After the fact, everybody who was anybody said the same thing to me, “You should have known better.” And in fact, I really should have. It’s amazing what alcohol, large amounts of meat and strippers will make you do…
The entire plane ride to Vegas, I was trying to think positive. I was going to win money; I was not going to lose! Here is a little bit about me: I love to gamble, but I never win. When I’m down money, I continue to gamble on the hopes of winning my money back. I will not leave the table unless I am either:
a.) drugged
b.) intoxicated
c.) enticed by an extremely hot girl
d.) able to win my money back
Needless to say, I usually leave penniless.
We strolled into the Hard Rock Hotel around noon. I pulled out one hundred dollars and put it on black. Black hit and I doubled my money. I let it ride and it hit again. Five minutes into our Vegas trip and I was already up three hundred dollars; the trip was off to a great start.
Al l the guys who were with us wanted to go to clubs and bars. The game plan was to lounge by the pool during the day and party it up at the clubs at night. I’m not much for bars and clubs but it wasn’t my party, so I went along with the crowd. I would have been way happier to sit at the poker or blackjack table all night.
The first stop on the tour was a Brazilian barbeque place. There were lots of meat, lots of gravy and sauces, but minimal amounts of veggies and bread. I’m by no means a healthy eater, but I do try to stay away from large amounts of red meat and pork. However, I was on vacation; fuck it! The Jager was poured, the huge hunks of meat were served, and the night was off to a glorious, gluttonous start.
It was within twenty minutes that I knew I had done fucked up. My stomach began to cramp and twist. It was time for a gut check.
“Listen up, asshole; I don’t have the time for this right now. Pull your shit together and we’ll be fine.” The cramps subsided just enough for me to get out of the drunk bus and into the strip club. Now as far as strip clubs go, I am somewhat of an aficionado. This strip club would be my Mecca and Medina. The bouncer pushed the curtains aside and there stood fifteen of the hottest strippers I had ever seen, each one even sluttier then the next. At that particular time all in the world was right.
We grabbed our bottle of liquor - Grey Goose if I can recall – and were escorted to our VIP section, where we sat down to have the greatest nights of our lives. Since I was the only tattooed guy of our group, naturally more girls would come up to me; the strip club would be no exception. We claimed our seats, and like vultures on a fallen gazelle, the strippers flocked to our section. Three of the five girls came up to me and asked about my tattoos, much to the dismay of the man of the hour; the bachelor. I pushed them in his direction by telling them he was about to ruin his life with the sacrament of matrimony. One smoking hot little Spanish girl (Spanish chicks are my kryptonite by the way) stayed behind and started talking to me. I poured us big glasses of vodka and cranberry and laid back into the couch. At this point, my stomach was starting to cramp up again. It was bearable, but I sure as hell knew there was a monstrous doot brewing, and there was nothing I could do about it now. Just as well to keep drinking and just let things happen.
“You should get a lap dance... I’m really good at it.”
Music to my ears. I was already up a few hundred from earlier in the day so I figured what the hell.
“That’s a great idea.”
She took me by the hand and walked me back to the lap dance room. Once in the room, she took off my shoes and pushed me down on the couch. She got down on her knees and asked me what I wanted her to do. Thousands of things ran through my inebriated mind (most of them involving midgets, her, and some power tools), but all I could eak out was, “Whatever you want to do, honey.” She climbed on top of me ever so softly. Gently, she caressed my neck and ear. Then she whispered something that would indeed turn out to be my demise.
“Look at all those tattoos, you must be into pain. I know how to make it hurt.”
“Wait what?” I whispered back. And then she started humping the living shit out of my stomach and crotch.
“Oh dear Jesus.” I whimpered.
“Yeah? You like the pain, you pussy!” Harder and harder she pounded on my stomach. Each hump was like a battering ram against my already compromised bung hole.
“Please stop, I’m going to shit myself!”
“You wanna’ beg now? Come on tough guy, gimme all you got!” She was thrashing about like a decapitated chicken, all the time screaming that I was a pussy.
“You want to fuck me you pussy? “
All I wanted to do at that moment was find a toilet and obliterate it. And then, after what seemed like an eternity, the song ended and it was over. She stopped humping and put her hand out for the money.
“You sure you don’t want another dance?” I sneered at her and put the money in her hand; and as I walked out, I asked the bouncer where the toilet was. I had already stared death in the face, I wasn’t about to tempt fate and try to make it home. He pointed towards the stage and that is where I went.
Being an extremely shameful shitter, shitting in any public bathroom was almost impossible; but to shit in a strip club? If you’re gonna go big, go fucken’ huge.
Ever so gingerly, I pushed open the bathroom door; and to my amazement, it was immaculate. The Virgin Mother herself would have been proud to eat off the floor of that bathroom. There was even a waterfall to piss into; a waterfall! It was as if I was standing in the Garden of Eden. I opened one the stalls and decided that if there ever was a place for me to defile, this would be the one. I scanned the stall to make sure all the right things were there. Ass gasket, check. Plenty of TP, check. Clean seat, bowl and tank, check, check, and check.
“Fuck it..” So I dropped my pants and planned to let it fly.
Just as my ass touched the tip of the ass gasket, the door wildly flung open. Silently, I sat on my bowl as to not make a sound. The distinct sounds of extreme inebriation abounded as this gentlemen stumbled to the adjacent stall. For fuck’s sake, there are five stalls and he has to sit down next to me.
I tried to cough to announce my present but this guy had his own issues to worry about. Barrage after barrage of diarrhea was spewn forth from my drunken neighbor.
“Oh God.” he screamed and threw up all over the floor and my shoes.
“What the fuck, bro!”
“Sorry man… my bad.”
My once hospital-sterilized bathroom now smelled like the inside of a fake leg (bonus points if you know what movie that’s from). I pulled off about one thousand yards of toilet paper to throw on top of the vomit puddle that was streaming in from the adjacent stall. “Only in Vegas,” I said to myself. My debauched neighbor finished his ordeal, cleaned himself up ,and quietly exited to leave me there in my own filth.
Finally, I was alone yet again to take care of my own demons. I relaxed all my muscled and let fly a defecation that can only be described as biblical. Wave after wave of black death spewed forth from my ass like Satan’s minions being exercised from Hades. I tried to find an app for last rights on my iPhone but sadly there was none. After about ten blasts of diarrheic pond water the tide slowed, and I thought it was over. As I leaned forward to survey the damage it started all over again.
“Oh for the love of God!” Like depth charges being slung off the back of a Japanese carrier, pieces of solid shit began to pierce the murky water below. And just as it started, it ended.
Wearily, I arose from my now desecrated thrown. I wiped my ass about five thousand times, to the point that I felt a least a little bit clean. Back the VIP table I went to rejoin the group.
“What the fuck Mike? That must have been a hell of a lap dance! Did you bang her?”
“No… some asshole vomited on my Pumas.”
Fucken' Vegas…
