Ridin' the Deuce Three: The Sexy Post

• OK, now it's time for the sexy stories. The above banner was plastered all over our hotel; you couldn't turn your head without seeing it at least twice. They also had several 40+ ft screens around the hotel that featured a commercial about it on a loop. Now, if you couldn't figure it out by the picture alone, Fantasy was the revue that is performed at the Luxor. Well, by the end of the week, we were intrigued. And not intrigued like mildly interested, intrigued like we had the song memorized and if we didn't see the show, it would drive us crazy that we never saw it. So, we bought tickets and ended up in the sixth row - not too bad. We had the perfect view of titties. The show was terrible; there was some singer chick trying to make it big by covering crappy songs like "Black Velvet" and interacting with the crowd. And she would wear all the same outfits as the girls who got topless, but her top would never come off. Like she was too good or something. Bitch, you're still in a thong showing off your ass, make with the tits already! Also, there was this horrible black comedian that dressed up like Michael Jackson and Sammy Davis Jr. Unfortunately, his whole act revolved around saying "this guys gonna get fucking laid tonight, fuck yeah!" Lame. So, overall the show was mostly a bust, but those chicks were hot, and they had hot busts. That was cool at least.

• After the show, we went back to our room to chill out for awhile. Dennis and Steveo had gone to O'Shea's and gotten drunk. I ended up passing out for two hours, and waking up to an empty room. So I went downstairs and drank and gambled. Therefore, this story does not come from a first hand account. But I've heard enough of it from enough people to know that I've got it pretty straight. Everyone ended up at O'Shea's, doing tequila shots and drinking dollar drafts. Dennis met some creepy guy who offered to shuttle them off to Treasure's (a tit club) and give them free admission and drinks. So, despite the creepiness, everyone decides to go. The place ends up being pretty empty, so they have a lot of whores paying attention to them. Dennis tells a few of them that he is a backup QB for Florida State. (Further proof that all cunts are brain dead - there's no way in hell Dennis could be a back up kicker, let alone a quarterback.) One girl took a liking to him and sat on his lap for at least an hour, until Shawn accidentally dropped his real name, angering the stripper, who then proceeded to storm off. Did she think he was gonna be the foster dad to her kids or something? She's a fucking stripper, what does she care if some guy doesn't give her a real name? It's not like her name is really Chastity. Anyway, the real story revolves around Steveo. The guy is really attached to his girlfriend. She's calling us at 7 am Vegas time, texting back and forth all day, he won't get a mohawk or tattoo because she'd be mad, DEFINITELY won't go see tits because she'd be mad. (To drive this point home, I told him when we got back to the airport that he should get a hold of his girl and take control of his relationship. She simply laughed and told me she thought it was "cute and funny when he tries to put his foot down." Ouch.) Well, apparently they got into a fight and Steve got plastered at O'Sheas. So they go to the strip club... and my boy Steveo falls IN LOVE. One of those nuddie girls just caught his eye and he got that tunnel vision. The other tits might as well have not even been there. This bitch took him upstairs and going by what he told us, she was noodling with his peter, he got to feel her up and suck some nip, and she pretty much dryhumped him to what I'm sure was a premature finish. Needless to say, we were all sworn to secrecy for fear that big bad Mrs. Steveo would find out. Luckily, no one reads this blog.

