Saturday, December 24, 2005

doomey report 14.7011 (vegas mania and sleeplessness)

7:21 am. we were starving so we hit the fantasy market buffet, shoved in some serious amounts of food, sister. it is around 7 in the morning, so of course we went for the broiler foodstuffs, and then a second round for breakfast foodstuffs, and finally the desert table. never even glanced at the hundred-yard-long salad bar.

theo and i have decided to drink whiskey, so we're heading for the pool, which they've given a name: Skin. dig it. there's a couple bars poolside, so we're off to get our stroll on before hitting the tables. i will report more on this same post whenever i can find the time. wish us luck!

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8:59 am. poolside, we have gotten some info on shows around town. Dame Edna is playing the Luxor tonight. i told theodore no. he kinda wanted to see that show, me thinks, but we've betting and drinking to do, so... neil diamond is playing mgm grand, but not until friday. damn!

we are headed up to the 55th floor to a place known as the ghostbar. at this rate we will get thouroughly danked before 10 and will not be able to gamble. more reports to follow.

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11:02 am. stagger out of the palms, down flamingo avenue, wrestle with theo as he tries to pull porno ad-cards out of flickers' fingers, and finally i steer this completely mad man
(theodore q. rorschalk) into Bellagio's casino. we're headed for the Race and Sports Book, the best in town, me thinks. we'll get more drinks, i keep telling theo, but he seems readied for some quiet time, maybe some "locked in a coffin-sized box" time. christ, who knew he could not handle his liquor.

i'm looking to bet on a horse. not sure which one yet, but as soon as theo stops lifting the skirts of the "drinks not cocktails" waitresses, maybe i will be able to concentrate. thing is, i have the worst luck betting the horses, so what the hell am i doing here? it's the chairs. commander chairs, very comfy, sister. and all these big ass televisions. it's like riding with captain kirk, which has to be as cool as it gets, eh? more later.

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11:52 am. hard to believe, but it seems theo has lapsed into some sort of coma, which is royally cool. i now have the calm needed to examine the races at hand. now keep in mind, which i am sure you are all doing, last sunday's running at Hollywood Park. we all know Diplomat Lady, a 39-1 longshot, kicked it into gear from the gate and brought home a pick six carryover of $147,515.05 to monday's closing-day card at Hollywood Park. so, i'm sitting here in my captain kirk chair, thinking about the Lady and her marvy legs and drug-free veins, and my eyes are flitting here and there over the boards looking for a similar longshot, something i can call my own, sister. can't help but take in the lines for tomorrows nfl gladiator shitfests (football is so over-fucking-rated), and i notice the mgm mirage has buffalo listed 13 and 1/2 over cincinnati, but hey, i really have to concentrate, can't let the pigskin shadow the flank. my heartrate is up, i am in the flow, and i just know whatever i flip over next will pay out mucho. i just know it! but i have to locate my card first. must figure it out and place my bet, then i can sit back and...

hey, man. where the fuck did theo go?

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1:54 pm. i have spent the last several hours frantically searching for theodore. up and down the strip, stumbled in to paris for a look-see, visited eddie powers and the elvis-a-rama museum, screamed theo's name in monte carlo, fell into new york new york (gulped down a fine pasta-green pea-prosciutto dish at il fornaio), wandered through excalibur like a drugie drugie on some real good liquid, and landed here, at the mandalay bay. christ's balls, have you people seen this shit? holy christ, they've got a 1.3 million gallon tank with a tunnel that runs through the center of it! the tank is filled with all sorts of aquatic creatures and over 100 frickin sharks, sister! $16 to get in here, but, damn, it is really mind-blowing. there are scuba dudes in the tank, swimming around with headsets on, radio headsets, and they talk to us as we walk under all this water and fish and over one hundred goddamn sharks! i have been slowly stepping through this glass tunnel, afraid every single second that the glass walls will shatter and i will be eaten, torn apart by over 1 hundred sharks! this has to be the best time had by me ever. freaky thrill ride, sister. like kirk on an alien planet, yo?

i must get through this tunnel, back out into the real world, and i should really continue my search for theo. i should. i will report as soon as humanly possible. peace out.

