changed in $100 and ordered a drink. First hand: blackjack, alright things are looking good. Next 5 hands: all lost. I blew through that $100 faster than it took the waitress to return with my drink. I had to sit at the table for 2 minutes to wait for it because I had lost all my money already. It was however the best $100 gin and tonic I've ever had...it's also the ONLY hundred dollar drink I've ever had.

Back to the story, which resumes when John and I return to the table. I come back to see these chicks picking up our bottles and taking pictures and I'm told by the STL guys that they've been drinking them. This is the last straw, it's bad enough to have these ugly bitches at our table, but I'll be damned if I'm going to give ugly chicks booze (again I remind you that I'm an egotistical asshole).

I take a poll of everyone other than Chris, because hes busy talking to this girl and I cant ask him in front of her, to see if everyone is ok with me throwing these girls off the table. Everyone was, so I went to the bouncer, Jesse. I told Jesse "hey, I need you to get rid of these women", he said no problem and I went to talk to one of the other bouncers and watch the situation unfold.

Jesse leans forward to the table and says "ladies I'm going to need you to get going". One of them replies "oh, no, it's ok, we were invited". Jesse's response, with the force and inflection he used, was so priceless I wish I had recorded it. He said to them "well you were just fucking UNinvited, GET GOING". I remarked to the other bouncer "oh shit" and started laughing, these chicks faces were slack jawed awe, they were stunned, and Chris...well Chris looked like he had just been shot, it was that "whats happening, how could you do this to me" look.

After a few very long and awkward seconds the four girls get up from the table, stand around in front of it for what felt like an eternity, not sure what to do with themselves and not sure what to make of the situation. At this point Chris has figured out what happened and is staring daggers at me.

So that was that, I gotta say the taste of power was friggin awesome. You have complete control over your table and the bouncers are basically your own private security. I love power. Chris hated me the rest of the night, until, and this is the kicker, the girls came back.

I can't give these women enough credit, they had the balls to return to a table they were thrown off of, ALL of them, not just the one Chris was talking to, just so that this one hot one could give Chris her number. Good, bad, ugly, braces, fat or otherwise - that took guts, kudos ladies.

John and I Shit Colors

This is a short story, and it's probably better that way because it's also pretty disgusting. Midday Tuesday - the second day of the May trip, John, Chris and I decided to part ways briefly. I returned to the room to take a power nap, and John and Chris decided to go walk the strip with instructions to call and wake me up in an hour or so.

They called, I woke up and headed out to meet them in front of Bill's Gambling Saloon or whatever that place is called now (formerly the Barbary Coast). When I meet up with them they both have two foot tall frozen drinks in their hands and seem quite pleased with themselves having gotten the biggest drink they could find. Naturally I'm immediately jealous and insist we head over to wherever they bought those so I could partake as well.

It's this walk up bar type place in front of Imperial Palace called The Roadhouse or something like that. They sell frozen drinks of various flavors in various sizes. I asked what flavor each of them were drinking and what they thought, John's blue rasberry won my favor and I ordered.

We walk around a little while longer and head back to the room, still trying in vain to finish these absolutely massive drinks. By the time I'm roughly 50-66% of the way through mine, I need to go take a shit (it happens). I go about my business and as I'm finishing up I catch a glance of my...er...leavings. "Why is my shit bright green!?!?" I yell to Chris and John from the bathroom in a tone of alarm and concern. We're not talking regular, run of the mill green, we're talking a color green that should never come out of a human being - EVER. It was roughly this color, I'm dead serious. Well I get out of the bathroom and I'm freakin out, trying to figure out what I've eaten and what could be wrong with me while at the same time trying to explain to the other two the exact color I had just witnessed.

The answer finally comes when John has to shit, and produces roughly the same color. Once he reports the same...ailment, we quickly narrow it down to what we both had eaten. Bingo! The blue rasberry! We had drank so much blue, it had mixed with the natural yellow color of stomach acid and produced a freakishly bright green color.

All I'm saying it it would have been nice to have a warning label on that drink 'Warning: May cause bright green excrement'.

The Infamous Breakfast Convo

So here's the story of how I got the reputation for having the most inappropriate, fucked up conversations (even for me) when I'm in Vegas.

It was the trip in May, three of us - Chris, John, and myself were staying in Caesars, and the three chaps from STL were staying in the Mirage. The second morning we were there (Mon morning I believe), the three of us from Caesars were looking to grab breakfast but the only member of the STL crew capable of joining us was Kyle, since he had passed on the previous evenings festivities.

So we get together and ask the concierge for a breakfast recommendation and she directs us to the Caesars breakfast buffet. After a brief wait we're seated at a table at the back center next to the windows which overlook the pool. Almost immediately following, two young ladies are seated at the table directly next to us which was also the table directly behind me.

Everyone gets their breakfast, including someone (actually it might have been me) who got a fruit plate with some cantaloupe. Needless to say, this is all that was needed to set off one of the most disturbing conversations ever witnessed and one which likely ruined the day of the two women behind me who were easily within ear shot.

It started innocently enough, with me making mention of the fact that you can drill a hole in a cantaloupe and fuck the hole. I mean cmon, this is common knowledge right? You can't sit there and tell me that everyone doesn't think that when they see a cantaloupe. Anyway, this naturally progressed to discussing doing the same with a watermellon, except with a watermellon you can also bake the thing (I have no idea why that's better, maybe its warm? No idea).

