"FILTH”
By Trevor A. Keveloh
I could easily say that this adventure was prompted by a book I was currently reading which is simply about a guys debauchery driven life, but I would be lying. My life has been one hell of a crazy fucking rollercoaster of fun and games so I will only give credit to the people who played part in my journey to LAS VEGAS 09.
Day 1
The plane ride was the smoothest and most easy going I’ve had in some time now and as said before, the book I am currently reading made it much more enjoyable. I know a lot of single guys come to Vegas to drink, gamble, rip lines and bang 19yr old Russian call girls but I do most of that in Lisle so I take Vegas as a trip become someone who I am not. I am a civil engineer from Texas, Consultant from California, Club owner from Miami or an under lord who is, “connected.” Whatever, whoever, however I feel is who I am at that moment in time.
My counterparts for this trip will be named Boss, Necktie, GG and AF1 (Air Force One) this is due to political reasons and more so, simply to make this story cool with nicknames and being kinda sneaky and shit. But everyone will eventually know who we all are so who gives two fucks in a Thai whorehouse!
We check into HOOTERS which is a $27 a night stay and my friend Jen bartends here which made things interesting later in the trip. Our first and most important stop is none other than the greatest fucking goddamn place on Earth to eat, “In N Out,.” This is one of those places a person like me fantasizes about next to having sex with Eva Longoria and Tony Parker. I order my double double animal style with a chocolate shake and wait, patiently. When my food arrives I stare at it like the first time I’ve seen my pretend girlfriend naked, I soak it in, I take pictures to post on the internet, I begin to ravage myself by stroking my…….And then I bite in and I don’t speak until my time with In N Out is over. I don’t like to talk, grunt, nod or communicate whatsoever when enjoying one of Man’s guilty pleasures. After I mentally masturbate and pound the fuck out of my burger we go back to Hooters and begin some delicate drinking and gambling. I am not in Vegas more than a few hours before I loose my player’s club card and start making a fool out of myself by yelling obscenities at random people, this is me sober. I mean really, who the fuck is gonna mess with Tha Fukn Trev Man? AF1 is also staying at the Hooter with us and GG is staying directly across the street at the MGM which makes things MUCH easier. The trip to Vegas was business related. A fashion show for a company Boss (Boss is the owner) Necktie and I work for and GG works with as a client. AF1 helps out the West Coast Region. But this IS Vegas and IS the entertainment biz so it’s not all work. The fact that it’s too cold to sit by the pool provokes much more madness into my veins. I typically don’t lay by the pool when I go on vacation. I enjoy the relaxation but I’m more of an ocean guy and I don’t want to burn drinking and debauchery time by laying around with guys who workout for a living where as I would rather utilize my time by throwing goose shit at 12yr olds.
The first day was pretty much getting in touch with everyone we need to in regards to the business part of the trip. I did what I needed to do which was mainly nothing. I asked every Vegas employee where to find drugs, hookers and what we have named this trip, FILTH. I want FILTH. I don’t want clean pretty blinged out ice. I want pure, make your mother hate you FILTH. Most employees, actually ALL employees out here know which way to direct you AND many of them have a name and/or number. I made friends with virtually every person I encountered. The bellboy at Hooters gave me his number for some good tittyclub hookups, taxi cab driver number 56 gave me a name at a tittyclub, some random street erchant asked me if I needed any shit, but I’m plenty good with the devils blood running through me. The first night indicated a calling of all men of singleism to unite and take advantage of any prowling women aged 19-96. Boss and Necktie had to cash out early because they are married and prolly wanna bone each other and also needed to be more coherent than myself. The night began with all of us meeting the guy who put together the fashion show. We are eating wings at Hooters and talking about shit. I don’t remember because I didn’t really care about topics, I just wanted to unleash some debauchery. Necktie does inform me that he was up in the room with the organizer rolling around and then, well yea. When I say rolling around I don’t mean popping pills or playing flippycup with teenagers, they were actually training BJJ half in the bag. Kind of interesting to say the least. So the party disperses. GG, AF1 and myself head over to MGM’s 54. A nice touristy place to try and get laid or shit in the hallway. We hit the middle bar and AF1 is what you would call a trooper of all sorts. This guy has no care and loves to talk to women. He stirs up a convo within seconds of being at the bar. 2 cougars, prowling around, looking for rich dick. After about tree drinks we wander over to the line for 54. I don’t like standing in lines and the old line of, “I am leaving for Iraq tomorrow,” didn’t work so AF1 stands in line with the cougars as GG and I get more to drink and try to find an angle. Found it. Some old guy working security at the center bar. We jive with him a minute and he immediately smells my bullshit. I am not 37 and from 59th and Carpenter. He pretty much laughs at me but enjoys my valiant effort in being a total douche. GG is from Chicago and in his 40s so it makes things much easier. Apparently this guy is from Chicago so he knew about 59th and Carpenter. We walk away and the old man comes up to us a few minutes later; he tried but couldn’t do anything. We finally make it into 54 as we let AF1 and the cougars stand in line while we pranced around and whistled at skirts. 54 is so touristy that it made me want to knife myself in the shitter and tell God that I am not worthy of living another day, but I decided to pound beers and shots instead. After getting a good buzz and feeling IT, GG, AF1 and me stand at the bar. Make friends with the bartender at EVERY club is KEY to winning in Vegas. You get comped if you gamble but you have to pay for drinks in clubs so be good to your bartender! Keith an I talked a bit and shared stories, he was our bartender and pretty good to say the least. GG and I make rounds while AF1 works the cougars HARD. He’s dancing, talking, drinking with them. It’s a nice sight to see since I am not doing anything of the sort other than asking every female that walks by where I can find some good blow and I don’t even do blow. I tell Keith I want some FILTHY tequila. I am talking about piss on the floor, let it sit for a week and drain it into a shot glass. He gives me CUERVO which is a premium tequila at most bars. I do it and it’s nothing short of a layup. I do another and I am feeling IT more. After a few rounds and what not I ask Keith to make me FILTH. I want pure fucking FILTH. I don’t want some pussyass pink lips, I want a FILTHY shot that will make me do bad things to people. But I am a bartender so I watch him, carefully and I am glad I did. He pours a triple Cuervo and triple Bacardi 151 and shakes it ice cold. At this point in the night I am not willing to ruin myself so I take a sip. FILTH but not the FILTH I want, it was more power than FILTH. AF1 comes over and I split the monster shot for him. GG wants NOTHING to do with this. I raise it up and as AF1 downs his, I throw mine on the floor and quickly bring the rocks glass upward. NOW the bartender bought that round, so in my blurry eyes I can do what I want with it, it’s not a sign of disrespect. But I can’t say much for AF1 who downed it, turned to me, was completely green and then proceeded to put his index finger over his closed mouth as he were signaling to us he is about to puke or had puked in his mouth. He then rests his head on the bar and he is officially 86’d. He didn’t fade out or fall or shit himself, he mentally checked out. I don’t really know what happened to AF1 after that but GG and I made some more rounds and eventually got bored. Some day-go from New York had a man crush on GG and asked him if he was, “connected.