I have been drunk before. I have stayed up late at night before. I have even eaten shrimp cocktail out of a sundae cup before. I have never, however, done so much with so little sleep, with so much liquor and so much crotch-rot. Vegas, you harlot, give me another fucking $1.49 breakfast special and another exotic fucking bird show, and get on your way. — Zachery Moneypenny
Vegas means many things to many people. To me it means three things: free liquor, gambling, and titties. — The Madd Scientist (12 Mar, 2003)
Wow. This put picaresque day to shame. On Friday I drank a 6 pack on the way to the airport. On the plane ride I took down a handful of cute little bottles of scotch. We arrived at our hotel at around midnight and proceeded to drink until 10:30 a.m. Our room reeked like drunken dude, and I slept in the closet. I woke up at noon and was drinking again by 3:00. Around 4:00 a.m. I found myself sitting on the toilet, (sitting on the seat; not pooping) clutching my head, telling Moneypenny that I hate Vegas and I�m never coming back. I was coming apart at the seams. My bones hurt. I could feel my whiskers growing. After that Moneypenny passed out, I gave the closet to Steven and took off with a lumbering Madd who told me he had a great plan, but he passed out before sharing it. All I know is it involved three hundred dollars of my money. On Sunday we did it again. I was in Vegas for 49 hours. I slept for 7.5, drank for 30, walked around in a daze for 11.5 hours.
Fwew. I was consistently drunko more this weekend than anytime in recent memory, including the Picaresque Day. Sunday night/Monday morning was my finest hour of free liquor, as I drank NO LESS THAN 10 gimlets from 11pm to 3am. Monday morning was also when I woke up from being passed out in front of a slot machine, only to found that I had hit triple bar-triple bar-triple bar. The machine is going crazy and it jump starts me awake. I drunkenly collect my winnings and stumble up to the room, take off my clothes, and lay face down on top of the sheets. This was the position I was in when Madd & Co. found me at 7am.
I will now rank the gimlets in Vegas:
1st Place (and Grand Champion by a mile): The Bellagio, huge glasses and I never had a bad one (though one was a bit stronger than the rest).
2nd Place: Monte Carlo, the treated me like shit there, but they had good gimlets in small glasses, made up for by the fact that I was the only player at the craps table and the waitress came around every minute. At one point she delivered me a new one, reached down to get the empty one, and said “Don’t worry, I won’t touch anything I’m not supposed to.”
Last Place: Tropicana, I felt like I was back in Louisiana and they were giving me a junko gimlet to go. Also, the waitresses are all old ladies. Junk. O.
Also, Madd pissed me off at one point when we were gambling at the Tropicana and he was really drunk and belligerent. He got us both cut off from more alcohol just because I was standing next to him at the table, even though I had not had a drink YET and was standing silently. I was extremely angry.
Yes Yes, I got cut off in Vegas. You know what Vegas? I didn’t want those drinks anyway. Needless to say Friday, Saturday and Sunday all saw a completely puddled madd scientist. Drink of choice for the weekend: Red Bull and Vodka. After a good 10 or so a night, my teeth hurt. Then I went gimlet style… I agree with zach’s ratings. One high point of the free liquor night was the case of MGD I helped consume in the room. 2 cans worth are probably still slowly dripping down the wall.
Me and zach met our new late night buddy ken on the flight out. We got puddled on the plane. for free. Got off the plane and decided to spend the $20 tip that the stewardess refused on drinks at the airport bar. We ended up spending around $100 on 3 rounds with our new late night buddy. 100% drunko before we were out of the airport. I’m still not sure if I was drunker on Friday or Saturday or if Friday or Saturday even existed.
One night (I seriously don’t remember) we went to some bar at some casino (again, a blur). This bar was fucking awesome. We lit up the Cubans and sat in style. The live cover band was awesome. Beer was served out of clear PVC pipes 5 feet tall with a built in tapper. You got to take it to your table… fucking awesome. Shots were served on an iron tree thing normally used to hold candles… awesome. Hot chicks were jocking the scientist. I couldn’t have asked for more, but then the band packed up and an awesome DJ started spinning. I remember nothing more. Hopefully some of the wisconsonians can help with details.
Ok, I love gambling-football, cards, dog racing. At work Ill play rock, paper, scissors for 5$ a round: I�ll bet on anything. Overall I did well, but it�s hard to calculate how much I won. All I know is I brought 1000$, came home with 700$, and I spent a hell of a lot more than 300$. Mostly I played blackjack, but I also played craps for the first time and dumped some serious coinage into slot machines, roulette (Madd, you are the worst roulette coach ever) and the cursed wheel of fortune. I also put 10$ on the Brewers to win the World Series.