• This is gonna be the last story I write out for you guys. Alot of other shit happened, but I don't think too much more of it is interesting enough to post about. And to be honest, this is easily my favorite story of the whole trip. The scene: it's the last day before our flight home (at 6am), and we're all back at O'Shea's drinking. We got there about noon, and around 4 we walk back to MGM to watch some sports that Steveo and the Mc bet on. After an hour or two, me and Dennis decide to go back to O'Shea's because we have no action on the day and we wanted more tequila shots. (I fucking love that they salt the rim and drop a lime wedge in. Call me a fag, I don't care.) So we're drinking, taking shots and I'm kicking his ass in pool until around 9 or 10. At that point, we (apparently) stumble back to the hotel and I (apparently) wander around our floor in my underwear for a while. When my conscience comes back around midnight, I'm ready to drink. I don't wanna waste our last night there being a pussy. So I go downstairs, grab a brew and a shot, and head out on the Strip looking for something going on. Just my luck, I run into a couple of drunk broads wandering too. After talking to them for a minute, they invite me to some club they were going to. I have no idea where we went - we could have been in NY, NY at the Coyote Ugly or in the Grand at Studio 54, I don't have a fucking clue. We're dancing, drinking, flirting, fucking having a good time. Around 2:30, the bitch finally tells me she lives in Vegas and has an apartment right around the corner. My natural reaction is to say, "This place is getting kind of lame. Why don't we go to your place for a drink?" She agrees, and the three (or four?) of us grab a cab and head over. We have a couple beers, and she says she's starting to get tired. Her friends have all kind of wandered off to do their own thing, so I pounce like one of those lions after a rope of meat. After some tongue action and a ton of heavy petting, I've got the skirt at her ankles and the thong pushed to the side. I'm coming in from behind, she's bent over top her bed. Then we move to my all time favorite posish - she's sitting on the counter in her bathroom, back against the mirror, and I'm standing in front of her going at it fucking hard. It was glorious. We end up back on the bed (normal missionary, with my arms around her knees, her ankles at her ears), and after awhile I'm about to shoot off, so I take off the rubber and tug it out onto her tits. We say our goodbyes, I grab a road beer, light up a smoke, and after a quick cabride back it's about 4. That means 15 minutes of sleep before my alarm goes off. What fun. But hey, I'm no prick. I'm not about to complain about getting some tight Vegas vag. Anyway, that about wraps up the fun. Hope you enjoyed reading all about our fun in the brightest city in the world. Now start planning your own trip!
  

Ridin' the Deuce Part Duex

• Saw the Bellagio fountains and the Mirage volcano. The volcano was awesome, an orgasm of flying fire and brimstone. They even set the water and the rocks on fire. Sweet. The fountains were also pretty cool, but I don't think they lived up to their potential because the song we saw them playing was that Celine Dion song from the Titanic. So it was kinda hard to get into, but the potential was definitely there. They shoot the water up and light it all to the tune of different songs every time, so we just came at a shitty time, because who wants to hear that bullshit? They really could have done something awesome with it, like "Bulls on Parade," but what can you say? It's a cool idea anyway. We tried to see the naked pirate show at TI twice, but it was canceled due to high winds. What kind of pirates are afraid of a little breeze? Pussies. (ED Note: Officially, it is known as 'Sirens at the TI,' not the naked pirate show. Although that is a good description.)
  

• They put these double decker buses on the Strip that run you up and down all day for five bucks. Sweet deal, cause that Strip is long as fuck. And those damn Mexicans get annoying after awhile. And of course, they name these things the Deuce (what with being double decker and all). Which led to countless pathetic, immature jokes about riding a packed Deuce, or taking a long Deuce up to the Wynn, or a less crowded 'loose Deuce'. Sure, we're completely immature and think like children, but hey, everyone around was laughing with us too. So go fuck yourself.

• We spent a lot of time in the MGM Grand's sportsbook because it was close and a hell of a lot cooler than the Luxor's. At the Luxor, they have one of those giant projection screens that granted, is pretty big, but they don't broadcast in HD and the overall picture is very washed out and dark looking. So we went to MGM where we could get cheap beer from next door in less than two minutes, and they had dozens and dozens of HD flat screens. The best part about that place was watching the lions eat. They kept lions in a glass cage, and you could walk underneath the enclosure and look up at them eating. But they didn't eat some pussy dry formula or anything like that. They fed those bitches fucking ropes of meat. They got raw ass meat, and strung it together into a rope. And you got to watch the lions just tear that shit apart. Not as cool as if they fed them something living, but it was cool as shit watching them rip apart raw meat. (I took a picture of it, but it's grainy and not all that clear, so we're running a stock photo.)