“ It’s a cute pickup line for a man seeking bromance. GG wanted to fuck his hot sister. Two wannabe street performers smoking cloves made me want to turn on the German rage and go into attack mode but I don’t fight unless, what the fuck, it doesn’t matter really. I just walked away. Beer and shots will keep me level. I incorporate my friendly mixed drinks and shots and I can turn into a fucking train wreck from the devil’s own nightmare. So I wander back to HOOTERS and GG heads to his room at MGM. I walk into the bar and I see my girl Jen working. She gives me a big ole Chicago style hug and kiss. I think for some reason that I am a celebrity. Why you ask? I have ZERO clue! I order some sludge at the restaurant and sitdown and start pounding Jameson and drinking a warm ass Coors Light. I do some light gambling so I don’t have to pay for my drinks. I get Jen’s number, grab my food, piss in the hallway and actually FILM it, then head to my room to inhale whatever the fuck I got. I wakeup the next morning feeling a lil beat up but not horrid as most would expect. Boss and Necktie are pounding on my door so we can go eat breakfast. I slowly gather myself. Boss, Necktie and I head to MGM for breakfast with GG, AF1 is no where to be found. I eat my eggs with cheese, hash browns, two what looked like short fat cocks of sausage and wheat toast that was more like cardboard lathered in a light layering of skin cancer. Now I MUST warn all of you reading this that the next part of this story is disturbing and beyond disgusting. So if you want to skip to the next part, no hard feelings. The food didn’t go down well and when I got back to my room I tried to hold it in. I did fine until the toothbrush attacked me. It bludgeoned me, it terrorized me, it assaulted my orally. I was showering and the drain began to clog and water was not going down. I was brushing my teeth with excessive force and angst and I stuck that guy a lil too far down my throat to see if I was still a man. I am, but I am now a sick man. I began to vomit violently. The vomiting that causes rectal, oral and eye burn. I think an eyeball popped out as I watch hash browns spew all over my bathtub. The most disgusting part of this beautiful disaster is that I was standing in a bathtub, that was not draining, filled with puke, blood or ketchup, eggs, cheese and me. I was ankle deep in this shit and I still managed to finish showering and look at my disgusting self in the mirror and love me even more for getting through that self-inflicted torture. I washed my feet off again as I did not want them reeking of a piece of shit MGM breakfast. My call to the office sounded as simple as this. “Hello operator. Yea, I was taking a shower and your drain began to back up. And then some weird stuff came out of the drain. I don’t know what it is but it’s quite disgusting.” She responded with, “We will have an engineer up there right away. I am sorry for any inconvenience.” I guess that’s what you get for making your friend do a shot of FILTH. Karma is a bitch!
Day 2
After my fight with a toothbrush, backed up bathtub and god knows what else, I returned to somewhat of a normal human being. This day was mainly work for the most part. We are in Vegas for a fashion show and we also are attending MAGIC which is a huge clothing convention for large and small companies, distributors, wholesalers, etc. We headed over there and all I could think about was how bad I felt for that engineer who is going to be draining my ass and mouth from the bathtub but after an hour of walking around I could care less as long as it was clean. The convention was filled with all kinds of crazy people and shit. Boss, Necktie GG and myself attended this and I had to be on my best behavior so Boss doesn’t yell at me then cry to our Dad that I am an asshole so I stayed a good boy, for a while. We left the convention and headed to Mandalay Bay to help out the guy running the fashion show. After GG and I fought over every model and the smoking blonde DJ by calling DIBS at every girl, even the girls we talked to in the restaurant at lunch, we headed back to get ready.
GG and I grab a cab and both look at each other with that evil eye. Both of us are completely sober but we see a camera in the cab. We ask Mr. BoomBastick if we are on, “Taxi Cab Confessions,” El Cabireno assures us we are not but this does not stop either of us from entertaining each other. What was said in this cab ride was mostly comical but also disturbing. This is a disclaimer stating we did SAY these things but neither of us may have not DONE them. Here are some tidbits in no particular order. “I want to tie up a 19yr old girl and feed her beer and water but not too much so she’s shitty drunk, just enough so she has to pee. Then take her Catholic school girl skirt off so her white cotton panties are showing and make her peepee in her panties just a little bit, a dribble, not too much. And then spank her and tell her she’s a bad girl.” “I want to pick up chics on the side of the road and make them jerk me off. No BJ’s, no sex, just handys and then start a website called CummyKnuckles.com” “I love to bowling ball girls. I know they all love it.” “I’d like to fornicate with a girl in her ass so hard she shits blood on my red sheets but you can’t where the blood is.” “Fish hooking is the best way to let her know she’s doing a good job.” “I love when a girl is riding me and decides to slip it in her ass then plays with herself on top of me. That’s hot!” For some reason the cabby didn’t flinch, ask us a thing or whatev’s, so we continued until we got to Mandalay Bay and headed upstairs.
The minute we walk into MIX some random lady comes up to us with a dead cat strapped around her chest and begins to babble about clothing. Neither GG or I are impressed one bit, but we allow her to stroke us more and jive about how great she is. At this point I start getting antsy for some action. I need something to take my mind off all the handshaking and shit, but I do have to do some sort of business and this is when I had to stay aware of my surroundings. Jenn and her friend Red, because she’s a redhead, came up to the show which made things much nicer and helped out the cause, which was being reckless. GG tried to play a trick on me but I beat him at his own game. He had me give the waitress her server book and he wrote a note in the book which I didn’t look at, I simply handed it to her as GG ordered me to do. She opened it up, laughed and that was it. Later in the night I saw that lonely server book sitting on a pedestal and HAD to have it. So I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket as a memento of one of those nights. After meeting and seeing a bunch of fighters, designers, wholesalers, etc the fashion show ended. It was a good turnout and was fun and a new experience and an excuse for me to turn Vegas into another playground for a few days. After the show we headed to the room for some after-hours action. I walked in and there were about 30 people. Models, designers, fighters, etc. I B-line for the bar which has a decent assortment of liquor. Vodka, rum, whisky, mixers, etc. Me being a bartender I immediately kick people out of the way and begin to work. AF1 is there and asking me if I need any help and I actually tell him he can be my bar back and I take off my suit jacket and hand it to him. I then tell the people sitting at the bar, “well I’m glad this one at least speaks English.” I start mixing drinks, popping beer bottles, telling jokes and pretty much being myself. I manage to cut the shit out of my right palm. I am still trying to remember why but I think I was either trying to do a knife trick or open a bottle of beer while babbling about the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Not paying attention to anything but my own words I ripped open my hand and it bled for a good 30minutes. The entire bottle of Jack is GONE in less than 20 minutes thanks to Necktie, Sunshine and myself. Sunshine was a 19yr old model originally from Oak Brook who looks like Sunshine from the movie, “Remember The Titans.” I am sure as shit he either wanted to fuck me or be my best friend. Some well-known fighter and his girlfriend/wife/fiancé/etc were plopped at the bar while I did my thing. I must say that this girl was eye-fucking the SHIT out of me. She was blonde, blue eyes and sexier than hell. I don’t typically date or ever get interested in blondes but this hottie was wet for Tha TrevMan. I made NO move other than making people laugh and making drinks because I don’t think I really want to mess with a fighter’s girl, not too wise. So after I concocted many drinks for many people Necktie, Boss and myself headed back to Hooters. GG had taken off with Jen and Red to Hard Rock and AF1 hooked up with some other friends. By this time Necktie is smashed out of his German head and Boss is all loopy and ready to bet the farm on 14. I screw around for a little bit at Hooters and then meet up with GG and the girls at Body English. I walk in and Red is completely smashed and babbling about God knows what while trying to make sense to GG. Jen takes me around and does her thing. I’m hanging at the bar and I begin to get that feeling again, something needs to unleash. So as Red is slurring her speech and jagerbombing herself into a shithouse of fucked up infame and unfortune I begin to finagle my way into her cans. As she is babbling about nothing I keep talking to her but brushing my hands across her beautiful breasts; she notices NOTHING! This goes on for at least 20 minutes, obvious and in your face tit action and she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. By