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8:22 a.m. - 2005-08-05
I could go for a leg or two right now actually...
De. Botch. Ereee.

My friend Gabe is getting married any time here. This called for the American custom known as the bachelor party in motherfucking Las Vegas. Friends not gathered together in years converged on SFO and flew to Nevada vie aeroplanes.

The women there are incredible. All silicone and toenail polish and highlights and melanoma risk. Seriously, the number of women walking around with the top half of some double-d’s popping out was astounding. Even more astounding was how quickly it became boring.

We went to a strip club too of course. By looking at the above paragraph, and the words I am about to type to finish this one (I know what they are going to be already, so just trust me till you get there), I am old. Why? Half exposed boobs on the street and fully exposed boobs in the strip club gave me nary a boner. Now don’t worry ladies, I can get a boner when it counts pronto, but back in my youth I’d get a boner left, right, and definitely at the sight of cleavage and strippers.

So without the boner factor, I spent most of my time slowly losing money at pai gow, obscenely over-tipping dealers and ordering free thimble fulls of coke from top-heavy cocktail waitresses, also over-tipped. Since I am graveyard shift-erific I was not only able, but unable not to pull all nighters. This was perfect because the other eight guys in our suite took up every inch of mattress, rollaway, and carpet fit for forty winks. Just as I got back to the room, they were getting themselves up to go to breakfast. Jesus my friends can be annoying when all you want them to do is get the fuck going already so you can turn of the lights, T.V., radio, close the curtains, and not have to listen to excruciating conversation that is twenty decibles too loud.

K: Hey does anyone have any oil for hair clippers?

Gene: Dude, we have to hit Mandelay Bay for their buffet! They have Crab legs, crab omelets, crab cakes…(this urgency for crab had been expressed in response to many other topics of conversation already on the trip. My boy likes him some crab it seems).

K: Do you have any oil for hair clippers?

Mar: Hey, dude…K needs some oil for hair clippers, do you have any?

Gene: The crab is off the hook. It’s a big ass buffet too. All you can eat. Even the crab is all you can eat…

Mar: Hey dude, K needs oil.

Gene:…delay Bay. We have to hit it. Me and my boy hit it last time I was here and they had hella crab. Mandelay Bay.

Mar: Where’s Mike B.? Is he still gambling? Cuz K needs some oil for hair clippers. A-dog. A-dog. A-dog. A-dog. A-dog.

A-dog half asleep and hung over as fuck: …hmmm..wha…?

Mar: Where’s Mike B.?

A-dog: Hmmm..?

Mar: Where’s Mike? He still gambling?

A-Dog: Hmmm…?

Mar: Is Mike B still gambling?

Gene: …hook you up with fat crab…

A-Dog: Wha…?

White Brian: I saw Mike come in this morning.

Mar: Hey Brian, you have any oil?

W. Brian: Naw.

Mar: You have any oil A-Dog?

A-dog: Hmmm…?

Mar: Oil. For clippers.

W. Brian: O Shit!! There’s Mike B.! All you can see is his fro sticking out of that pile of blankets!

Gene: Dude we got to hit that buffet. I’m ready for crab.

Mar: Mike B.! You have any oil?

Gabe: Here Mar, I have some.

Mar: oil?

Gabe: yeah.

Mar: For clippers?

Gabe: yeah. Here you go.

Mar inspects tube.

Gabe absurdly frantic: No, no, no, no! Mar! No. Don’t try to read it! It’s French.

I would have popped my eardrums at this point but hotels have those stupid coat hangers that have balls on the top instead of hooks bendable into eardrum poppers.

I did get some shut-eye after about one or two more hours of this, and was later woken by Mike B. upon return from the fabled Mandelay Bay Buffet.

Mike told a story of great pain to him and my crew, but great delight to me. It seems after hundreds of calories were spent un-eloquently driving visions of crab into the heads of everyone, Gene’s crab buffet turned out to be conspicuously pricey, and conspicuously free of crab. They were too hungry to leave though so they did what any group of hung over semi broke men would do. They reluctantly paid the $21 in a city of $5 prime rib, and tried to gorge themselves so as to take a little extra home with them smuggled in their stomachs. But wait! Just as the last grape was packed into the last available space in the last esophagus, out strides a skinny waiter holding a heaping platter, voice cracking as he bellows “CRAB!” and leaves a trail of the over flowing crustation-leg bounty all the way to the kitchen.


All in all, the trip was a success. Every commandment was broke and so were several laws. No boners popped, but you can’t have it all I suppose.


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