From breakfast fruits the conversation went to all hell, and by conversation I mean I was talking and everyone else at the table was looking ashamed and/or appauled. There was mention of gloves full of jelly, cans of baked beans, using various food items for lubricant, etc, etc.

Apparently during all this, unbenounced to me, there were numerous disgusted and judgemental looks being shot over shoulder from the two women who were seated at the table behind me (sorry ladies). So adding to the spectacle of me sitting at a table at 11 in the morning using language not fit for a porno shoot were these two women who thought they would enjoy a nice quiet breakfast having their entire day ruined by some loud mouthed jackass still too drunk from the night before to realize or care what was coming out his pie hole.

This story has been retold countless times as an example of just how foul I become in Vegas. Sorry, but hey, it's fucking entertaining.

John Keeps Me From Getting Laid

So the Monday night of the May trip we got a table in JET. There were five of us: myself, John, Chris, and two of the STL guys. Now before I get into this story I need to preface it with some background about Chris.

Chris has a reputation for screwing over his wingmen, he'll have you help him out talking to a couple chicks, then ditch you to go do something else leaving you to entertain women you had no interest in to begin with. Now I can't personally attest to this because he's never done it to me (I'd kill him), but this is what I've heard and this reputation comes into play later. In addition, Chris, John and I had had a conversation earlier that day about one of Chris's other reputable concerns: beer goggles. We had all agreed that should Chris find himself in a less than agreeable situation with a less than agreeable looking chick, there would be some kind of signal offered to alert him to the problem. Now, keep these two points in mind as we proceed.

So the five of us had the table, and I have no recollection of how the situation presented itself but we found ourselves entertaining these four chicks. Five guys, two of whom have relationships and four girls is pretty decent math normally. The problem lied in the fact that both the STL guys were duds. John (STL John, yes theres two and yes thats confusing) doesn't dance, period, he just doesn't do it. Dan, the other STL guy, was so wasted he could barely keep himself on the level, let alone engage in a conversation with anyone.

This took five able bodied men down to three, three guys to four girls, still not bad but we were essentially down one. John wound up talkin to and dancing with this blonde, Chris...who the hell did he talk to? I want to say she was asian actually but I would have to confer with him on that. Myself - I was dancin and talkin with this cute little brunette with a smokin body, or at least I thought so.

Things progress, everything is goin well with these girls, except for the one who basically has no one to dance with (again we were one short). By this point the STL guys had left the club to go gamble so literally there were only three of us. Now because one of the ladies in the group was effectively sitting by herself at the table while the other six of us danced, her friends were periodically sitting with her and talking to keep her company or what have you.

Well I'm pretty confident this brunette is into me, but shes sittin talkin to two of her friends and I can't get her back up to dance. I go to John and I tell him he needs to help me get these women back up dancing. He complies and gets the blonde he had been dancin with back up.

Now according to John, he got back to dancing per my request, and I just stood there lookin around. I don't recall doing this but this is his claim. This bothers John because he feels I'm screwin him over as a wingman just like Chris is known to do (he's apparently screwed John before). To relay this to me without being obvious, John comes over to me and says "dude, you're pulling a Chris" - reffering to Chris's reputation. However, I took this as a refference to Chris's other reputation: beer goggles.

I respond thinking he's telling me the chick that I think is hot and into me is some kind of cow. "Are you sure?" I ask, "she seems pretty hot, I thought she was hot." John looked at me confused, I'm not sure if he said anything in response but if he did it was probably something like "wtf are you talking about?". Either way, he didn't realize I was confused and I didn't realize he was referring to my inability as a wingman. I continue, saying "well fuck it then, lets get the hell out of here." We head to the front door to wait for Chris (I don't remember where he was at the time) without saying anything to the chicks we had been entertaining.

As we are waiting for Chris (and I don't agree this happened - this is according to John), the chick I had been dancing with walks by and gives me the finger. Immediately following this, Chris appears and we depart. It's not until we're about 100 feet outside the Mirage that the pieces all fall into place and I realise the misunderstanding which had just occured.

I was LIVID, I pulled my tie of and started horse whipping John with it in the middle of the strip. I was completely convinced it was all his fault and he had completely screwed me over, not realizing my Vegas curse had struck again.

The $300 Mistake

So this was back in March, Vitaly, Pete and I went to this Italian restaurant in the Venetian called Canaletto for a nice dinner. Actually a really good place, I recommend it. Anyway, it falls on me to order the wine so I look through the wine list for a bottle of white but the bottles are not numbered so you order by name. Trying to be slick, I shorten my order and ask for "the Piedmont Gavi" thinking I was ordering this 56 or so dollar bottle of Italian white wine. As soon as the wine gets to the table we all comment on how good it is and I complimented myself on a good order.

The wine was so good in fact that we blew threw it and ordered another bottle before the end of the meal. When we finally do finish, we get the bill. I believe Vitaly was the first to look at it and he questions how it can be right. He gives it to me, I look it over and just bust out laughing, partially because I was drunk and partially because hell, there was nothing I could do.

As it turns out there was another Piedmont Gavi bottle on the menu that I hadn't seen. What I thought was a $56 bottle was really a HUNDRED and fifty or so dollar bottle of wine. Certainly explained why it was so good. Fortunately everyone was a good sport about it, there was no denying that we enjoyed it so we all just laughed it off and payed the bill.

Needless to say I don't shorten wine orders anymore, a well learned $300 mistake.