this time GG is bright red and almost collapses from laughter because it’s so horribly in your face. I am not getting what I am looking for which is simply a rise out of her, so I push the limits.. After watching her stumble around like a baby’s first steps she actually falls down a few times and at this point I am not too sure if she’s been officially cut off, so I intervene. She’s bent over and pretty much rubbing her asshole all over GG and I do what any good natured dirt bag would do. I double down. I flip her dress up and give her ass a little smack. That didn’t go over too well. This bitch went from shithoused to completely sober in about 3 seconds and she went nutty. This whole time I’m playing hands-of-tits with her and she’s rubbing her ass on us then all of a sudden she tweaks. However the most beautiful part of this is that no one believes her and I deny any wrong doings to this drunken mess of red wine, red hair, red dress and an over all shittiness. She ends up cabbing it somewhere, I am assuming to another bar or to Industrial Strip so she can hook. I then gather up Jen and GG to eat at some place in Hard Rock. While waiting for our food we notice a Nickelback look-alike winner and begin belting out Nickelback tunes, this dweeb is not impressed. For some reason I think it’d be a good idea to pretend to snort lines of Sweet N Low. I break out some honkers and accidentally rip a tiny bit of a line. Not so good. I get the drip down my throat and didn’t even catch a high. We huff down our horrible food and await our check. Our server who was a decent looking girl in her 20’s who worked hard handed us the check. I decided to pick up the bill. Room number: Scribble Mark. Last Name: JOHNSON. Tip: $20 and a $10 cash tip. I don’t know if you can consider that a bonafide dine and ditch since I put it on someone else’s room of a hotel I wasn’t even staying at and tipped her twice, once in cash! Needless to say that was the end of this adventure. I cabbed it back to Hooters and banged around the casino until I couldn’t find anymore life in me and went to my room where I made sweet passionate love to my bed spread.
Day 3
“I threw up so hard that my eyes hurt. They actually are in pain. Look at my broken blood vessels. I puked so hard that I lost some of my soul” This my friends is championship caliber partying from none other than AF1 himself. I thought that this day would be toned down a bit with the loss of GG who had to fly back to Chicago but no, that would not happen. After hitting the MAGIC convention again and being on my best behavior for most part of the day I was ready to unleash the rage again. I am not a violent man by any means, I do however know how to party until someone gets hurt or looses a limb. The team prepares for out last and final night by heading to the hot tub while I tarnish my room with inappropriate activities and whistling contests with migrant workers. I mosey on downstairs to the bar area and realize I am not only the sexiest motherfucker walking the bar I am the best dressed. I look like something that walked out of a catalog named, “Who To Look Like in 09.” I find Boss and AF1 playing video poker and having a cocktail so I decide to join them with my homemade Jack and Pepsi. Some old guy from Florida begins to chat with us and tell us how awesome his son is, he’s nice and buys us a round and keeps macking Boss. Funny. I like this guy so we end up talking for a while, go figure. Trevor ends up talking to some random guy. He apparently likes me and calls me, “one of the last good guys on earth,” I guess he doesn’t know about my collection of women’s panties I keep in my gym locker. We screw around for a good hour and it’s getting close to 10. We call Necktie who is asleep and he meets us downstairs. Our bartender is Manny and Marcy. Marcy is really cute and from Ohio but pours like a Greek bar owner, while Manny pours like knows what he’s doing. I watch him triple pour Necktie who amazingly takes his drinks down like a Lord of England. I like where this is going. Manny gets us some roadies, a term in which I adore to hear. I love roadies and wish they were more part of everyday American culture. We posse up and head out.
I am walking through the casino an realize something, I haven’t gambled a shits worth. So I sit down at roulette for some play time. 28 hits right away. I walk up with 5 bucks and I turn it into 300 in 15 minutes. 14, 18, 28, 30, 0 etc. I like what’s happening. I feel my hot streak cooling down so I cash in my money. I was up over 400 but walked with 300 after starting with 5 bucks. Boss and I are on fire and the table starts getting attention. I still don’t have my player’s card and I don’t give a shits because I am just winning and winning. After 14 hits for the 2nd, 3rd, 4th time I keep pulling my shirt aside to show off my tattoo of 14 on my chest. This gets a lot of attention and I think that the Asian dealer Ying was turned on by my manliness. I would have banged her if it was one of those nights but I didn’t. I do have to go out of my way and thank K Sexy and all my 14’s who allowed that to happen.
We cab it over to Slots O Fun and what happens is like a sign from Jesus Fucking Christ himself. We walk in and the SECOND we are all there the fucking power shuts off for a good 5 seconds. That is a sign in all of our eyes to watch our money in this dump. We play a little, the bartender is a prick and unfriendly and we cab it over to Stratosphere to see if my boy Jonny 4 Aces is working. I am informed when I get there that he is not working and on some kind of probation so we sit down to gamble a little bit. The energy is MUCH better than Slots o Fun and there are some decent hookers prowling for diaper money. I want to go to a strip club REAL bad but for some reason I just don’t. I want to talk to these filthy whores and tell them stories that are untrue but for some reason I would rather go back to Hooters and hurt myself. We go back to Hooters and I find myself at roulette again and winning. I get pretty buzzed after a few doubles of Jameson and some ice cold Coors lights. I want to sustain a decent buzz by evening things off with beer and liquor so I don’t go to the dark side. I guess craps was in the air because we end up rolling dice for a little bit and we aren’t doing too bad. Within minutes we are that LOUD table, go figure. We aren’t winning a lot of money per say but we are all drunk and having fun, it’s Vegas for Christ sakes. A bunch of people begin to flock over and we get things going. But for some reason I am not satisfied with things. So after some dice we decide that Blackjack could be the key to more victory. I immediately make friends with the hot dealer whom I can’t remember the name of right now. She likes me because I have money and I am well dressed and I just don’t two fucks in the county jail. I don’t play blackjack much but it’s time to have fun. The things that come out of mouth I cannot control and often forget because my behavior can be so erratic that I just don’t give a shit. I might have told her I use dynamite to light my cigars, I climb buildings for fun, make babies in girls mouths or play hop scotch with the handicap. At this point in time I feel too good to stop drinking and gambling. But I don’t. I tell the pit boss who resembles some old dad from a bad 80’s sitcom, that I lost my players card and want one because I plan to win all my money back. He enjoys my humor but I can tell he probably doesn’t like my kind. Young, arrogant, good looking and FILTH. From this point on the night becomes a blur so I am going to try and piece things together for you. I was cut off and told to, “keep it down,.“ I have no clue how you can do that to someone in Vegas of all places but it happened to me. I guess it may have been all the standing up and yelling shit that made no sense. They let me gamble and WIN but they cut me off from drinking, bastards! This does not phase me as I am shit tanked and not giving a shit about anyone including myself. For some odd reason I think that purchasing 50something 25cent wings is a good idea. I buy a bunch of mild and bbq wings and an assload of ranch. I remember throwing some of them at shit while I wandered around after being cutoff for being too goddamn good at life. I don’t know where anyone is and I decide that since I am up 400 from 5 bucks, it’s time to call it a night. I go to my room and pass out. When I awake the next morning I find this. Random leftover wings in my bed, on the floor, in the sheets and one stuck to my ankle, 30 something bbq wings and a gallon of ranch, wing sauce strategically placed throughout the room as I might have been trying to capture a family of Canadians, bbq sauce smothered on my arm, the TV on, the AC cranked and an unGODLY bad headache that actually goes away after some Advil and warm diet Pepsi. I stumble over to my wallet to make sure I didn’t totally time travel and I am relieved. 400 just like I thought.
