FILTH II, The Return of FILTH (By Trevor A. Keveloh)

FILTH II

THE RETURN OF FILTH

By Trevor A. Keveloh

“Shit, blood and cum on my hands.” is all I could think of before I exited Chicago and headed out to Vegas for another whack at that fucking town! Now if you have NOT read the previous story, “FILTH,” please stop NOW and go read it. If you do not then I pray to the CROM himself that you die a long and painful death involving razor sharp handjobs, tortured testicles and a vat of bloodied tampons slow-dripped into your veins by HIV positive tranny hookers.

And now I present you with.... “FILTH II, The Return of FILTH.”

It was a bleak, cold night in the winter and I stood outside the airport awaiting a single engine... FUUUUUUUCK that noise! Memorial Day Weekend, Vegas baby, VEGAS! I hot-rodded a cheap ticket from my homie doing some stand-by action which set the pace for some tardo-naiton-ness! The night before I left for Vegas I was drilling away at Jameson and Coors Lights texting shit to an Ex because she can't figure out the difference between a stick in the wall and a walking cockrag. After my tarnished sense of behavior and indulging of everything possible, I was up bright and early at 4AM to catch a 630AM flight out of Chicago and into Vegas. I woke up drunk, yes drunk and while running around in my shitty underwear I was able to pull myself together and get the fuck out of the Julian Estate by whatever time it was. I have to admit that once I got to the airport there was such a mixture of booze, sweat, anticipation, nerves and pure homicidal tendencies that I wasn't sure if I'd make it. I sat at the airport bar chugging water, Gatorade and small amounts of crackers. The instant thought of any alcohol at this point in time would either make me want to drown a small family just for the taste of a ripe Jameson or end up in prison for streaking on an airplane flying over Iowa. I stayed calm for the moment for the simple respect of wanting to live, love and write this piece of shit I am currently pounding away at!

When I arrived in Vegas I was so in and out of consciousness all I could remember was MJK barking lyrics and some hot blonde in front of me allowing her sweater to, “accidentally,” fall every 20 minutes or so. Was it a hint, a sign or s typical blonde moment? I don't know for certain but when I finger-fucked her in the shitter I kind of got the point. The plane landed and so did I. I crept off and went to the kickass shuttle service which took all 20something passengers to their destinations ON the strip whereas I was staying OFF the strip for political and financial reasons. I tipped my torn up cougar driver and entered, “The Orleans.” Ahhh, the smell of smoke, fake hips and Brut resonated through my nostrils and straight into my lungs which have already been FUCKED by the years of the bar scene and employment. I check in and everything is fine, (Thank you Jesus.) I approach my room and consider many options since it is about 2pm Vegas time and Ive had 2.7 hours of drunken sleep the night before and only slobbering passouts on the plane ride. I throw all my shit where it needs to go. I take no time and hit the casino for a roundabout. Checking out the scene I ponder one too many things. Hookers, gambling, drinking, eating, call-girls, shots, catching up with friends, escorts, drinks. I go to the hotel store and buy some Jager, Jameson, Stoli, water, Gatorade and some snacks. I bring this to my room, set it all up like a nice white-trash bar, ice container and all, then pass the fuck out!

I get a nice nap in and wake up to the TV blaring to some absolute non-sense. I hit the shitter and tarnish that fuckdoll. My shitter was NOT equipped with a fan but simply a small prison-like window that opened for ventilation. I pretty much shit booze out and possibly some other things, like my already blackened heart, so the foul stench of my insides were definitely protruding through the walls and seeping inward for weeks to come. A shower, another shit and a toof brushing were the perfect way to get things underway. The shower right before and after a shit do not work too well unless you are pulling a frat prank. I do like to cook my smell for others but for myself to have to endure that event was a learning experience. I jumped on a free shuttle to the strip where I decided to take in Vegas alone before my counterparts arrived. I was amused by the driver's feeble comedy routine and began to laugh like a tourist. Deep down inside I was crying like a Manson murder victim, holding back my tears because this is what I do NOT want to eventually become. I exited the bus and ended up at what USE to be Barbary Coast but is now so originally named, “Bill's Gambling Saloon.” This made me want to hurt people but I stayed calm. I walked down to The Flamingo and instantly became friends with the bartender, Johnny. After a good 45 mins and 15 Jameson and Ginger Ales I felt normal again. I learned that he and his best friend are no longer, that he is dating a hot little Thai girl, (like EVERY overweight, 40 plus, balding Vegas bartender.) He was nice because I spent $17 on video poker and got a buzz I needed to get back on my feet. I roamed around a little bit more looking for random shit but needed to huddle up back at the hotel. After an hour or two on the strip and jerking off in the Circle K, I headed back to The Orleans to round-up.