• The second night we were there, we went to this bar called the rumjungle. Which of course, led to cumjungle jokes. But they had the most smoking hot bartender I have ever seen. Now, in Vegas, you can't throw a quarter without hitting one of the hottest girls you've ever seen. This bartender put them all to shame though. Brown hair, about 5'8", tight leather string up vest, maybe 100 lbs, skintight black pants. She kept her lighter and her bottle opener in her pants, so every time she reached for one of them, she pulled her pants down to show her red whale tail. It kept us from leaving the bar at all the entire night. That's not what this story is about though. This is about how Shawn Mc, after two Sailor Jerry and Cokes, decided he wanted to tackle the most alcoholic drink they had - the volcano. Five different rums mixed with some fruity ass juice. Well, the volcano is the strongest drink they have - unless you've been flirting with the smoking hot bartender all night and she throws a shot of Stroh 160 proof rum on top of all that. Needless to say, the Mc couldn't even sign his own tab, I had to forge his name. So while me and Steveo are trying to guide him to our room, he hops on some old guys rascal who's sitting at a craps table. Luckily, we pulled him off before security came and beat his ass, but not without a fight. He was all boozed-up and retard strong, determined to get away with this guys electric scooter. After that near-catastrophe, we carried him by his shoulders and feet to the elevator. Up on the floor, he kept leaning a bit too far over the railing on the way to our tenth floor room of the Luxor; Steveo, in perfect shithead, i'mgonnabeadrunkenhero fashion, took trying to save him from a fall a bit too far. As I told him to go grab Shawn, he takes off down the hallway, lowers his shoulder, and delivers a picture perfect spear that would put Goldberg to shame. The Mc was down and out for a minute - I guess he just got the wind out of him, but at the time I was convinced he was either unconscious or had a broken spine. We finally get Shawn into the room, and our boy Dennis is passed out in bed, drunk and upset from losing several hundred dollars on the night. Armed with this information, Shawn decides it would be great idea to start elbow dropping Dennis. Except that every time he dives onto the bed, Dennis kicks him as hard as he can off the bed, slamming his body into the wall. I swear I thought he would at the least crack a rib he was hitting the wall so hard, especially on top of being drilled in his ribs five minutes before and getting driven to the ground. After being slammed into the wall and falling to the floor about five or six times, he finally couldn't get up anymore, and simply passed out in the one foot space between the wall and Dennis' bed. That leaves me and Steveo downstairs drinking Corona's and Jack & waters, playing blackjack until 5:30. We then moved to the bar, got a few more drinks and won enough at video poker to cover our tab. At that point, it was close to6:30 or 7, and we were getting hungry. This could have been the best part of our hotel - we had a 24 hour McDonalds, with the dollar menu! Finally after eating some burgers, we head up to crash for the night. At this point, Shawn has crawled into the other bed and is out. Before I head to my cot, however, Dennis wakes up and warns us that Shawn got up and pissed all over the floor between the two beds. This leads to the three of us yelling MC Pee Pants and screaming the "I Want Candy" song for at least the next 20 minutes. Finally, we went to crash but Steveo refused to sleep in his bed (which Shawn was in) because he didn't want to get pissed on, and he wouldn't sleep in Dennis' bed because Shawn woke up the night before with Dennis spooning him. So he took two couch cushions and a blanket and slept in the corner of the room all week. No way he that was comfortable. The next morning Shawn woke up with a huge cut/scrape/welt/sore on his elbow... shit was seriously at least halfway up his arm and deep, ugly purple. Not sure if it was from the spear, or getting kicked into the wall repeatedly, or both, but I do know he could barely move his arm that day, and he was pretty hurt all week. And of course he stopped being Shawn Mc and became MC Pee Pants for the rest of the week. All in all, a good night.
  

Ridin' the Deuce

Time for the long awaited, hotly anticipated Vegas post. But before we get to that, some paparazzi friends of mine in Florida happened to run into Black Jesus down there and sent me a picture, so I figured I'd pass it along to you guys. Enjoy!

• Like I said before, the best part of Vegas is the open container law. There is nothing better than walking down the street and having a beer. Or a Jack and water. Or a yard of margarita from La Salsa (translation The Salsa). It is such an inconvenience to have to chug your drink and then be empty for the walk. How refreshing! And the craziest part was that there was never any problems. Everyone was in control, there was no disturbing the peace - the biggest nuisance about all of it was the illegal Mexicans that stood on the corner trying to flap baseball cards with hookers on them at you.

• We had a room at the Luxor - the black pyramid that with the light shooting out the top. It was four of us in the room; Dennis, Shawn Mc, Steveo and myself. I took a cot, Dennis and Shawn shared a bed one night, then each got their own, and Steve eventually wound up on the floor. But I'll get to that story later.
  