Day 4.1
It actually DOES happen. Our flight was canceled because a snowstorm was going to be hitting Chicago but hadn’t yet. Odd. Necktie, Boss and I were not prepared for this but since I had won a few extra dollars I was able to make it through another vicious night in Vegas. Necktie had gone downstairs to start drinking while Boss and me relaxed a bit. But by the time I had met up with Necktie he was already half in the bag. Manny had been serving him WICKED Jack N Cokes which could have been used to ignite a school bus on fire. I sit down to hit a lil vid poker and Necktie babbles something in the sort of, “Dood, I’m kind of drunk. I love Manny, he’s like the Dagan of Vegas.” (Dagan is a bartender at a bar I work at who knows how to ruin someone’s liver.) I giggle for a moment then realize that Necktie is not a professional degenerate like myself and I begin to worry about what may come out of this night. At this point in the evening it’s around 8:30 and I have not eaten other than some donut balls, half a mocha shit stain and some cheese its. About 9 hits and Necktie is smashed. He’s had about 6 Jack N Cokes that allow him to talk to virtually everyone in the bar. So I utilize this nice moment in time to stir up a conversation with the stunning bartender who looks like a younger Tyra Banks. She claims she is turning 31 and I guess it right, Pisces. 31 on February 28th, born and raised in Denver. And that was about it because all though she was smoking hot, she wasn’t a very good bartender which made me want to man-crush on Manny more. Boss comes down takes one look at Necktie and laughs, she knows he’s shithosed and not going to make it through another night. We wander over to grub up. Our Hooters food comes out and Necktie quickly mauls the shit out of everything in site until he makes his asshole feel like it’s been terrorized by a group of gay gang bangers pushing away and penetrating to the extreme. He is OUT. He wanders to his room and 86’d himself. Which leaves Boss and I. I realize that we have slowly lost a solider every day and it finally ends with the tandem that is ironically related.
We cab it over to Fremont street to take a look at the other side of the tracks. Fremont basically means FILTH in Las Vegian terminology. The place was crawling with degenerates of all walks of life. Mini degenerates, Black ones, Mexican ones, Chinese ones, you name it, it was pure Degenerocity, it was FILTH! It seemed like every 5 steps was a different odor of pure shit. I smelled fried shit, used shit, tossed shit, rumble in the Bronx shit, Peter Pan shit, virtually every type of shit smell was present on my voyage down Fremont street. It didn’t take long for Boss to wear down and throw in the towel. As we are walking back to a shit-infested cab ride I begin to vigorously laugh. I hear the cop telling some degenerate that he is going to, “mop up his own piss.” This guy was pissing right there on the wall with no shame so CSI went in a shop to get a mop to make him clean it up. The cop utters under his breath, “I hate these fucking people.”
I am not buzzed at the point in the night and I am upset with myself. We are at Hooters and talking with my friend Jen who is working. Boss decides to hit the sack. Last man standing. I begin my journey down non memory lane. I may have drank all the Jameson in the bar because I was destined to get drunk one last night. I put on my game face and began to torture my liver which was probably sobbing it’s eyes out and ready to kill itself. Coors Light, Jameson, over and over and over. My luck at vid poker blows so I stumble over to roulette, 50 fuckin cent baby! I whip out my cash and instantly start babbling about God knows what. I tell my new best friends how I was cutoff and told to keep it down by the pit bosses. How I told the pit bosses,” leave me alone, stop looking at me, I am trying to gamble. GO AWAY pit boss.” This happened to be the same place, Hooters, where this happened only the night before. They enjoy my stories and I begin to swallow whole bottles of Jameson. I don’t really recall the rest of the night but I know I sent out some interesting text messages. “Can you wire me my rent money so I can have a 3 some with 2 15yr old Ukrainian blondes.” “I am congested and no one cares, do you care?” “I showered in a bathtub of puke.” “I feel funny.” “My mother and father should be ashamed of me.” “Someone’s got weed and it’s effecting my judgment.” “I’m dead.”
I woke up at 830am drunk. I am not even 1 percent ready to deal with human beings. I want someone to torch my face and throw me in a barrel of lighter fluid. At least I am drunk and not hungover. I must thank my good friends at the Hooters Casino for that piece of time travel I went through. We managed to get to the airport without any issues. I was crankier than a 2yr old with a wet diaper and I kept pouting. I found the head of a white carination and HAD to have it so I kept it. I stood in line for 3 minutes for Burger King then blurted out to 2 women, “this shit is horrible, I can’t eat it.” I left the line and got some sammigages. I pulled out a small handful of change and told the lady,” I can’t have this in my pocket, it’s too distracting, you can have it all.” I think I made her fucking week with that honest maneuver. Some lady behind me was cracking the SHIT out of her gum and I began to cry a little bit. I was terrified by this sound, but she is an older black lady so I have no chance at doing anything other than crying to myself. I sit at the very back in the corner and I swear to God, Morgan Freeman’s stunt double was next to me. We take off and I am dosing off and since I have not eaten much, still intoxicated I begin hallucinating a little bit. I am not asleep but in a fucking retarded state of whatever. I wake up and I am not shitting you when I say this. Morgan Freeman took the liberty of starting a bar and buffet on my tray. I guess since he was watching some awful movie on his laptop and I was curled up in the corner like Jodie Foster in, “The Accused,” it was OK for him to put his can of Coke, 2 shooters of Bacardi and 20dozen FREE snacks on my tray. I look around and I am in shock but I allow him to utilize my tray for his own purposes. He reciprocates the generosity and asks me if Id like a drink. At this point in my life I consider my options and come to the conclusion that if I intoxicate myself on this airplane someone is going to throw me off. I kindly deny, tell him I have to work and take a can of Coke to drink hopefully making myself feel less FILTH. All this does is make me need to shit, piss and I keep breaking serious wind but NONE of the farts smell. I call those Jail farts. When I was in jail I was gassy but no smell, just a lot of broken wind. So I keep doing my move, the lean and let go and doze in and out of consciousness. We are getting close to landing and it’s snowy and windier than shit in Chi so I start saying my prayers just in case God hasn’t cut me off from his house. Rocky as all hell we land and I shit a little bit in my pants.
I guess there are certain things missing in this story that most would expect from me that is more Vegas-esque like strippers, drugs, hookers, getting arrested, fighting, etc. The life I live is insane enough that I don’t need to travel to Vegas to surround myself with madness. But this trip was beyond memorable. Binge drinking, gambling, being cut off and told to keep it down in a fucking casino, tit popping, vomit filled bathtubs, professional MMA fighters and their wives who eye fuck me, bromances, civil engineering, Casey, yelling at people in the daylight while I am completely sober, ass clowning, white cotton panties, urinating in hallways, In N Out, Fatburger, the worse breakfast on earth, snorting Sweet N low accidentally, partying with models, partying with designers and nothing short of pure FILTH.
