random thoughts and thoroughbred selections

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Vegas on my mind

I think we�ve reached that time of week where all I want to do for a couple hundred words is wax openly about how much I can�t wait to get to Vegas.

Fifty One Days, by the way.

I had a dream last night about Vegas. I dreamt I was in Circus Circus playing in a NLHE tournament with only nine participants, including my brother. Since he and I are getting into Vegas at 8AM local time on Friday, we�re likely to be the first of the blogger crew in house. So it�s 930AM, and I�m one of four remaining players left. I get dealt AQo, and Bob looks at his watch and then over my shoulder at my hole cards (he�s out at this point). �It�s almost 10. We�ve got to go meet Otis.� He then looks at the dealer and says, �He�s all in,� and pushes my chips into the middle.

I�m incredulous, and my opponents all call. The guy to my left has 62o, but pocket Aces and pocket Queens are what the others have, so I�m screwed and bounce out.

Stupid Bob, pushing my chips in. Otis can wait dammit. The rest of the dream was muddy, and I don�t remember anything else.

Hopefully, things go a little better for me than they did at the table in my dream.

I remember two Januaries ago in Vegas for the Super Bowl, we were on one of those interminably long escalators in the MGM, sandwiched between this ridiculously hot girl in low rise jeans, and four drunk twenty-something guys who quickly figured out this girl spoke little to no English. For about two and a half minutes, they described in vivid detail what they, and every other male in the joint (raising hand), were going to do to her. Unfortunately for them, I was the one right behind her, one step below, staring eye-level into that magnificent ass.

Bob and I also went to a comedy show (at the Improv, which is in one of those casinos on the strip) and were seated in the rear of a small table with a �couple� who were also enjoying the show. She was a quiet and pretty girl of about 19-22, dressed borderline provocatively, and he was a mid-40s guy who looked like what I�d assume a pedophile does.

It was immediately obvious she was compensated company.

This is why I don�t think I could ever bring myself to have sex with a prostitute. There�s no way I�d want to stick it where that guy had stuck it before. And god knows how many other disgusting and filthy slimeballs had been in there too.

You could boil the girl, and shrink wrap her for my protection, and I�d still be conscious of that fact.

There�s an obvious double standard at play when talking about girlfriends though. I dated a stripper in college who had been around the block (twice, and down the street, turned the corner, continued for about six miles, turned around, and then took the long way home), and I didn�t seem to mind that other guys had mined that shaft before. But knowing that this prostitute (no, not the stripper ex) wasn�t in a position to really say �no?� That�s enough for me.

I�m glad prostitutes exist though. Vegas would be poorer without their unintentional comedy.

If I did order up a prostitute, I�m thinking the encounter would probably go a little something like this:

BG: Hi, uh� you must be, um�?
WHORE: Khrystall. Pronounced like the champagne. And your name is�?
BG: McGrupp. Paul McGrupp. Write that down, OK?
WHORE: Sure sugar, whatever you say. You wanted two hours, right?
BG: Sure, yeah. Paul McGrupp is paying you for two hours of time. Here you go.
WHORE: OK, Paul�
BG: Uh, that�s Pauly. Dr. Pauly.
WHORE: Dr. Pauly� Should we get started? (Starts taking off her top)
BG: Whoa! Don�t we ever just talk anymore?

And then I�d piss away $400 talking for two hours about how her father never gave a crap about her and how her uncle molested her or something.

See, I couldn�t even get laid by a prostitute in my own mind. This is how sad I am. I mean, how sad Dr. Pauly McGrupp is.

[>>]posted at 5:46 PM by BG - click to email
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