Boss and Necktie show up and we all meet downstairs. There are several new characters to this story so please pay the fuck attention. Tooshie and Schmiddy are two recent add-ons. We are all staying at the Orleans but they have not arrived yet. Boss and Necktie arrive and I meet them downstairs in the lobby. Blablabla, check in, blabla, talk, blabla coffee. Later that evening Necktie and I are talking at the casino and drinking and of course, like always, I get approached by a nice working girl known as, “Lexus,” because she has class and a WHOLE LOT of ass! As Necktie is watching me do my thing I give her one of my many scenarios. “Listen sweetie, I'd love to take you for a ride but I am here on business and back home I run a similar type of business. If I want some action I know where to find you.” I think she got the hint after that. Not saying I didn't want too, but I wasn't ready to drop a hundo on some off-strip poon. We finish and hit the sack.

The next day I believe was a Thursday. When in Vegas the only two days worth remembering the names of are “arrival” and “departure” and usually in that order. We did some who-ha, I drank some more Jameson and then Tooshie got into town. A good friend of Boss and I from high school and beyond, we met her in the lobby. We got some coffee, some food and played catch-up. Boss and Necktie had “work” to do where I had, “stuff” to do. They were there to promote and support a fighter who was fighting at the Orleans Convention Center and we were running a booth and the Mandalay Bay Expo Center for the the 2^nd annual UFC Expo which was centered around a UFC fight. This day certainly set some pace for future events. We were informed by the UFC that we needed to provide our own carpet at the expo and it was mandatory to have it. This was a potentially expensive and silly obstacle but with the quick-wits and perseverance I came through, like always. The Orleans was just so happening to be re-carpeting a stairway. In my shit tongue Spanglish I asked the Mexicans where to find the foreman in order to grab any leftover carpet for use. They pointed me in the right direction and after some simple kindness and standing next to two attractive women the foreman gave us plenty of FREE new carpet for the booth at the expo. All the goods were then picked up by Necktie's good friend Kadafi and taken to the expo center. O yea, more non-sense. When we get there we were informed that nothing could be rolled in on four wheels due to Union laws. Now I know some of you jagaloons reading this are pro-union and all that hard-working blue collar shit, but nothing was said to any vendors PRIOR to them trying to roll in their product, not even a little company called TAPOUT knew of this! We find a cart suitable for the issue and everyone is there to help. We have a new arrival to the team, Flake! I call him Flake because he is a fucking flake. Everything is now moved in and things are being set up. Schmitty and Tooshie do an outstanding job at putting together the booth and I have no idea what the fuck I am suppose to do or what I am doing so I pretty much stand around like a B.D. kid and do nothing until I am told to do something because I don't know what the FUCK I am suppose to do other than move shit from one inch to the next and go get water. So all that cool booth shit goes down and it looks good and everyone is just happy and ready to not be there anymore. We all head back to The Orleans and figure out what we are all doing. There is a big dinner party at a Thai restaurant that we are invited to which will have a lot of fighters, models, promo people and so on, so this is entered into the agenda. We all head over there and find out it's also duels as a Karaoke bar. Now most of you know me and my karaoke skills and how amazing they are but I declined the many offers to get up there and show em all what's up. Instead a well-known fighter got up there and did his thing. It was funny, comical and a great way to get the pressure lifted off my shoulders. I was however the only one slightly communicating with the staff in Thai, my lil Thai rose back in Chi was helping me with some word selection like, “please, thank you, more beer and sucky the dicky.” This adventure propelled us to the next destination which was, The Strip. We hit up Flamingo again for some wicked drinks poured by Johnny which he served up but was later relieved by some old fuck, so we took off and went to the next bar. We ended up drinking and gambling next door and quickly became friends with ALL the bartenders. I am not going to lie, we were the life of the party at this point. About 200 vodka red bulls and God only knows how many shots were being passed around, Flake was simply on fire and trying to score with every piece of shit he could spit at. I admired his will and perseverance but that was about it. I wasn't interested in 90% of the skanks he was macking but I was enjoying the shit out of it. After that joint we made our way over to Bill's Casino to power down some 99cent margaritas. OK, so we drank every fucking margarita we could. I was not going to wait for these cheap ass drinks to drink themselves, I mean I don't want that SAUZA tequila to go to waste now do I? After we drilled as much booze as we could it was decided to call it a night because we had things to actually DO in the morning. At this point Tooshie, Schmitty and I are too fucking hungry to go to bed so we end up at Fuddruckers in The Orleans. Something about the young checkout girl made me want to bad things. So I began to flirt with her and within 3 minutes I have her blushing and flipping her hair around. I guess her sign on my first try but I fail miserably on her age. Shes TURNING 21 at the end of the summer. That didn't stop me from flipping her a business card and telling her to hit me up if she wanted to have some fun. Food eaten. Upstairs I go. TV on. Cell phone rings. Deal closed.

