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Story Time with EG - ***OFFICIAL THREAD*** (The "Magnum Opus" is complete 5/17/18) (1 Viewer)

5-ish Finkle said:
\mm/

Nope, not enough.  Needs more goat.

\mmm/

*nods*  Yep.  Better.

"This place reeks of bad memories." :lmao:   Barry still frosting his tips these days (not a euphemism)?

If anyone ever had any doubts about any of these stories, they should have all been reduced to absolute flinders now.  Pip, pip, good sir.  If I had any scotch handy I'd throw back a couple in your honor. 
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No, he's married with two kids and a thriving medical practice. No need to frost any more. :lol:

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Oh, I assure you every word of these stories is true to the best of my recollection.  I'm sure a few people thought I was full of crap in the most recent Vegas story when I wrote about slamming the door in the cops' faces, but you can hear Yams mention it in the "morning after" video.  And Barry really did walk backwards down A1A in Daytona pissing in broad daylight too. :lol:
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To be fair, this isn't terribly unusual behavior in Daytona.

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Also, in case it needed to be said, neither Yams nor I has so much as a slight recollection of anything in the first video (4 AM.) I mean NONE. Complete blackout.
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Always makes for the best footage. It's like watching a skin puppet of your self acting like a marionette in a play you've never seen before. 

OMG WHAT DO I DO NEXT?!?!! 

 
Ron Swanson said:
To be fair, this isn't terribly unusual behavior in Daytona.
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I suppose not.  I mean, no one said a word, and there was a very VERY long urine stain down the sidewalk leading right to the culprit.  Clearly, Barry and urinating did not get along that summer.

 
[icon] said:
Always makes for the best footage. It's like watching a skin puppet of your self acting like a marionette in a play you've never seen before. 

OMG WHAT DO I DO NEXT?!?!! 
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Yeah, we watched it back the next morning while we were sitting at Wingswingsfrenchtoastjagerjagerjagerjager in stunned disbelief.  I believed the manager when he told us they had over a dozen complaints on their answering machine that morning from other rooms about us (no-one came and knocked on our door, though) but when we watched it, it was probably even worse than I'd pictured.

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Yeah, we watched it back the next morning while we were sitting at Wingswingsfrenchtoastjagerjagerjagerjager in stunned disbelief.  I believed the manager when he told us they had over a dozen complaints on their answering machine that morning from other rooms about us (no-one came and knocked on our door, though) but when we watched it, it was probably even worse than I'd pictured.
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Can you really be sure of that? I mean you may have had  :rant:  people beating on your door and you guys may not have had a clue.

P.S. This stuff is gold! Well done sir.  :thumbup:

 
Buzzbait said:
Can you really be sure of that? I mean you may have had  :rant:  people beating on your door and you guys may not have had a clue.

P.S. This stuff is gold! Well done sir.  :thumbup:
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I suppose that's possible.  We may not have heard a knock, but I think given our confusion over Barry's whereabouts, we might have been sensitive to anyone at the door.  We were really confused when we walked in and he wasn't there.

 
VEGAS CHAPTER IV - Part 1

This will likely be the finale of the Vegas Chronicles although there were humorous moments from other Vegas weekends, I don't know that any of them require their very own story.  Perhaps one day, I'll go back and try to recall a bunch of these and put them in a "vignettes" post.  This weekend was pretty memorable, though.

FRIDAY

Ox, Yams and I were all in SLC at the time - the Ox and I lived there and were good friends with a guy named Murray, who was having his bachelor party in Vegas that Saturday.  Yams was still in undergrad school but had worked for Murray the summer before on an internship I wrangled for him and decided to fly out for the festivities.  Murray and all his friends from both SLC and his hometown/college days in NY were arriving very late Friday night/early Saturday morning, so for one night, my two brothers and I were on our own.  Right before we flew out Friday morning on the short 55 minute flight from SLC, I got an e-mail from a girl that worked at my company's San Francisco office.  We had hooked up once a few months prior when I was on business at their office and she told me that she was also going to be in Vegas that weekend with a guy she had recently started dating and wanted to know if we wanted to meet them for drinks.  I told her we were staying at Mandalay Bay (they were staying at the Hard Rock) and told her to leave me a message on my room phone if she wanted to hang out (this was a few months before I got my first cell phone.) 