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4:27 pm. i lost some hours due to a mad mob of what appeared to be young men dressed as geisha girls, they had the idea that i had in my possession a billbill autographed by a certain performer named barry manilow, who has an ongoing show hereabouts. these geishas are apparently crazy for the man...ilow. perhaps they thought i was him? i dunno.

i ran north on the strip and ducked into this joint called wynn or some such, slithered into the lounge. they call this place Lure, but i sure don't smell any worms. everythings blue. vegas has this color thing going, where certain colors provoke certain emotional states in an average joe or marge. i think the color blue makes people want to get drunk, not sure. i ordered a ginger and bourbon, slunk up next to big vase of fake flowers and tried to fit in (not fit in the vase, but rather, you know, fit in crowd-wise). will i dream of geishas? will these dreams be nightmares?

where is theo? christ, i actually feel responsible for his sorry ass. a few more drinks and i'll be ready to tackle the search once more. i've this itch to hit the tables, sink my teeth into some cards. if i don't, i will hate myself.

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5:27 pm. after much thought and many ginger and bourbons, during which i have gotten to know this oversized, cunningly woman-shaped vase rather well, i have decided not to look for theo tonight. i am in vegas, fer christ's sake, and i'm all itchy with gambling fever, so i must climb aboard that dark horse and ride, sister. i will leave this strange place called wynn's and catch a cab to fremont street, where i feel more at ease. i'll step into binion's. they've an old-money-scented poker room in the back and the best damn steak breakfast in town in the coffee shop, so i plan on hunkering down there for most of the night. maybe i'll report, maybe i won't. this is vegas, baby. give me my chips.

merry fucking christmas.

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4:43 am christmas day. elvis is not dead. and christmas lives in vegas. earlier, i was talking to some guy at binion's coffee shop about the crowds, and he told me business is at a solid 90% capacity, which is down from the average 95% average, but way up for christmas day business. people have abandoned their homes, and, gasp, they've brought their children.

you might be wondering how my luck treated me, or if i went out and continued my search for theo. more than likely you couldn't give a crap, i mean, come on, it's christmas. you all have presents to open. but, if you were wondering, i am happy to report i left binion's intact, i did not break the bank, they are still in business. the poker room was sweaty and i had a feeling as if things were about to break apart, as if the world was about to end. it didn't feel right, so i left the room and cozied up next to the craps tables. a comedian was running the table i chose, i like comedians. he had a line for every throw. i'd decided to switch to red bull and boubons, so my lids weren't fighting me, and my mind was somewhat clear. walked away $300 up.

caught a cab back up to the strip to the bellagio. heard the tree was hot. the christmas tree in the conservatory at the bellagio is always stunning, they told me. i stepped up to it, found my bearings, nearly puked, and then examined the layout. giant ornaments were hanging from the glass roof. the big balls surrounded the tree, which was rather thin, not full, wimpy, if you ask me. maybe it was my mood, but i was not excited about this tree. i needed to get back to the cards, find myself a workable room.

walked north to the venetian through mobs of little screaming children. the kids do not want to be here, they'd rather be home opening presents. its these parents, sister. they're sick, sadistic bastards, these parents. anyway, the venetian has a nice poker room, so i sauntered in, got settled, and hit the vein. that was two hours ago. now i am sitting pretty in the vivid club upstairs, nursing a bloody merideth, spicy, $700 up. i've decided i don't care about finding theo at this time. i am on a roll, baby.

more to report later. right now i must find a buffet for a filling. hope you're christmas day is filled with joy and hope. me, i'll stick with hope thank you very much.

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12/26/05 9:40 am. woke with a writhing, pulsing beast inside my skull and a partially nude geisha girl in the bed beside me. jeez. i hope it was a girl. fled the room, emerged from circus circus which i could'a swore they tore down years ago. at the north end of the strip, early morning, drunk, blind and physically challenged i stumbled toward the tall statoshere, certain it would have something to ease my woes. i was ushered up to the top and then strapped into some sort of carnival ride and then i was violated, i was thrown skyward and all of vegas was laid out before me and i wanted to somehow stop myself but i vomited down onto the masses, sprayed them with my stomach offal, my booze and breakfast steak and bile cocktail. i did this. they pulled me off the ride, saw i was not fit, not fit in the least, to continue on my own, so they called in some nice gentlemen to escort me from the premises.

i am currently warming a metal bench inside a tiny cell in the las vegas police station, and they've been kind enough to allow me to borrow this laptop and make this report. not sure what i'm charged with, hope it is as simple as drunk in public or somesuch. we'll see. i might need some bail money, theo.