The next day which I believe is Friday, I wake up feeling like I was roughed up by some hoodlums. Nothing too awful, just a good push around. I had taken my contacts out the night before because my already blinding eyes needed a rest yet I had no glasses with me. My one-handled glasses were left home to hold down the fort. I was pretty much blind when I woke up and possibly blind from being drunk and having eye jizz caked all over my eyes and they are not use to that much cancerous air. After my interesting night, I was still feeling awfully frisky in the AM and wanted to ejaculate so I did what any good man would do. I pulled out my phone, hit the net and beat my penis into submission. He tapped out by spitting on me. I then washed my hands, threw on a shirt and a hat and made my way downstairs. I was looking for something to indulge in that was not Jameson, so I went over to the coffee place. On the ride down the escalator a nice little old lady saw me as I was about to step off. She said, “young man, it looks like you happened to spill something on yourself.” And in my hungover and blind state I glanced at my shorts only to notice a giant cum stain which had taken place right on my crotch. I looked at the little old lady and said, “O, thank you,” with a term of endearment but absolute no shame. I continued onward with my activities which included a quick piss, internet entry and blablabla. I got ready and headed over to the Mandalay Bay Expo Center.

I had my Vendor pass on so it was nice and easy to get around. My trusty sidekick for this Expo was a Flip Video Recorder I had recently attained from Necktie. I met the group at the booth and looked around to notice how excellent it looked and I had zero part in erecting. I chit chatted a bit then hit the booths. My first task was breakfast. A nice triple Jameson for $8. Thank you bartender, you are my friend! After I knocked that thing back I walked around and got some good footage of booths, boobs, ass, fighters, actual BJJ fights happening and so on. I stumbled over to a previous character. GG. O my GG, the man who I had one too many wonderful moments with. I crept to his booth stalker style and stood behind a customer who was talking to him. I was recording the event in order to give him a reason to do something off the wall, of course it happened. They left and I stepped in with the Flip and GG says into the camera, “Trevor, sorry you couldn't make it, YOU'RE HERE!” I responded with, “I'M BACK BITCHES!” We talk and try to get a game plan together. Blablabla, I continue to walk around and get footage. I get some nice footage of a HUGE company known as TAPOUT and their new female line which happens to have a whole lot of pink in it just like another MMA clothing company, one which is the biggest female MMA clothing company. Interesting isn't it? SO. I meet and greet, get some vid and we wrap up the first day. It was a success as far as I know because no one was hurt and no one cried.