The plane ride was the smoothest and most easy going I’ve had in some time now and as said before, the book I am currently reading made it much more enjoyable. I know a lot of single guys come to Vegas to drink, gamble, rip lines and bang 19yr old Russian call girls but I do most of that in Lisle so I take Vegas as a trip become someone who I am not. I am a civil engineer from Texas, Consultant from California, Club owner from Miami or an under lord who is, “connected.” Whatever, whoever, however I feel is who I am at that moment in time.
My counterparts for this trip will be named Boss, Necktie, GG and AF1 (Air Force One) this is due to political reasons and more so, simply to make this story cool with nicknames and being kinda sneaky and shit. But everyone will eventually know who we all are so who gives two fucks in a Thai whorehouse!
We check into HOOTERS which is a $27 a night stay and my friend Jen bartends here which made things interesting later in the trip. Our first and most important stop is none other than the greatest fucking goddamn place on Earth to eat, “In N Out,.” This is one of those places a person like me fantasizes about next to having sex with Eva Longoria and Tony Parker. I order my double double animal style with a chocolate shake and wait, patiently. When my food arrives I stare at it like the first time I’ve seen my pretend girlfriend naked, I soak it in, I take pictures to post on the internet, I begin to ravage myself by stroking my…….And then I bite in and I don’t speak until my time with In N Out is over. I don’t like to talk, grunt, nod or communicate whatsoever when enjoying one of Man’s guilty pleasures. After I mentally masturbate and pound the fuck out of my burger we go back to Hooters and begin some delicate drinking and gambling. I am not in Vegas more than a few hours before I loose my player’s club card and start making a fool out of myself by yelling obscenities at random people, this is me sober. I mean really, who the fuck is gonna mess with Tha Fukn Trev Man? AF1 is also staying at the Hooter with us and GG is staying directly across the street at the MGM which makes things MUCH easier. The trip to Vegas was business related. A fashion show for a company Boss (Boss is the owner) Necktie and I work for and GG works with as a client. AF1 helps out the West Coast Region. But this IS Vegas and IS the entertainment biz so it’s not all work. The fact that it’s too cold to sit by the pool provokes much more madness into my veins. I typically don’t lay by the pool when I go on vacation. I enjoy the relaxation but I’m more of an ocean guy and I don’t want to burn drinking and debauchery time by laying around with guys who workout for a living where as I would rather utilize my time by throwing goose shit at 12yr olds.
The first day was pretty much getting in touch with everyone we need to in regards to the business part of the trip. I did what I needed to do which was mainly nothing. I asked every Vegas employee where to find drugs, hookers and what we have named this trip, FILTH. I want FILTH. I don’t want clean pretty blinged out ice. I want pure, make your mother hate you FILTH. Most employees, actually ALL employees out here know which way to direct you AND many of them have a name and/or number. I made friends with virtually every person I encountered. The bellboy at Hooters gave me his number for some good tittyclub hookups, taxi cab driver number 56 gave me a name at a tittyclub, some random street erchant asked me if I needed any shit, but I’m plenty good with the devils blood running through me. The first night indicated a calling of all men of singleism to unite and take advantage of any prowling women aged 19-96. Boss and Necktie had to cash out early because they are married and prolly wanna bone each other and also needed to be more coherent than myself. The night began with all of us meeting the guy who put together the fashion show. We are eating wings at Hooters and talking about shit. I don’t remember because I didn’t really care about topics, I just wanted to unleash some debauchery. Necktie does inform me that he was up in the room with the organizer rolling around and then, well yea. When I say rolling around I don’t mean popping pills or playing flippycup with teenagers, they were actually training BJJ half in the bag. Kind of interesting to say the least. So the party disperses. GG, AF1 and myself head over to MGM’s 54. A nice touristy place to try and get laid or shit in the hallway. We hit the middle bar and AF1 is what you would call a trooper of all sorts. This guy has no care and loves to talk to women. He stirs up a convo within seconds of being at the bar. 2 cougars, prowling around, looking for rich dick. After about tree drinks we wander over to the line for 54. I don’t like standing in lines and the old line of, “I am leaving for Iraq tomorrow,” didn’t work so AF1 stands in line with the cougars as GG and I get more to drink and try to find an angle. Found it. Some old guy working security at the center bar. We jive with him a minute and he immediately smells my bullshit. I am not 37 and from 59th and Carpenter. He pretty much laughs at me but enjoys my valiant effort in being a total douche. GG is from Chicago and in his 40s so it makes things much easier. Apparently this guy is from Chicago so he knew about 59th and Carpenter. We walk away and the old man comes up to us a few minutes later; he tried but couldn’t do anything. We finally make it into 54 as we let AF1 and the cougars stand in line while we pranced around and whistled at skirts. 54 is so touristy that it made me want to knife myself in the shitter and tell God that I am not worthy of living another day, but I decided to pound beers and shots instead. After getting a good buzz and feeling IT, GG, AF1 and me stand at the bar. Make friends with the bartender at EVERY club is KEY to winning in Vegas. You get comped if you gamble but you have to pay for drinks in clubs so be good to your bartender! Keith an I talked a bit and shared stories, he was our bartender and pretty good to say the least. GG and I make rounds while AF1 works the cougars HARD. He’s dancing, talking, drinking with them. It’s a nice sight to see since I am not doing anything of the sort other than asking every female that walks by where I can find some good blow and I don’t even do blow. I tell Keith I want some FILTHY tequila. I am talking about piss on the floor, let it sit for a week and drain it into a shot glass. He gives me CUERVO which is a premium tequila at most bars. I do it and it’s nothing short of a layup. I do another and I am feeling IT more. After a few rounds and what not I ask Keith to make me FILTH. I want pure fucking FILTH. I don’t want some pussyass pink lips, I want a FILTHY shot that will make me do bad things to people. But I am a bartender so I watch him, carefully and I am glad I did. He pours a triple Cuervo and triple Bacardi 151 and shakes it ice cold. At this point in the night I am not willing to ruin myself so I take a sip. FILTH but not the FILTH I want, it was more power than FILTH. AF1 comes over and I split the monster shot for him. GG wants NOTHING to do with this. I raise it up and as AF1 downs his, I throw mine on the floor and quickly bring the rocks glass upward. NOW the bartender bought that round, so in my blurry eyes I can do what I want with it, it’s not a sign of disrespect. But I can’t say much for AF1 who downed it, turned to me, was completely green and then proceeded to put his index finger over his closed mouth as he were signaling to us he is about to puke or had puked in his mouth. He then rests his head on the bar and he is officially 86’d. He didn’t fade out or fall or shit himself, he mentally checked out. I don’t really know what happened to AF1 after that but GG and I made some more rounds and eventually got bored. Some day-go from New York had a man crush on GG and asked him if he was, “connected.“ It’s a cute pickup line for a man seeking bromance. GG wanted to fuck his hot sister. Two wannabe street performers smoking cloves made me want to turn on the German rage and go into attack mode but I don’t fight unless, what the fuck, it doesn’t matter really. I just walked away. Beer and shots will keep me level. I incorporate my friendly mixed drinks and shots and I can turn into a fucking train wreck from the devil’s own nightmare. So I wander back to HOOTERS and GG heads to his room at MGM. I walk into the bar and I see my girl Jen working. She gives me a big ole Chicago style hug and kiss. I think for some reason that I am a celebrity. Why you ask? I have ZERO clue! I order some sludge at the restaurant and sitdown and start pounding Jameson and drinking a warm ass Coors Light. I do some light gambling so I don’t have to pay for my drinks. I get Jen’s number, grab my food, piss in the hallway and actually FILM it, then head to my room to inhale whatever the fuck I got. I wakeup the next morning feeling a lil beat up but not horrid as most would expect. Boss and Necktie are pounding on my door so we can go eat breakfast. I slowly gather myself. Boss, Necktie and I head to MGM for breakfast with GG, AF1 is no where to be found. I eat my eggs with cheese, hash browns, two what looked like short fat cocks of sausage and wheat toast that was more like cardboard lathered in a light layering of skin cancer. Now I MUST warn all of you reading this that the next part of this story is disturbing and beyond disgusting. So if you want to skip to the next part, no hard feelings. The food didn’t go down well and when I got back to my room I tried to hold it in. I did fine until the toothbrush attacked me. It bludgeoned me, it terrorized me, it assaulted my orally. I was showering and the drain began to clog and water was not going down. I was brushing my teeth with excessive force and angst and I stuck that guy a lil too far down my throat to see if I was still a man. I am, but I am now a sick man. I began to vomit violently. The vomiting that causes rectal, oral and eye burn. I think an eyeball popped out as I watch hash browns spew all over my bathtub. The most disgusting part of this beautiful disaster is that I was standing in a bathtub, that was not draining, filled with puke, blood or ketchup, eggs, cheese and me. I was ankle deep in this shit and I still managed to finish showering and look at my disgusting self in the mirror and love me even more for getting through that self-inflicted torture. I washed my feet off again as I did not want them reeking of a piece of shit MGM breakfast. My call to the office sounded as simple as this. “Hello operator. Yea, I was taking a shower and your drain began to back up. And then some weird stuff came out of the drain. I don’t know what it is but it’s quite disgusting.” She responded with, “We will have an engineer up there right away. I am sorry for any inconvenience.” I guess that’s what you get for making your friend do a shot of FILTH. Karma is a bitch!