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12/27/05 3:07 am. it would seem the local authorities were satisfied with what i had on my person (which had been relocated to the insides of a manila envelope filed away in a dark cage in the basement of the station) in payment for the sins i'd unleashed on their fair city. i was hustled up out of my cell an hour ago, pains all over my body due to sleeping on the metal bench, and i was pushed into a room with blinding lights and the mouth-watering smell of coffee which no one seemed willing to offer me. christ, i could have really used some of that coffee, sister. a troll sitting at a desk handed me my laptop and the manila envelope i'd dumped my stuff into earlier and told me i was free to go, after which i was ushered to a side door and left on a side street beside the station, confused and not feeling as innocent as i would have liked to feel. the contents of the envelope had been pilfered, most of it taken as payment for sins committed, and the only things left inside were my roundtrip ticket back to TQR and my velcro wallet with ID and my 'you never know' trojan, and there was also a note that hadn't been shoved in with all my other stuff. a note from theo, telling me he was headed back to new mexico with a hooker and baggage in tow. he'd stopped by the station? i wonder if he'd watched me tossing and turning on that cold bench. is he upset with me? why is he going to new mexico? to sell the hooker? all these questions, and so few answers.

walked to the airport (god, i know, how fucking sad is that?) and i am now waiting for the gate attendant to wave me on. i've taken a chance on standby, which is always a risky bet, but, hey, this is vegas afterall. across the way is a lounge, and i'm eyeing it hungily. when i get back to TQR i believe i will actually be relieved, happy in a way. there's noplace like home. there's no place like home. there's noplace like home. there's noplace like...

Fear, but no loathing in Las Vegas


Doomey is pulling me hither and thither, and all I wanted to do was drink some whiskey and scope out the local talent, yes? Perhaps make a proposition to the lovely Mz. Jennifer McCarthy which she couldn't refuse. I've got the muscle to make these things happen. So, anyhow, was rather tanked at someplace with many big screens, when I decided to leave. Doomey was preoccupied with something, lord knows what, as he stared pie-eyed at the infernal green and red numbers of the tote.

Green and red numbers. Ah, Christmas in Vegas. I found myself on the street again, without so much as a friendly escort or habidashery in sight. And all the while the green and red numbers where multiplying in my burdensome conscious. Two days hence, the symbolic birth of our lord, though the Persian mystic Mithras would have some complaint as to the co-opting of his birth to quell the pagan ideologies crossing over into Constantine-dom. And lo, did I feel a gravitation pulling me thus, like the force of an imploded star beckoning me from amidst the exhaust and hubbub of the strip. Toddling, listing and whole-heartedly trying to keep down the $1.99 steak and eggs I'd ingested some time ago in the Ghost Bar, the imbalance of my rectitude did pull me out of the mainstream and onto a road less traveled. Eating gravel, for I had somehow landed face down in a strip mall parking lot, some cretin with coke bottle glasses and thin stringy long hair told me I was disrupting his business. Once upright again, I saw his business was a so-called adult entertainment racket with the accompanying paraphernalia and get ups. Well, far be it from me to impede the flow of commerce, and I was about to go inside, when this mini-van pulls up with the King's edifice emblazoned there upon its sideboard. The wheels did skid in the gravel and a bevy of Nikon-toting Nipponese tourist types flooded out and bee lined it to the as-of-yet non-descript building next door. Which, to my surprise and edification was an homage to the King!

Let me tell you, the choice was then clear. Save the whips and cock extensions for the Pharisees, I quickly about-faced and made my way into the rarified clime of Elvis-a-Rama!

Was lucky enough to come in just as the King himself was starting another performance, a young lad from Texas with a striking resemblance to a young, very young King. Full lips, lush black flip of hair, gentle eyes, and a hunk a hunka burnin' love. I engaged my ass in the nearest chaisse lounge and ordered a mai tais, thinking to couch myself in the long past revery cast by the special Elvis From Honolulu, and set myself up to be transported to a better place and time.

Suspicious Minds, man. Thankyouverymuch, baby. Teddy Bear. In the Ghetto. And as the river flows, onward to the sea, man. Some things were meant to be. Wise men say. And the king of kings had those too, but Elvis still speaks in Las Vegas, somehow, if only through these Texas interlocuter. I was duly amazed.

And so it goes, now if I can make my way back to the Palms. Maybe I can catch a rickshaw along the way.