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Vegas, Baby!!!!

Las Vegas. Where should I begin the story of my weekend in Las Vegas? I guess I will start by quelling a few questions from your minds. No. I did not go and see Celine Dion, French-Canadian queen of the universe (that revolves around her in her own mind) and Titanic bitch. Who are you?  I am the queen of my own world, BIATCH! Not only did I not go to see Danny Gans, I am still quite unsure who the hell this guy is. It seems to me that he should have become famous for something somewhere before getting a show singing in Vegas. Maybe it’s just me though. As you can probably tell, I didn’t go to see any shows. Who the hell am I? Also, despite all of your jokes and no matter how high my desire, I was unable to marry Britney Spears while I was there. I can tell you I wouldn’t have signed the Pre-Nup and taken half her money and future earnings though.

I was in Vegas with my dad and my brother. We did a lot of gambling (dad and I) and drinking (Brother and I). Somewhere in the middle we walked around to see some things and eat meals. We stayed at the Mirage home of Siegfried and Roy’s White Tigers, which we did, in fact see in a glass cage. I am not sure if it was Montecore, the tiger that tried to end the show where the not-so-ambiguously gay duo make tigers perform and make stuff disappear, but it was really cool to see anyway.

The lovely home of Siegfried and Roy

I played in a Hold’em tournament where I sat with a bunch of guys in sunglasses who proceeded to take my money and humble me completely and totally. I thought I was pretty smart about the game, and I still feel like I know what I am talking about, but it is a little different when you finally sit down and play in the tournament. It’s kind of like if I studied how to be an NFL linebacker for 6 months. I might know exactly what to do in every situation, but when I walked on the field the knowledge just slips out of your mind because you are afraid a 400-pound lineman might fall on you. Maybe that is stretching it a bit, but needless to say I was overmatched. Still, I am happy I sat down and tried.

Most of you really don’t care about my poker tourney. So now I will tell you about my run-ins with “celebrities.” This weekend was a busy one in Vegas. It was the Consumer Electronics Show where a bunch of companies make announcements and unveil new products for the upcoming year. For most of you I know this is really boring. It was also the Adult Video awards show this weekend. Imagine a mix of geeks and porn stars running around Vegas in a strange river of awkward homogeneity looking for tables to gamble and stores to shop. Very strange indeed.

This brings me to the highlight of the weekend. As I had lost quite a large sum of money (for me anyway) earlier in the evening, my brother and I were slowly but surely replacing important blood supplies in our veins with alcoholic goodness provided by Heineken, Bud Light, Jose Cuervo, Jagermeister and many of their good friends. We were sitting in the lounge in the Mirage and ordering drinks to the room IE to my dad’s bill. (Thanks Dad!)

First, I would like to apologize to all the subjects of the drunk dials, with the exception of those of you who deserved it. Apologies go out to many of my brother’s friends as well who received slurred greetings from him during our lovely evening. It was I who suggested that a call to my mother would be funny at 3 am Cleveland time, but I was kidding. It was my brother who made the phone call and talked to my mom for 15 minutes while completely blasted. For those of you who don’t know my mother, you can probably imagine and appreciate the dynamic of a worried mom’s voice at 3 am and the playful, trouble-filled voice that my brother uses to give everyone in his path a swift kick in the ass.

So, what was the reason for the drunk dial? Well, we were sitting in the lounge “tying one on” as they say in some places and who should enter the lounge? First a group of men walked in and sat down in a large circle around 3-4 tables. Then a couple of female porn stars walked in and sat down greeting all the men with the double-air cheek kiss, designed not to disturb the pancaked makeup that a porn star more than likely has plastered on her face to hide the years of cringing from fake pleasure while partaking in recreations involving snowy white stuff that doesn’t require skis.

Then the surprise of all surprises.

A celebrity so large that he shudders at the sight of Carrott Top. A guy with less staying power than Pauly Shore and Danny Bonaduce combined. This guy is so insignificant that the geniuses at Fox would never, and I mean NEVER ask him to do celebrity boxing. The sultan of sledgehammer. The witch-doctor of watermelon. The curly-haired weirdo. None other than the incomparable, and incredible Gallagher. That’s right folks, Gallagher (or at least one of them) came waltzing into the lounge with a bag at his side to join the oddly matched table of weird men and porn stars. He was looking slightly disheveled and overweight.

I don’t know if anyone is going to believe what I am going to say next, but I swear even in my alcohol-fueled daze that it happened and is 100% true. Gallagher, who was with the strange brew of people at the other table, started rummaging through the contents of the bag he walked in with. He pulled out a rubber object and looked like he was ready to do something for the porn stars.Am I famous?  I didn't think so. He slowly stood up into the center of the group, faced the porn stars with the rubber device in hand and proceeded to… he proceeded to… he blew up the balloon and started making balloon animals.

What did you think I was going to say? Seriously though, he made a little bunny rabbit and then a poodle with the balloons which must have looked quite familiar to the porn stars in their inflated state. I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to. It was like my own personal Behind the Music or E! True Hollywood Story, minus the famous guy.

And that was my weekend in Vegas. The first trip I have ever taken to Vegas and certainly not the last. Who knows? Maybe next time I can meet Jared from Subway or TV’s Peter Brady. Or, hell maybe even that guy Mr. Belding or Screech from Saved by the Bell. I figure they are so barely famous that they would do party tricks in a hotel lounge. Although I kind of doubt the porn stars would want to hang out with them.

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  • David Smiles

    Great article on my weekend in vegas. Now what happens in Vegas no longer stays in Vegas.


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