• There's nothing better than a $5 blackjack table; unless you sit down and get shelled by some Armenian dealer, who just sits there with this shit eating grin, and doesn't even apologize when he flips a face from under his nine to beat your fucking 18 for the fucking third time in a fucking row. FUCK! At least the free Jack's help.

• As much as you think anything goes in Vegas - and for the record, I didn't see one official cop the whole week - if you go anywhere near a casino, you'll get carded three times before you get within thirty feet of a table. What a pain in the ass. And speaking of age, I couldn't believe the number of kids there. So many parents brought little ass kids to the Strip. How dumb is that? There's nothing for them to do there, and a lot of casinos even have certain restrictions regarding kids. That leaves them with little options to do other than the pool all day. And that week was not exactly poolside weather. The parents, because you can't take your little kids anywhere, have nothing to do either. You can't gamble, you can't drink, you can't even visit the casinos to check them out. Your stuck at the pool. You're in the middle of a desert, and it certainly isn't pool weather in March. Go to fucking Disneyworld you dumb pricks.

• Man, I just got really stoned during Entourage. Part Two tomorrow....
  

Taking Back The Blog

Well, we're back. And Vegas is absolutely batshit crazy. You can walk in a Walgreen's, get some snacks, some condoms, a stupid ass Las Vegas shirt, and best of all, a 24oz big boy can of Bud Light for $2 plus tax. Then you can carry that beer outside, throw away the brown paper bag and drink it until your heart's content. Better yet, you can take it into any bar, casino or sports book. So if your watching the Lakers and the Warriors, praying that they hit the under at 224.5, and you don't feel like paying $6 plus tip for a 12oz bottle at the MGM Grand... well then sir you take a two minute walk across the street, buy 4 big boys, and bring them right back in with you. Or you could go to O'Sheas and order $1 High Life drafts and top 'em off with the $2 "Cabo Wabo" shots - they even salt the rim of the shot glass for you. Not that I believe they were really Cabo, but I digress. I'm getting ahead of myself here. I plan on posting a huge recap of all things Vegas, but not yet.

Right now, it seems that BJ decided to be a little punk bitch and take some potshots while we were gone so I guess I have to take care of that first. So without further ado, I present to you:

TONY ROMO - PRO BOWL QUARTERBACK

Suck on that asshole.

Vegas, Baby.... Vegas

I am so money baby. In 12 hours, I'll be on a plane to Vegas. For a week. With Shawn Mc and two of our friends. Who are both insane and will probably get us all killed. Hopefully I'll run into Joey Porter playing blackjack and take his 10 card - I could use a piece of that $20 mil guaranteed after he powerbombs me through the table. So neither of us will be posting until next weekend (and yeah I know that Shawn Mc hasn't posted yet - we're gonna put him in a sharpshooter if he doesn't soon). We'll have a huge recap of everything that happened. Until then, my colleague Black Jesus has some big things planned as he runs this place by himself for a week (God help us all), so check back for more of his socially-conscious, introspective, and thought-provoking pieces until we get back.

As a quick aside, I love the new firefox. Halfway through writing this, my power went out and I cursed up a storm thinking I lost all of it. Well when I restarted and opened firefox to start over, it told me that it would recover my last session, and there I was staring at everything I had just typed, as well as the four or five other tabs I had open. That's fucking incredible and it might have saved an innocent man's life.

OK, back to the real point of the post. I clearly don't know anything as A & M lost to Memphis last night. Fucking MEMPHIS?!?! Someone tell me who the fuck Memphis is. Unfortunately, I think Florida is gonna roll tonight and Vandy might play G'Town close, but lose in the end. Of course that probably means Florida will get blown out, and Vandy won't even show up, but whatever. You're not better than me. I've heard a lot of USC upset talk, but I don't buy it. Hansbrough and Wright are just too much inside, even with Reyshawn Terry's strep throat. And really, what the fuck is up with that name? Could his parents not decide between Ray and Shawn and just decide to combine them? Seriously, I know people's names are getting more and more retarded all the time, but it's getting old. Give your kid a real name - shoving two different names together is not fucking creative.

I wanted to say more, but I can't even think straight knowing that I'll be in Vegas in less than a day. The debauchery is already clouding my brain. The little bunnies are just sitting there waiting, afraid, timid. And I'm a big fucking bear with big fucking claws and teeth. Its gonna be a loooong week.