Day 2
After my fight with a toothbrush, backed up bathtub and god knows what else, I returned to somewhat of a normal human being. This day was mainly work for the most part. We are in Vegas for a fashion show and we also are attending MAGIC which is a huge clothing convention for large and small companies, distributors, wholesalers, etc. We headed over there and all I could think about was how bad I felt for that engineer who is going to be draining my ass and mouth from the bathtub but after an hour of walking around I could care less as long as it was clean. The convention was filled with all kinds of crazy people and shit. Boss, Necktie GG and myself attended this and I had to be on my best behavior so Boss doesn’t yell at me then cry to our Dad that I am an asshole so I stayed a good boy, for a while. We left the convention and headed to Mandalay Bay to help out the guy running the fashion show. After GG and I fought over every model and the smoking blonde DJ by calling DIBS at every girl, even the girls we talked to in the restaurant at lunch, we headed back to get ready.
GG and I grab a cab and both look at each other with that evil eye. Both of us are completely sober but we see a camera in the cab. We ask Mr. BoomBastick if we are on, “Taxi Cab Confessions,” El Cabireno assures us we are not but this does not stop either of us from entertaining each other. What was said in this cab ride was mostly comical but also disturbing. This is a disclaimer stating we did SAY these things but neither of us may have not DONE them. Here are some tidbits in no particular order. “I want to tie up a 19yr old girl and feed her beer and water but not too much so she’s shitty drunk, just enough so she has to pee. Then take her Catholic school girl skirt off so her white cotton panties are showing and make her peepee in her panties just a little bit, a dribble, not too much. And then spank her and tell her she’s a bad girl.” “I want to pick up chics on the side of the road and make them jerk me off. No BJ’s, no sex, just handys and then start a website called CummyKnuckles.com” “I love to bowling ball girls. I know they all love it.” “I’d like to fornicate with a girl in her ass so hard she shits blood on my red sheets but you can’t where the blood is.” “Fish hooking is the best way to let her know she’s doing a good job.” “I love when a girl is riding me and decides to slip it in her ass then plays with herself on top of me. That’s hot!” For some reason the cabby didn’t flinch, ask us a thing or whatev’s, so we continued until we got to Mandalay Bay and headed upstairs.
The minute we walk into MIX some random lady comes up to us with a dead cat strapped around her chest and begins to babble about clothing. Neither GG or I are impressed one bit, but we allow her to stroke us more and jive about how great she is. At this point I start getting antsy for some action. I need something to take my mind off all the handshaking and shit, but I do have to do some sort of business and this is when I had to stay aware of my surroundings. Jenn and her friend Red, because she’s a redhead, came up to the show which made things much nicer and helped out the cause, which was being reckless. GG tried to play a trick on me but I beat him at his own game. He had me give the waitress her server book and he wrote a note in the book which I didn’t look at, I simply handed it to her as GG ordered me to do. She opened it up, laughed and that was it. Later in the night I saw that lonely server book sitting on a pedestal and HAD to have it. So I grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket as a memento of one of those nights. After meeting and seeing a bunch of fighters, designers, wholesalers, etc the fashion show ended. It was a good turnout and was fun and a new experience and an excuse for me to turn Vegas into another playground for a few days. After the show we headed to the room for some after-hours action. I walked in and there were about 30 people. Models, designers, fighters, etc. I B-line for the bar which has a decent assortment of liquor. Vodka, rum, whisky, mixers, etc. Me being a bartender I immediately kick people out of the way and begin to work. AF1 is there and asking me if I need any help and I actually tell him he can be my bar back and I take off my suit jacket and hand it to him. I then tell the people sitting at the bar, “well I’m glad this one at least speaks English.” I start mixing drinks, popping beer bottles, telling jokes and pretty much being myself. I manage to cut the shit out of my right palm. I am still trying to remember why but I think I was either trying to do a knife trick or open a bottle of beer while babbling about the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Not paying attention to anything but my own words I ripped open my hand and it bled for a good 30minutes. The entire bottle of Jack is GONE in less than 20 minutes thanks to Necktie, Sunshine and myself. Sunshine was a 19yr old model originally from Oak Brook who looks like Sunshine from the movie, “Remember The Titans.” I am sure as shit he either wanted to fuck me or be my best friend. Some well-known fighter and his girlfriend/wife/fiancé/etc were plopped at the bar while I did my thing. I must say that this girl was eye-fucking the SHIT out of me. She was blonde, blue eyes and sexier than hell. I don’t typically date or ever get interested in blondes but this hottie was wet for Tha TrevMan. I made NO move other than making people laugh and making drinks because I don’t think I really want to mess with a fighter’s girl, not too wise. So after I concocted many drinks for many people Necktie, Boss and myself headed back to Hooters. GG had taken off with Jen and Red to Hard Rock and AF1 hooked up with some other friends. By this time Necktie is smashed out of his German head and Boss is all loopy and ready to bet the farm on 14. I screw around for a little bit at Hooters and then meet up with GG and the girls at Body English. I walk in and Red is completely smashed and babbling about God knows what while trying to make sense to GG. Jen takes me around and does her thing. I’m hanging at the bar and I begin to get that feeling again, something needs to unleash. So as Red is slurring her speech and jagerbombing herself into a shithouse of fucked up infame and unfortune I begin to finagle my way into her cans. As she is babbling about nothing I keep talking to her but brushing my hands across her beautiful breasts; she notices NOTHING! This goes on for at least 20 minutes, obvious and in your face tit action and she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. By this time GG is bright red and almost collapses from laughter because it’s so horribly in your face. I am not getting what I am looking for which is simply a rise out of her, so I push the limits.. After watching her stumble around like a baby’s first steps she actually falls down a few times and at this point I am not too sure if she’s been officially cut off, so I intervene. She’s bent over and pretty much rubbing her asshole all over GG and I do what any good natured dirt bag would do. I double down. I flip her dress up and give her ass a little smack. That didn’t go over too well. This bitch went from shithoused to completely sober in about 3 seconds and she went nutty. This whole time I’m playing hands-of-tits with her and she’s rubbing her ass on us then all of a sudden she tweaks. However the most beautiful part of this is that no one believes her and I deny any wrong doings to this drunken mess of red wine, red hair, red dress and an over all shittiness. She ends up cabbing it somewhere, I am assuming to another bar or to Industrial Strip so she can hook. I then gather up Jen and GG to eat at some place in Hard Rock. While waiting for our food we notice a Nickelback look-alike winner and begin belting out Nickelback tunes, this dweeb is not impressed. For some reason I think it’d be a good idea to pretend to snort lines of Sweet N Low. I break out some honkers and accidentally rip a tiny bit of a line. Not so good. I get the drip down my throat and didn’t even catch a high. We huff down our horrible food and await our check. Our server who was a decent looking girl in her 20’s who worked hard handed us the check. I decided to pick up the bill. Room number: Scribble Mark. Last Name: JOHNSON. Tip: $20 and a $10 cash tip. I don’t know if you can consider that a bonafide dine and ditch since I put it on someone else’s room of a hotel I wasn’t even staying at and tipped her twice, once in cash! Needless to say that was the end of this adventure. I cabbed it back to Hooters and banged around the casino until I couldn’t find anymore life in me and went to my room where I made sweet passionate love to my bed spread.