We get back to The Orleans and Tooshie, Schmitty and I hit the buffet. I am not overly impressed with 88% of the food, but that remaining 12% got a hurt on. I loaded up on fruit, a few sweets, tons of meat and a small amount of what looked like some sort of carbohydrate. After some chilling, talking and me staring at titties, we all reported back to our rooms to get ready for a night out on the town. Vegas on a Friday night! Fuck yea, finally some madness. We all get prettied up, meaning I look presentable and the girls are in dresses. I didn't want to go overboard but I always look good when I need too. We have many invites to many clubs and we are networking the FUCK out of where we want to go. We get a few run arounds and end up getting stood up a few times. We then land at some club that I was CERTAIN was not busy enough for 5 over-dressed door guys to be standing outside of. After they told us the “list” was over and the cover was $50 a head. I looked at him and said, “you want me to pay you $50 for some resident DJ to play top 40, are you fucking nuts?” He didn't like me after that. We attempted some schmoozing but I was not a fan of the crowd I had seen coming in and out of the club so I wasn't crying about this. Before we left they told us, “The girls are free but the guys have to pay.” Now I've worked in the industry for a good 6 years on many levels. I don't think the club was that packed because when the rest of the random people around us heard $50 entry fee, they left, literally every single person left but our group. So I looked at the bouncers and said, “you lost 7 customers who would have collectively spent well over $500 here, good job on being a business man,” he did not like my comments. We left and went to another club. I don't recall the name because at this point I am crying and dying for some firewater. We get to this club and guess what, a velvet rope with handsome doormen in suits and clipboards everywhere, I mean everywhere. I think the place was decorated in clipboards, maybe the club was called “Clipboards,” but it seemed like every goddamn fucking guy in a goddamn fucking suit had a goddamn fucking clipboard. So we tell them who we are, who we are with, blablabla, they don't care. We have models and fighters inside we are meeting and still no dice. At this point I am more than happy and willing to sit at a Mexican bar and drink Corona and tequila and watch people dance, but we wait it out. Then Schmitty and I make a 4^th quarter call, we both dismember from the group. Neither of us wanted to spend another hour outside of a club that had no reason to have a line like it did knowing they were NOT at capacity. So Tooshie, Necktie, Boss stayed while Schmitty and I hit the Strip. We basically just bar-hopped and go figure, we end up at a Mexican bar drinking Corona and shooting tequila. I have to admit that I liked it mainly because I was one of the tallest guys there. After some laughs and drinks we go to the next bar, then the next bar, then the next and before we now it I am wheeling and dealing with the door guy at the Imperial Palace club. Now I have never been in this club but I KNOW it's the place to be. I've seen a lot of, “fun,” go in and out of this club and wanted to know more about this little palace. The door guy gave me a card with his cell and told me to text him for free entry anytime I wanted, not that $5 was much and it actually had a popping busy crowd. We end up at my old stomping ground, my first Vegas love, the place that reminds me of home, Harrah's Casino Carnival Court. I just love this place. I have a great story about this establishment, but that's for another time. We get there and I think every single person was beyond shitfuckinghammered BUT the staff and us. We mosey on over to the bartender and I think I wanted to cry. It was the guy that fed me massive amounts of alcohol when I had, “lived,” in Vegas a few years ago. I talked to him a bit and of course he didn't remember me but I remembered him. We watched the train wreck of a crowd just go completely insane and I told Schmitty, “THIS is Vegas. None of that uppity-fucking-look-at-me-over-priced-drinks-I-need-more-blow-I'd-rather-look-cool-than-have-fun-BABABABULLSHIT, this is where ya have a good fuckin time,” he agreed. So we continue to party and we end up walking to Ceaser's Palace to score with some skanks we met on the street, no they weren't hookers, they were skanks. Hookers get paid to fuck, skanks just fuck. So we loose them because they pretty much suck and we somehow loose each other. I am standing at an ATM machine for 20 minutes wondering if it works like a slot machine. I swipe my card and put in the digits 10000000 until it wouldn't let me enter anymore 0's. I keep doing this until it gets down to $100, and then it shoots out a hundred dollars. I started to do a dance and sing because I felt like I won a hundred dollars on a slot machine, when in reality I took a hundo out of my account. You could say it was a sad moment in time, but I was happier than a fly in deer shit. I manage to get a cab and go back to The Orleans. I had two ladies coming in from L.A. that were meeting me at The Orleans at 4AM so I had to be somewhat normal. I hung out at the bar downstairs where I was again propositioned by a flurry of overachievers. The girls walked in and the, “working girls,” walked away. We went upstairs, they un-packed, undressed and that was that, or was it?

