Week in Vegas: The World Series of Pong and Broken Dreams
So, I'm just back from a week in Vegas. Here is the good, bad and the ugly.
We flew out on the 31st and the flight was a nightmare. Storms in Atlanta fucked us all to hell and we finally landed in Vegas about 5pm local time. I got my checked bag from the belt to find out it had been thoroughly soaked during the plane exchange in Atlanta and this pissed me off to no end. Luckily, I was traveling in clothes suitable for a party so we said fuck it and headed on to the strip.
Once on the strip, my friend and I began to drink massive quantities of booze. We staggered from casino to casino and I somehow managed to win a couple of hundred dollars playing poker as everyone else was as hammered as us. They closed down the strip to traffic around 10 and we went out to party.
Once we got on the street, my buddy and I met this dude Clint from Australia. Clint was walking down the strip alone with two drinks in his hands looking totally bewildered. We could tell he was a kindred soul. We started talking and he had flown in for shits and giggles not knowing a soul in Vegas. After some talk, we recruited him into our booze consortium. We cruised down to the Bellagio as we wanted to see the fountain as well as the fireworks at midnight. Somewhere along the line, my friend Chris acquired an oversized purple full brimmed pimp hat. Once at the Bellagio, we met a girl named Rebecca from New Zealand. Becca wasn't much of a booze hound, but she was a cool girl and we found out she was with her family. She was adopted into the group. So, midnight brought fireworks and more booze blah blah blah.
We kept on rolling and this blond haired dude nearly vomited on my shoe. We came to find out his name was Jon and he was from Germany. We so liked his vomit on the strip style that we took him in and were representing 3 continents now. Boozing continued and we all found ourselves way too sauced. At one point, a couple of Austrians named Patrick and Andria joined the fray but they couldn't hang...so we were back down to a fouresome.
At one point, Chris proposed to Becca and I think she would have given it some consideration if not for the pimp hat. 5am found us incredibly hungry and Becca (or rather her dad via charge card hehe) treated us to breakfast at the Bellagio. At this point, Chris and I still had 6 hours until we could check into our hotel. We went to our new friend Clint's room at the MGM to drink some tequila and at some point I passed out on the floor. I awoke at around 11 o'clock (as did my buddy) on some random Australian dude's floor. Luckily, there were no signs of bodily harm. As my friend put so astutely "see you in hell dignity."
So, we cruise an hour into the desert to Mesquite for the World Series of Beer Pong. Once there, I had to deal with my bag which was still soaked. I got the pleasure of going to a laundry mat in a meth addled town and had the opportunity to deal with the locals. Once chick (who was obviously high on speed or meth) struck up a conversation with me and invited me over for drinks. Needless to say, I didn't accept the invitation. We went back to the casino and casually played cards and drank vodka tonics until it was time to pass out.
The next two days were a nightmare. My partner and I sucked mightily. It seemed like every shot would hit a rim and bounce wildly. We had a few runs were we were able to muster 1/10th of our normal skill but it was to no avail. We were out of it as quickly as we were in it. We were outclassed, outskilled and just fucking sucked. By the end of day two, we were 4-8 and done. FUCK. Like true gentlemen of the beer pong sport, we said fuck it and got hammered. I am pleased to say that for the second straight year I was warned by the security of the Oasis Casino and Resort that any further yelling or causing of ruckus would result in my expulsion from the property.
By Saturday, my partner and I were both drained. We went back to Vegas and bet on some football proposition bets on the playoff games. I took Harrison and Wayne at 8-1 and 9-1 to score the first TD of the game for 20 bucks each (fuck you Mr. Joseph Adai) and lost on both. The 2nd game was no better. Finally, at 11 we boarded a plane and came back home.
I'm home now. Like any filthy whore, Vegas left me bruised, poor and a bit sick. And like any other whore, I can't fucking wait to do it again. It turns out that as a dude I never take any pictures. My buddy took some pictures on his cell phone and if he sends them to me I'll post them. I'm pretty sure there is a good picture of playing a team of strippers in beer pong. They took off their shirts and I took off my pants.
If you read through this whole thing you are a trooper.