Day 3
“I threw up so hard that my eyes hurt. They actually are in pain. Look at my broken blood vessels. I puked so hard that I lost some of my soul” This my friends is championship caliber partying from none other than AF1 himself. I thought that this day would be toned down a bit with the loss of GG who had to fly back to Chicago but no, that would not happen. After hitting the MAGIC convention again and being on my best behavior for most part of the day I was ready to unleash the rage again. I am not a violent man by any means, I do however know how to party until someone gets hurt or looses a limb. The team prepares for out last and final night by heading to the hot tub while I tarnish my room with inappropriate activities and whistling contests with migrant workers. I mosey on downstairs to the bar area and realize I am not only the sexiest motherfucker walking the bar I am the best dressed. I look like something that walked out of a catalog named, “Who To Look Like in 09.” I find Boss and AF1 playing video poker and having a cocktail so I decide to join them with my homemade Jack and Pepsi. Some old guy from Florida begins to chat with us and tell us how awesome his son is, he’s nice and buys us a round and keeps macking Boss. Funny. I like this guy so we end up talking for a while, go figure. Trevor ends up talking to some random guy. He apparently likes me and calls me, “one of the last good guys on earth,” I guess he doesn’t know about my collection of women’s panties I keep in my gym locker. We screw around for a good hour and it’s getting close to 10. We call Necktie who is asleep and he meets us downstairs. Our bartender is Manny and Marcy. Marcy is really cute and from Ohio but pours like a Greek bar owner, while Manny pours like knows what he’s doing. I watch him triple pour Necktie who amazingly takes his drinks down like a Lord of England. I like where this is going. Manny gets us some roadies, a term in which I adore to hear. I love roadies and wish they were more part of everyday American culture. We posse up and head out.
I am walking through the casino an realize something, I haven’t gambled a shits worth. So I sit down at roulette for some play time. 28 hits right away. I walk up with 5 bucks and I turn it into 300 in 15 minutes. 14, 18, 28, 30, 0 etc. I like what’s happening. I feel my hot streak cooling down so I cash in my money. I was up over 400 but walked with 300 after starting with 5 bucks. Boss and I are on fire and the table starts getting attention. I still don’t have my player’s card and I don’t give a shits because I am just winning and winning. After 14 hits for the 2nd, 3rd, 4th time I keep pulling my shirt aside to show off my tattoo of 14 on my chest. This gets a lot of attention and I think that the Asian dealer Ying was turned on by my manliness. I would have banged her if it was one of those nights but I didn’t. I do have to go out of my way and thank K Sexy and all my 14’s who allowed that to happen.
We cab it over to Slots O Fun and what happens is like a sign from Jesus Fucking Christ himself. We walk in and the SECOND we are all there the fucking power shuts off for a good 5 seconds. That is a sign in all of our eyes to watch our money in this dump. We play a little, the bartender is a prick and unfriendly and we cab it over to Stratosphere to see if my boy Jonny 4 Aces is working. I am informed when I get there that he is not working and on some kind of probation so we sit down to gamble a little bit. The energy is MUCH better than Slots o Fun and there are some decent hookers prowling for diaper money. I want to go to a strip club REAL bad but for some reason I just don’t. I want to talk to these filthy whores and tell them stories that are untrue but for some reason I would rather go back to Hooters and hurt myself. We go back to Hooters and I find myself at roulette again and winning. I get pretty buzzed after a few doubles of Jameson and some ice cold Coors lights. I want to sustain a decent buzz by evening things off with beer and liquor so I don’t go to the dark side. I guess craps was in the air because we end up rolling dice for a little bit and we aren’t doing too bad. Within minutes we are that LOUD table, go figure. We aren’t winning a lot of money per say but we are all drunk and having fun, it’s Vegas for Christ sakes. A bunch of people begin to flock over and we get things going. But for some reason I am not satisfied with things. So after some dice we decide that Blackjack could be the key to more victory. I immediately make friends with the hot dealer whom I can’t remember the name of right now. She likes me because I have money and I am well dressed and I just don’t two fucks in the county jail. I don’t play blackjack much but it’s time to have fun. The things that come out of mouth I cannot control and often forget because my behavior can be so erratic that I just don’t give a shit. I might have told her I use dynamite to light my cigars, I climb buildings for fun, make babies in girls mouths or play hop scotch with the handicap. At this point in time I feel too good to stop drinking and gambling. But I don’t. I tell the pit boss who resembles some old dad from a bad 80’s sitcom, that I lost my players card and want one because I plan to win all my money back. He enjoys my humor but I can tell he probably doesn’t like my kind. Young, arrogant, good looking and FILTH. From this point on the night becomes a blur so I am going to try and piece things together for you. I was cut off and told to, “keep it down,.“ I have no clue how you can do that to someone in Vegas of all places but it happened to me. I guess it may have been all the standing up and yelling shit that made no sense. They let me gamble and WIN but they cut me off from drinking, bastards! This does not phase me as I am shit tanked and not giving a shit about anyone including myself. For some odd reason I think that purchasing 50something 25cent wings is a good idea. I buy a bunch of mild and bbq wings and an assload of ranch. I remember throwing some of them at shit while I wandered around after being cutoff for being too goddamn good at life. I don’t know where anyone is and I decide that since I am up 400 from 5 bucks, it’s time to call it a night. I go to my room and pass out. When I awake the next morning I find this. Random leftover wings in my bed, on the floor, in the sheets and one stuck to my ankle, 30 something bbq wings and a gallon of ranch, wing sauce strategically placed throughout the room as I might have been trying to capture a family of Canadians, bbq sauce smothered on my arm, the TV on, the AC cranked and an unGODLY bad headache that actually goes away after some Advil and warm diet Pepsi. I stumble over to my wallet to make sure I didn’t totally time travel and I am relieved. 400 just like I thought.