Saturday morning hit and the girls got up and headed out to do what girls do in Vegas which is shop, meet up with friends and eat salads. I got my shit together, showered, punished the toilet which was vomit, shit and diarrhea and brushed my ass hairs. I headed over to the Expo center for the second and last day and got right to work with my trusty Flip. We hit the booths again, models, etc. Got some good footage and small interviews and went from there. The L.A. Girls met up at the expo and I got some nice footage of them doing some interesting things. Like undressing, bending over, spreading their legs, normal stuff. I take them over to GG's booth. Things happened over there that could only happen over there at an expo. Let's just say clothing was optional from time-to-time. The last day was a success and was fun. The company did very well, made great connections, as did I and it seemed like everyone needed a REAL night out. As we were sitting at the booth at the end of the expo I finally met our neighbors, The Rizzos from Jersey. Now I must tell you that I did not believe their first and last names until I saw proof and then I couldn't believe this shit. You honestly cant make up randomness like this, it's just too impossible. These fuckin guys were from Jersey, the Rizzos boys, grown men in their 40's, but still I was dying. Fuckin Rizzo you fuckn fuck I'll wrap a ratchet around your fuckin head you fuck.

So the plan was to head to China Grill which was IN the Mandalay Bay and a short 10 minute walk from the expo. We walk on over, fatigued but giggled and head in. Now I must mention that I had contacted my Associate back in Chicago for a, “hook-up,” at the bar. I walked in the bar with our posse and told the hostess we were sitting at the bar. I approached the bar, scouted each bartender and connected. I looked right at him and asked him, “are you he?” I was right. He turned around for about 15 seconds then right up in my face he gave me a rocks glass filled almost entirely of Jameson and said, “this is on Bowen.” The posse looked at me in awe and then I downed it, I knocked that motherfucker right back and said, “thanks, I needed that.” The posse I believe went from in awe to in disgust. The party has officially begun! Drinks were flowing and I mean, DRINKS WERE FLOWING! Shots left and right, food, apps, you name it, we did it. Boss was pounding down Washington Apple shots while she was drinking them on the rocks. Necktie is just raping Jack n Cokes. GG is playing spin the bottle with a 6 pack of Heineken. Jersey Boy is getting loaded up on anything we give him. Tooshie is dropping down shots like she just turned 21. I, of course, am main-lining Jameson and getting totally fucked on Stoli and red bull. Schmitty is in and out of the picture as he had other engagements to attend to. This is exactly what was needed for them in regards to their hellish and over-indulging schedule of work work and work for the MMA industry. In the midst of all this GG and I decide to push the limits. As he is half-cocked from beer and I am shit-tatankaed from Jameson we get this moment on Flip. GG scoops some ice cream with his spoon and puts in in his mouth, then takes it out with some ice cream still on it, puts it in my mouth. I suck down the ice cream. We get INSTANT notariaty and coin it, “Two Guys, One Spoon.” This is what I needed because if I don't get a night like this, I don't come back home. For a good couple of hours we just drain ourselves in booze, laughs and other activities. I told the posse that I had spent New Years Eve there years back with my younger brother and that the bathrooms are worth checking out. They are all unisex and separate bathrooms all lined up and with glass doors. When you walk in the doors go misty and the lights get bright so all you can see is a silhouette, it's actually pretty cool. So we agree to move the party and head out. We ask for our check and our bartender informs me that ALL the alcohol was comped and he only charged us for food. This was a goddamn miracle. There were NINE of us in and out of there and ALL booze was comped. “The Company,” paid for the food tab and we tipped the bartenders—WELL! Our tab should have been well over 600-700 bucks but it was not. We walk around a bit and drink more and somehow end up BACK at China Grill. We go and do more shots. By this time we have taken care of our bartender to the max and simply want more fire power. We leave China Grill and run into a bunch of friends and people in the industry. As everyone is talking, walking and schmoozing, I glance over in by drunken-horney-as-fuck-state and see a little vixen who looks lost. I wander over to her and chat a bit. She begins to hug me and express that she can't find her friends, she's lost but wants to party. I tell her to text her friends you are with me and to meet us at China Grill, she tries to but tells me she just wants to party. By this time I have two female cock blockers and only myself to ward off these demons. I do what any good single man in Vegas would do, I grab this vixen and give her a kiss. This works! The two vultures flutter away and I began my maneuvers. After maybe 2 minutes of talking we walk over to the bathroom of the Mandalay Bay so I can show her, “how cool the bathrooms are,” and fuck her living brains out. Success.

