Viva Las Vegas
Written By: Gringo

Back in May, I went to California with a friend on a holiday, to meet another friend who lives out in America. OOH, BIG DEAL. I was also supposed to meet up with Joe and his fat friend Keran while in Los Angeles, as we'd planned to go to E3 (big dorkfest) together. What actually happened was Joe gave me a wrong phone number to reach him on, I failed to find them at E3, despite Joe leaving ever-increasing-in-size messages in the press room for me, and the emails he sent me saying "WHERE ARE YOU, CUNT?" were sent to my English e-mail account. IN ENGLAND. So I didn't get them until I got back home. Oh well! That's another story for another time! This is about the trip I went on to Las Vegas with my two friends, both of them originally from Britain. And yes, I have more than two friends, asshole. Let us begin! I hear the desert scenery on the roads to Las Vegas is quite nice to look at. But I missed all that, because I fell asleep in the car. My friend thought it'd be funny to take a picture of me sleeping. I still plan to beat his face with a shovel. I had a legitimate excuse to not talk. I was tired!

I was tired because the day before, we'd gone out somewhere in Los Angeles and got very, very drunk. I don't remember much, except talking to some toilet attendant about how much our jobs sucked (I told him what my real job is, I didn't pretend to be a toilet attendant, in case you were wondering). But the night ended on a good/bad note. Good if you like comedy and insulting people. Bad if you like the musician Badly Drawn Boy. See, we went into this bar called The Standard. Apparently, it's the SHITS SKOOLIE for something or other. I didn't care much for it myself - especially because I ended up with a $75 credit card bill. For FOUR DRINKS! ASSHATS! Anyway, Mr. Boy was there with a friend of his, and my two accomplices decided to be quite obnoxious and force conversation on him during our time in the bar. I kept away, not least because I didn't really know who the guy was. I talked to two complete strangers who magically turned out to live in Las Vegas. Win! We agreed to meet up, swapped numbers and then I rounded up the two clowns I was with in an attempt to get home.

Only problem is, something snapped in my head. My cunt cord seemed to pulsate as I too joined in making Badly Drawn Boy squirm. I shook his hand (sure he wasn't happy about that) and said, as proudly as I could, "I've never listened to any of your stuff." A look of blank emotion spread across his face. But then I had to go and add: "And if I'm lucky, I never will." That was just foolish. To his credit, he didn't try and beat me up, and I took my cue to convince my friends to leave. I told you I was a prick. We all got into a taxi and somehow managed to mumble directions back to my friend's house. At least that's what I think happened. Eventually we did return back to the house, which is when I started to feel queasy. So I went to the toilet, threw up all over the bathroom (I even hit the mirror above the wash basin) and then fell asleep, naked on the cold tiles. I sure hope I wasn't raped! This wacky behaviour put me in a vomit-induced sleepy-sleep mood for a good part of the next morning, hence my shut-eye in the car. SATISFIED? On with the Vegas nonsense!

That's the inside of the, uh, Excalibur casino, I think. I'm not really sure, because they all seem to blur into one noisy, gaudy mess after a while. The first few hours you're in the casino, you think it's pretty amazing to see such a vast expanse of roulette tables, blackjack tables, table tables (SUCH WIT!) and the like, but after a while it just gets depressing. There you are, clutching a bucket of quarters and trying to find a vacant seat at a $5 minimum blackjack table, and some cuntbucket is being led into the area where it's a $1,500 minimum bet. Still, they probably lost. I won! Well, sort of. I sucked at roulette. I did well at blackjack, winning $75 from a $5 bet in one quick sitting, only to have it taken away when the dealer changed from some woman called Sooni into some guy called Arnold. How I missed Sooni! Moving on to the machines, I more or loss broke even on those stupid contraptions, and that was only because I was putting a quarter in three of them at a time. My friend, my stupid, stupid friend (the same one who took the picture of me above) had a different story to tell.

He sticks $5 in a slot machine and pulls its arm (the machine's arm, you fuckwit). And he wins $40. The asshole then takes $5 of that win, and puts it in a button-controlled machine. And he wins $55. For $10, he won $95. And it would have been great news, IF IT HAD HAPPENED TO ME. No wonder all Americans are fat cunts, they get cash aplenty! All for the burgers! More wacky! We were staying at the Luxor, which is nice and all. It's got some annoying fuckheads round the swimming pools though. Mostly college frat boys and their airhead girls. Whenever we had seen too many obnoxious cunties, for a bit of the time we wandered round all the main hotels in Vegas. We went to the Coyote Ugly bar in the New York, New York hotel and yes, it's as dignity-sapping as the movie. Scantily clad women dancing on bar tops, morons getting drunk. I had a great time. I even got to see a small, ugly guy get thrown out - literally thrown - for groping one of the bartenders. IT WASN'T ME. Anyway, as we left that casino, I noticed a bizarre sign which is still troubling me to this day.

Great! THREE MYSTERY OBJECTS FOR ONE! What the hell? I don't even remember taking a picture of this at the time, or seeing it for that matter. Vegas is one fruity town! Anyway, I was getting drunk around the point I put in a call to our new found friends from The Standard. Only I don't think I was too coherent. I told the woman of the duo to meet us by "the phones" in the MGM Grand. Yeah, 'cause they only have one phone in the whole casino. So we never met up. Instead, we wandered the streets, refusing to pay the steep entry prices to clubs ($25 just smacks of cunty to me) and instead went to gamble some more. It's the Nevada way! Make everything so expensive you can't do anything but gamble on crappy quarter machines and $5 blackjack tables. So back into the Luxor's casino we went, figuring that even if we bankrupted ourselves, we'd still have a bed for night and couldn't be kicked out by the management. And this time, NOBODY WON. Not even my stupid friend with his stupid big winnings. We lost at everything we played, and became more and more pissed off with this neon hovel in the middle of nowhere.

I've just realised I've managed to get the word cunt, or a variant of cunt, in almost every paragraph of this article. Success! Eventually we realised we were onto a losing thing (the whole depleting pile of money gave that away) and decided to give up gambling for the rest of the trip. Tired, starting to get hangovers as the alcohol wore off, and ready to go back to California, we went to our separate beds (what do you think we are? French?). In the remaining days in America, we'd thankfully engage in far more entertaining stuff like abusing celebrities and having an insane trip to Mexico (I'll probably write about that when I can be bothered). Instead, we sat in our hotel room at the Luxor and moaned about what a stupid city we were trapped in. Such happy times! Still, there was one highlight on the way back to our room. Almost broke, and with just a couple of dollars to our name, we managed to find the one source of food which would keep us going until we could get back to the lard-encrusted paradise of fast food eateries serving out high-calorie chow that is Los Angeles. What was it we found?

GREASE COVERED DOUGHNUTS. That's my friend zealously clutching his Krispy Kreme doughnut, laden with those sprinkles that give the roof of your mouth that horrible fuzzy feeling. I had one doughnut and went to sleep. He, on the other hand, had three, slept for about five minutes, then got up and went for more. And he's not a fat bastard! There is no justice. You know what really pissed me off about Las Vegas? We didn't even get to see Elvis Presley! Is that stupid fat singer dead now or something? Ha ho! Such wit! Las Vegas is a tacky destination, and if you go there, I can guarantee you'll want to leave after a couple of days if you have any common sense. But if you're the type of person who thinks chugging beer and wearing baseball caps backwards is great fun, then by all means go there! California by contrast is a nice state, and because it's bigger than Nevada, that means there's less assholes per square mile. Plus, California has the added attraction of being the place where we went to a bar called the Poop Deck. You just don't get that sort of comedy gold in Britain.


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