Day 4.1
It actually DOES happen. Our flight was canceled because a snowstorm was going to be hitting Chicago but hadn’t yet. Odd. Necktie, Boss and I were not prepared for this but since I had won a few extra dollars I was able to make it through another vicious night in Vegas. Necktie had gone downstairs to start drinking while Boss and me relaxed a bit. But by the time I had met up with Necktie he was already half in the bag. Manny had been serving him WICKED Jack N Cokes which could have been used to ignite a school bus on fire. I sit down to hit a lil vid poker and Necktie babbles something in the sort of, “Dood, I’m kind of drunk. I love Manny, he’s like the Dagan of Vegas.” (Dagan is a bartender at a bar I work at who knows how to ruin someone’s liver.) I giggle for a moment then realize that Necktie is not a professional degenerate like myself and I begin to worry about what may come out of this night. At this point in the evening it’s around 8:30 and I have not eaten other than some donut balls, half a mocha shit stain and some cheese its. About 9 hits and Necktie is smashed. He’s had about 6 Jack N Cokes that allow him to talk to virtually everyone in the bar. So I utilize this nice moment in time to stir up a conversation with the stunning bartender who looks like a younger Tyra Banks. She claims she is turning 31 and I guess it right, Pisces. 31 on February 28th, born and raised in Denver. And that was about it because all though she was smoking hot, she wasn’t a very good bartender which made me want to man-crush on Manny more. Boss comes down takes one look at Necktie and laughs, she knows he’s shithosed and not going to make it through another night. We wander over to grub up. Our Hooters food comes out and Necktie quickly mauls the shit out of everything in site until he makes his asshole feel like it’s been terrorized by a group of gay gang bangers pushing away and penetrating to the extreme. He is OUT. He wanders to his room and 86’d himself. Which leaves Boss and I. I realize that we have slowly lost a solider every day and it finally ends with the tandem that is ironically related.
We cab it over to Fremont street to take a look at the other side of the tracks. Fremont basically means FILTH in Las Vegian terminology. The place was crawling with degenerates of all walks of life. Mini degenerates, Black ones, Mexican ones, Chinese ones, you name it, it was pure Degenerocity, it was FILTH! It seemed like every 5 steps was a different odor of pure shit. I smelled fried shit, used shit, tossed shit, rumble in the Bronx shit, Peter Pan shit, virtually every type of shit smell was present on my voyage down Fremont street. It didn’t take long for Boss to wear down and throw in the towel. As we are walking back to a shit-infested cab ride I begin to vigorously laugh. I hear the cop telling some degenerate that he is going to, “mop up his own piss.” This guy was pissing right there on the wall with no shame so CSI went in a shop to get a mop to make him clean it up. The cop utters under his breath, “I hate these fucking people.”
I am not buzzed at the point in the night and I am upset with myself. We are at Hooters and talking with my friend Jen who is working. Boss decides to hit the sack. Last man standing. I begin my journey down non memory lane. I may have drank all the Jameson in the bar because I was destined to get drunk one last night. I put on my game face and began to torture my liver which was probably sobbing it’s eyes out and ready to kill itself. Coors Light, Jameson, over and over and over. My luck at vid poker blows so I stumble over to roulette, 50 fuckin cent baby! I whip out my cash and instantly start babbling about God knows what. I tell my new best friends how I was cutoff and told to keep it down by the pit bosses. How I told the pit bosses,” leave me alone, stop looking at me, I am trying to gamble. GO AWAY pit boss.” This happened to be the same place, Hooters, where this happened only the night before. They enjoy my stories and I begin to swallow whole bottles of Jameson. I don’t really recall the rest of the night but I know I sent out some interesting text messages. “Can you wire me my rent money so I can have a 3 some with 2 15yr old Ukrainian blondes.” “I am congested and no one cares, do you care?” “I showered in a bathtub of puke.” “I feel funny.” “My mother and father should be ashamed of me.” “Someone’s got weed and it’s effecting my judgment.” “I’m dead.”
I woke up at 830am drunk. I am not even 1 percent ready to deal with human beings. I want someone to torch my face and throw me in a barrel of lighter fluid. At least I am drunk and not hungover. I must thank my good friends at the Hooters Casino for that piece of time travel I went through. We managed to get to the airport without any issues. I was crankier than a 2yr old with a wet diaper and I kept pouting. I found the head of a white carination and HAD to have it so I kept it. I stood in line for 3 minutes for Burger King then blurted out to 2 women, “this shit is horrible, I can’t eat it.” I left the line and got some sammigages. I pulled out a small handful of change and told the lady,” I can’t have this in my pocket, it’s too distracting, you can have it all.” I think I made her fucking week with that honest maneuver. Some lady behind me was cracking the SHIT out of her gum and I began to cry a little bit. I was terrified by this sound, but she is an older black lady so I have no chance at doing anything other than crying to myself. I sit at the very back in the corner and I swear to God, Morgan Freeman’s stunt double was next to me. We take off and I am dosing off and since I have not eaten much, still intoxicated I begin hallucinating a little bit. I am not asleep but in a fucking retarded state of whatever. I wake up and I am not shitting you when I say this. Morgan Freeman took the liberty of starting a bar and buffet on my tray. I guess since he was watching some awful movie on his laptop and I was curled up in the corner like Jodie Foster in, “The Accused,” it was OK for him to put his can of Coke, 2 shooters of Bacardi and 20dozen FREE snacks on my tray. I look around and I am in shock but I allow him to utilize my tray for his own purposes. He reciprocates the generosity and asks me if Id like a drink. At this point in my life I consider my options and come to the conclusion that if I intoxicate myself on this airplane someone is going to throw me off. I kindly deny, tell him I have to work and take a can of Coke to drink hopefully making myself feel less FILTH. All this does is make me need to shit, piss and I keep breaking serious wind but NONE of the farts smell. I call those Jail farts. When I was in jail I was gassy but no smell, just a lot of broken wind. So I keep doing my move, the lean and let go and doze in and out of consciousness. We are getting close to landing and it’s snowy and windier than shit in Chi so I start saying my prayers just in case God hasn’t cut me off from his house. Rocky as all hell we land and I shit a little bit in my pants.
I guess there are certain things missing in this story that most would expect from me that is more Vegas-esque like strippers, drugs, hookers, getting arrested, fighting, etc. The life I live is insane enough that I don’t need to travel to Vegas to surround myself with madness. But this trip was beyond memorable. Binge drinking, gambling, being cut off and told to keep it down in a fucking casino, tit popping, vomit filled bathtubs, professional MMA fighters and their wives who eye fuck me, bromances, civil engineering, Casey, yelling at people in the daylight while I am completely sober, ass clowning, white cotton panties, urinating in hallways, In N Out, Fatburger, the worse breakfast on earth, snorting Sweet N low accidentally, partying with models, partying with designers and nothing short of pure FILTH.
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