After this event, she smiles, kisses me and I bring her to her friends. We then depart and the posse and I start on a journey. We end up at a casino talking with a random pit boss who is Indian, not feather but dot. This guy is a laugh fucking riot! I can't even understand what the fuck he is saying but he's got the mouth of me fucking a bloodied goat. I love this guy and want him to come party with us but he can't, that fucking swine. We end up outside the venue where the UFC fight was and some other madness occurred there. A lightweight fighter and a heavyweight fighter were drunk and screwing off. Heavyweight put lightweight on his shoulders and they walked around drunk yelling at people. At this point I was annoyed. I did however get some excellent footage of a well-known fighter and me doing a, “stare-down,” which was initiated by me looking at him and saying, “who the fuck is this guy?” It worked. Somehow the party moved over to the Luxor and I believe it's because that's Bosses favorite casino. They are waiting at the main casino bar which was actually a super-popping fun fucking place. I show up because I had to finish some other business. I see the posse there and some more people we had gathered but I see a drunken distressed look on Bosses face. I am not going to put up with this tonight so I tell her, “get me a Jameson, I'll be right back.” She says, “wait, what are you talking about?” I respond with, “just let me do what I do, OK?” She obliges and I walk away. I go straight to the bar, actually pushing people away and state to the what looked like, main bartender, “I need to speak to a manager or concierge immediately.” He asks if everything is OK and I tell him I need to speak to someone right now. He grabs the walkie-talkie and makes the call. A few minutes later the manger comes over. A shorter, nerdy looking shaved headed twenty-something guy, this is a fucking lay-up. “Hi, my name is Trevor Keveloh (handing him my business card,) and I represent, “The Company.” We are the most popular female MMA clothing company in the U.S. and Europe. I am here with the owner, V.P. And some other friends and co-workers. We just finished with UFC Fan Expo and didn't want to go to some outrageous club. The owner's favorite casino is Luxor and I wanted to know if we could get an area for us to just relax in.” He responds with, “OK,” then leads me over to a sweet VIP section in the main bar/club but kind of off and into the casino area. It is perfect. He says, “will this do?” I look at him with that look and say, “Yea, I can do this.” He's cool and tells me that it's our section only, we'll have a server soon and just make sure we take care of her. I walk over to Boss and the posse and say, “come on, we've got our own section.” I get the looks, the “whats,” the, “huhs” and I just tell them all to follow me. Success. We have our own decked out VIP section and its just perfect. None of that bullshit-over-packed-look-at-me-Im-drinking-bottle-service fucking horseshit. This is just perfect for us. About 20 minutes later a well known fighter, “Daddy,” who we have known for a few years now comes over. He asks me if it's cool if some of his friends can hang out with us, of course I say yes. Within 45 minutes of talking to the manager, we've got a big group of, “The Company,” fighters, models and musicians. I am talking with Daddy about previous encounters we had with each other. One which was from a few years back in Chicago. We were at a club and Necktie asked him if he wanted a drink. Daddy looked at him and said, “yea, I need nine Bud Lights.” Necktie then ordered the beers and Daddy walked away with them like a kid carrying in 3 grocery bags. We laugh about the story and then I notice one of his friends and I ask who it is. He informs me he is a popular musician from a very popular rock band. I meet him and we talk a while, mainly about music. Very nice guy and cool. The party doesn't stop. We've got people coming in and out of our VIP area, girls whistling at Daddy dancing on the couches, fighters coming and partying, the DJ blasting all our requests, it was a success. It was nice to finally add to the workload of the posse but that's the kind of work I do. From carpets to VIP treatment I can get anything I need at anytime anywhere.