I was seized with a fantastical sickness this weekend. One in which I had to play craps any time I was near a table. I played a little blackjack, some slots, and 2 spins on the wheel of fortune, but craps was my passion. Also, I played a little bit of Roulette wherein Madd just yelled out some numbers and I placed money on them. I had $3 on a number when it hit, and paid me a little over $100. That was cool.
My craps wining ability was as changing and wild as the wind itself. Big ups of the trip: $300 at the Tropicana (twice), $300 at the Monte Carlo, $600 at the Bellagio, $800 at the Bellagio, $100 or $200 at New York, New York. Big slides of the trip: $500 at the Tropicana, $500 at the Bellagio, $200 at the Burberry Coast, plus a few more $100 or $200 downs at the Tropicana. The $600 roll at the Bellagio was made for me by me, as I went on an approximately 40 minute roll and won the table a considerable amount of money. That felt good. I then went and cashed out, and I had a $1 bill on me, so I walked up and put it in a $1 slot machine. Gave it a pull and: I won $60. Not bad.
One game-related but not gambling-related piece of fun was when we went to Gameworks in the M&M building. They had an air hockey table, which delighted us to no end. Then we found out that it was XTREME HOCKEY! Each player had 2 paddles, and at any given time there could be 1 to 3 pucks on the field. The pucks were launched automatically from a machine attached to the side of the table. It. Was. Cool. We had a mini-tournament and Wirkus was crowned the champ. Timmer slaughtered me in the first round. For revenge I got everyone to participate in a basketball-shooting tournament. I won handily both times.
We gambled our day away on Saturday in old Las Vegas, way off the strip where there’s that cowboy neon sign that points at himself. The gambling down there is way fun, due to the fact that EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE is junko and there are $3 minimum tables everywhere. If you are ever in Vegas, you have to go to the Las Vegas Club, Golden Gate Casino, and Binion’s Horseshoe on Fremont Street.
Yikes. I played a lot of craps. I lost a lot of money. My bank account reads 1-0-0-0 older.
To all you people that thought we were going to be banging hookers all weekend, I have one thing to say: Get a clue. We were goofing around in those pre-Vegas posts. Every single one of us except Sean has a wife, fianc� or girlfriend. Sheesh. As far as titties go, I drunk dialed Bellgirl a few times, was drunk dialed by Jen, proposed marriage to Moneypenny (he denied me) and went to The Glitter Gulch with Springer under the pretense of looking for Moneypenny. We drank 10$ Miller Lites and Springer bought me a lap dance from a very nice Thai lady with kickball-sized fake boobs. I told her I was very interested in her culture, and she painfully bounced my head between her knockers to the beat of a Beatles tune. Other than that we leered at half-nude Easties at Bellagio, lost our minds staring at the Magic Door at the Barbary Coast and Madd took a pornographic photo with his friend form LA. She was a cool chick, who whenever someone was getting tired or complained, she�d tell them they had a girl dick.
I saw no naked titties all weekend, though by Sunday night I was like a wild man looking for some. Most everyone else got to see at least one real, live boob over the course of the weekend. I did, however, see one of the greatest collections of fake boobs in the history of drinking. They were everywhere at the Bellagio and on the strip. This section will undoubtedly be Madd’s time to shine.
The Wisconsin crew and me went to a tittie bar. I don’t remember the name or much of anything else, but I did see some titties. I tipped the bellman too much to get to the strip club and in for free, so he gave me a card to get comped admission and a comped ride home. Then I forgot we were getting comped and paid cover. Oops. Then we are leaving and just hop in a limo assuming it is ours. We get out and the driver asks for $60. Oops. How or why we got in the limo, who knows. My bad.
I did steal some tissues from somewhere and asked many people if they wanted one. I Got inside tropicana and started offering them to some hot chicks. I was golden. Their obvious leader (the hottest) snubbed me at first, but after she realized I was the scientist she was jocking me like whoa. She had a large drink in the shape of a boot held around her midsection… I pointed to it and asked “WHERE IN THE FUCK CHRIST DID YOU GET THAT?!” she responded “DR. [jewishname]”… hmm… I am puzzled. “WHAT?!” then she shakes her boobs and asks if I like them. ahh… I see, she bought the boobs, I meant the drink… we sort out the confusion. Back to me liking them or not. I’m informed they are 36 Ds. Same as a girl I was seeing recently, and I explain that they were fun, but too big for me in some situations.
She assures me that her boobs don’t do the things my girl’s did. I don’t believe it. What better way to prove me wrong than to whip them out in the middle of the tropicana. That chick was a genius. Again, for any more details, I’m at a loss.
Overall I had a great time. Seeing Steven was a real treat, and the 100$ each steak dinner that we had at Gallaghers with Springer and Moneypenny was romantic as hell. During said romantic dinner, it must be noted that Springer farted. Our hotel, The Tropicana, was ghetto, (its at the end of the Strip; it seemed like the place were old cocktail waitresses and dealers went to die) but I liked it. Jap man who puked.