The party is starting to hit the wall. It's about that time and we all agree to grab some late night food. Daddy pulls a ninja and pays the tab for the entire party, then him and I do ANOTHER shot of tequila We end up at a 24 hr diner somewhere in Luxor. All I can think of is Jersey Boy the entire night drunk, with a hat on backwards and cracked, then at the diner shlammmered. I keep laughing and thinking of that moment over and over. We eventually get to the diner and get seated. Now I know there is NO way we are going to get food as quickly as we need to, so I decide to fix that problem. Jersey Boy is drunk and babbling on how hungry he is. I get up, walk over to an empty table and grab a big bowl of chips and salsa. I believe that between that moment and me taking a bullet for him, he would choose that first of the two. A lot of drinks, laughs and burps I consistently flirt with our waitress who was nothing special, fuck I don't even remember! I remember paying the entire tab and then waking up at 8AM when I was suppose to be at the airport at 6:30AM. I don’t give a shit because I am flying stand-by and I need to sleep, shit and vomit. I do all three and wonder where the FUCK the L.A. Girls are! They ended up meeting someone somewhere and not having nearly a good time as us. I did find a pair of sandals from one of them, so I've got that memory and of course the pictures and videos!

It's time. It's time for the ONE thing in that God-forsaken town is worth losing a life for. Our visitation to In-N-Out. Every time I put my hands around that beautiful piece of meat I don't say a word, I actually tear up a little and then I indulge. It is the ONLY time I am never quiet. It was a grand success and then I was on my way to the airport to leave. I said my good-byes and got through all the check -in nonsense. I don't like to check-in luggage so I take a giant annoying black carry-on bag instead. I am waiting in line and the guy stops me because something looks suspicious in my bag. I start to think of ANYTHING and EVERYTHING that is in that bag and NOTHING comes to mind. He pulls me aside all shitty and shit looking and opens my bag. He has me open my shit, then open my travel bag and tells me that my shampoo and conditioner is in too big of containers. I am thinking at this point with a lot of fatigue and stress, that out of everyone and everything in my bag, including a razor, that this is what this fucking jackass motherfuck stopped me for! I look at him and ask him, “are you serious, you are telling me I can't bring this on the plane? I brought it HERE.” He looks at me and says, “Yea. Take it out and we have to run it through again.” So at this point I am thinking he's going to completely fuck with me since his customer service is complete shit and probably hates his job more than his mother hates his sorry self. He takes the bag and I am waiting and waiting and waiting. This fucking guy had run MY fucking bag and didn't say he was done or something like, “you are set.” That fucking asshole just sat there and continued with his little wand, his stupid little tie, little white shirt and did his stupid little job while I waited to be informed that he was done doing his job. NO NO NO. He just sat there so I asked him if it was ready, 10 motherfucking minutes later, he says, “Yea.” I couldn't believe it. I grabbed it and stormed off like a 17yr old who got felt up by her Horticulture teacher. I then went to the gate, checked times, grabbed a water and sat down. I was so fucking tired I couldn't even carry on a conversation with a group of people I knew from the MMA expo. Then a big ass plane arrived with a bunch of Asians who were taking pictures of virtually EVERYTHING in the fucking gate area and I mean everything. So anytime they took a picture of something or someone near me, I perked my head in the photo and made weird faces, picked my nose, crossed my eyes or did something to amuse myself and apparently a very attractive group of girls laughing at me and getting a kick out of my antics. Then HE walked off the plane. My arch nemesis of FILTH, “His name is Portuguese for DOUCHEBAG,” yes it was him. He walked off the flight from Chicago, looked right at me, almost nodded but just walked away. I want to bury his piece of shit mouth. I can't stand him, he's such shit. O well. I talk to this IDIOT of a gate-lady over and over and over. She's dumb and guess what, I do NOT get on the flight. I'm FUCKED. I cab it BACK to The Orleans and we eat In-N-Out AGAIN, God bless missing that flight. So the deal is to finally hit the pool which was not done at all. Boss, Necktie, Schmitty and Me all grab a margarita and just fucking layout and drown out the day. That little tidbit was so worth it and needed for me to operate any longer. My levels of stress and my asshole were simply shutting down. We laxed a bit more and I pretty much just needed to get the fuck out of Vegas before I cancelled my flight and holed up in a brothel as a cleaning boy. I then take another cab back to the airport to attempt the last and final departure of the night, the 11:45PM out. I get there and it's ANOTHER full house. So I do what I was told by my guy who got me the tickets, which was to stay at the desk and keep on the IDIOT fucking gate-girls. While doing this some drunk fucking Captain-n-Coke smelling motherfucker is wobbling, pissing off the girls and being a complete degenerate. I want nothing to do with him or his girlfriend and he is making this shit worse and worse. His girlfriend finally goes up there to talk to the lady after he has annoyed the desk-idiots for over 15 minutes. They have tickets, they aren't even on stand-by and this fucking cocksucker is talking about stand-by and they let this fucking asshole on the plane. They they load the plane with this fucking motherfucking shit on it. Then they begin stand-by. Then they continue with stand-by. Then they continue continuing with stand-by. At this point there are FIVE people waiting to get on the plane and ONE seat open. There is a couple to my right and a couple to my left. I tell these goddamn stupid fucking retard desk girls over and over, “I am flying alone, just me.” One babbling sack of stuttering shit-shakes keeps telling me, “Yea, yea, Ok, let me see.” I am not fucking around, two couples and ME! The men in both couples tell the women to go but neither woman will go and these, these stupid dick-sniffing desk girls have no fucking clue that I...AM...FLYING...ALONE~! I finally tell Mr. Nice Guy to take a hike. I grab my ID, my ticket, hold it up in their face and say, “I AM FLYING ALONE, JUST ME, ONE TICKET, ONE SEAT. CAN I GET ON THIS PLANE.” The woman looks at both couples and they both don't give a fuck. So she FINALLY books me and I board. I step onto the plane and EVERY fucking passenger looks at me with that shitty fucking look like I was late or some shit. I shout, “Don't worry I wasn't late, they just don't know what they are doing at the gate.” The flight attendant looked at me and was not happy with my comment. FUCK YOU WHORE! OK, I didn't say that but seriously, FUCK YOU WHORE! The plane ride was pretty cool because once we got close to Chicago there was a crazy lightening storm which I got some footage of and it scared a lot of people, but here I am wanting to sniff glue and Flip this shit. The flight attendant gets shitty with me and says, “sir, we are close to landing, please put away your camera.” This was the same cunty snotrag who didn't like my comments about retarded gatekeepers. I looked at her and that's all. I put it away. Plane lands, I head out.

In this adventure I felt times like there are expectations to live up to and I feel like I need to out-do myself. But I don't think there is a need too, there is more of a need to get totally fucking shitty and do whatever comes natural. I don't care if it's some shitball dancing on some whore at a club or pounding some total fucking random in a shitter. I don't care if you are jerking off in the cab while watching a tranny dry hump a midget. I don't care if you want to drop acid and walk around the canopy then piss on people's shoes at a petting zoo. You are good in my book, as long as you can hang with me, as long as you can NOT judge me, as long as you can just have a good time. But mostly, as long as you can bring the FILTH.