Overall an awesome trip. Got to see everyone from Madison again, plus Steven E. I had a great dinner at Gallaghers. I went on a monster roll at the Bellagio. I called Tucker Max at my most drunkest point and talked to his voice mail. I came home with $550 dollar from my original $1000, but that was after a SHITLOAD of tipping, drinking, eating at fine restaurants, and sometimes just giving my money away. By Sunday, I was drunko, junko, AND stinko, plus I had bad crotch-rot. I slathered the ol’ crotch in Neosporin on wirkus’ advice and everything came out fine in the end. Our hotel room stunk so bad of drunk dude that when I got back from old Vegas I just took off my socks and threw them out the window. Things that also went out the window: 3 pieces of comped bread, someone else’s socks, and a tiny robot. On Sunday (?) morning we went down to the hotel buffet to gorge, and it just so happened that an exotic bird show was going on.
Springer didn’t want to eat, so he was sitting at the bar outside the restaurant playing video poker. In this bar area was where the bird show was going on. They announced that “the craziest audience member gets a prize!” and we desperately hoped that Springer would turn on the crazy and go for the gold. He did not. Exotic erotic bird show highlight: over the loud speakers they play “Who Let the Dogs Out” and when the guys say “who who who!” they turned off the music and the bird went “caw! caw! caw!”. Fucking funny.
I hated the Tropicana. It was junko. However, the doorman there (Jake The Doorman) was awesome. He gave us recommendations to 3 restaurants over the course of our stay, and each one was the best in show in its class. Sunday night Wirkus, O’Neil and I went to Todai, the all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant. It was fucking awesome, as I just started slathering my plate with tuna sashimi. Also a huge platter of edamame. Also wirkus had an orgasm when he saw a plate of baby octopus legs. I tipped Jake a lot over the weekend. He was great. On one last restaurant note, while eating at the fancy steak house Gallaghers, Wirkus ordered oysters for an appetizer. When the guy brought it out, and was about to set it down, the plate tipped and bunch of oyster piss dribbled into Wirkus glass of scotch (or whiskey maybe?). At first he was pissed, and then he told the guy that he would just drink it. Then I told him not to, and the guy ended up bringing a non-oyster-pissed-in drink to replace it.
I bought the dollar menu. Many of you have dreamed about it. I did it. YES. Fruit and yogurt parfait… “It�s French dog, don’t worry about it”. I gave a few items away; self-induced vomited the rest out the next morning. In giving the items away I made a lot of new late night buddies. At some casino I offered a fat chick a McChicken. She said “no”. I responded “Your mouth says no, but your fat gut says yes”. Boudreau loved that shit.
I said “Junk-O” well over 135 billion times. I sang “Ooh ooh I, I just died in your arms tonight… must have been something you said”, 7 million times
I saw a massively tall chick at the Bellagio and Becker fed me with the best line ever: In a drunken Mexican voice I yelled, “HOLY SHIT, IT’S GODZILLA”. I assure you, hilarity ensued.
I cashed out over $300 in singles. Carried the money around like they were $100s and impressed all of Vegas. I did however drop many throughout the night. I would pull them out and ask random people “where the titties at”. Good times.
We walked past a bread delivery truck on our way back to hotel… I asked for a loaf of bread like any drunkard would. The driver walked around to the other side of the truck, got me a loaf and walked it back all free of charge. Vegas loves me, so much so that I was comped bread.
After polishing the MGD, we had the brilliant idea to stuff Timmer in the TV cabinet and scare the shit out of someone. That someone: hmmm… I don’t remember, but he was probably pretty fucking scared.
In the airport on the way home I asked in a rather loud voice of an airport cashier at a tourist store “GOT ANY JUNK?!”, she responded, “no”.
We played the “my brother called last night” game way too much. The best reaction came when I said my brother got a herpe on his foot and the guy in the elevator instantly turned and yelled “HE GOT A HERPE ON HIS FOOT?!” I said “yes” and continued on with the story. I tried to recreate that a few more times, but couldn’t get the same reaction… comedy gold should be left alone and not attempted twice.
I invented a new form of comedy, which I call X-treme comedy. 35 seconds of fun. You have to do a complete stand up act from introduction to close in 35 seconds. You can download my entry [here]. (That will be a link as soon as Wirkus stops being lazier than me)
I really don’t remember what we were doing on the tram ride back to the Trop on our last day, but all I recall is thinking “I am golden”. I did a tripod. I don’t remember why.
Moneypenny’s Sleep Schedule
7am Friday: woke up
9am Saturday: went to sleep
10am Saturday: woke up
5am Sunday: went to sleep
10:30am Sunday: woke up
4am Monday: went to sleep
10am Monday: woke up
11pm Monday: went to sleep