We arrived early at Mandalay and to none of your surprise, began drinking almost immediately.  We spent the better part of the morning/afternoon crushing comp beers and drinks and gambling all over the hotel without incident.  Around 5:00, we were in the gift shop buying something when I hear some commotion behind me.  I turn around to see 4 of the most gorgeous women I have ever seen in my life, clad only in bikinis, with sashes on them with the names of countries on those.  As my eyes were popping out of my head, I asked the counter person what the hell was going on.  Unbeknownst to us, the Miss Hawaiian Tropic International finals were going on at the hotel that weekend.  We basically stood and gawked when one brave soul stepped to Miss Brazil and started trying to rap with her.  I admired the guy's bollocks for sure, but the ruthless speed and efficiency with which he was shot down was mesmerizing.  We quickly bee-lined to the pool to see what was going on, but they had essentially folded up shop for the day, much to our dismay.

Now the three of us are walking around (more than) half drunk and with booty on the brain, so we sit down at a blackjack table that had a few cute girls at it.  We play a few hands, and then a guy sits down two seats to my right.  I didn't realize it at first, but after a few hands, I look over and it's "Beverly Hills 90210" star Ian Ziering.  I blurt out : "Hey !  Ian ! (even pronouncing his name "correctly" - EYE-in.)  He looks over and nods.  For some reason, I knew he was from Jersey, same as myself, so I make some idle chatter about how we're both Jersey kids, blah blah blah.  He's (rightly) disinterested in what I am saying and kind of tunes me out.  As it turns out, his wife Nikki is somehow involved with the Hawaiian Tropic pageant and he's slipping a few hands of blackjack in during the downtime between appearances/judging/whatever he's doing there.  As time goes on and I get progressively drunker, I start yapping about the one episode of "90210" I had ever actually seen.  My memory of it is fuzzy, but it involved some kind of overnight or weekend trip that these wacky kids were on where his character, Steve, wanted to get booze and get hammered but is shot down by the other (lame) characters.  Something like that.  Anyway, I start talking about it as I have absolutely nothing else to say to him, and to his credit, he obliges my drunken rambling for a little while.  Eventually though, he starts to get annoyed (again rightfully so,) especially since I have ceased referring to him by name entirely and am now just calling him Steve.  The exchange ended with something along these lines (paraphrasing):

EG : "Steeeeeeeeeeve... that was awesome.  You wanted to get beer, but the rest of those dorks just wanted to sit around and play cards.  What a bunch of nerds - you were the only cool one, Steve.  Did you-?"

Ian (interrupting, mildly annoyed) : "Yeah, that was the character.  It's not like I wanted to get beer and my cast-mates didn't.  It's a TV show."

EG (now mildly annoyed back by the perceived condescension) : "Yeah, I know the difference between real life and a television program.  I'm just having some fun here."

Ian : "Are you?  You keep calling me 'Steve'."

EG : "I called you EYE-IN (emphasizing the stupid pronunciation) when you sat down, man.  Look, there's only one way to settle this. We're doing a shot of Jager together." (signals for the cocktail waitress)

Ian : "Thanks but no thanks.  I don't really want to do a shot of Jager."

EG : "With me?"

Ian : "No, I just don't really want one, period."

EG : "Bulls*** !!"  (to cocktail waitress) : "Two Jager shots, please."

Ian : "You're drinking them both yourself."

EG : "You think I'm afraid to do 2 Jager shots?  I've been drinking all day"

Ian : "You don't say..."

EG : "All right, look, Steve.  You're doing this shot with me and I'll hear no more about it."

Ian : "Jesus H." (gathers up his chips and leaves)

Ox : "Wow [EG], you just annoyed Steve right off the table.  Nice work.  I'll do the extra Jager shot."

Fast forward a few hours and we're now completely destroyed.  I mean wasted to the point of not being able to walk properly.  I become obsessed with finding this girl I hooked up with 3 months ago, even though she's here with her boyfriend.  I call over to the Hard Rock, but there's no room booked under her name (predictably.)  We're beginning to draw attention at Mandalay for our drunken buffoonery (Ox tackled Yams and me in the lobby at one point and security gave us a stern talking-to) so we decide to go somewhere else for a while.  Where better than the Hard Rock, right?

30 minutes later, we're at the Hard Rock at one of the bars, barely able to stand.  I'm scanning the casino floor through half-open eyes trying to find this girl in the sea of humanity when the Ox hands me a shot.  Thinking it's whiskey, I gulp it down, only to realize immediately that it was cheap tequila.  Now, 2001 EG and cheap tequila did not get along well.  We did once, but a night of such excess that I woke up in the neighbors' shrubs, covered with vomit, soured me on tequila for many years in general (specifically, it was Ole.)  The second my taste buds registered what liquor this was, my stomach turned completely over in a flash. I had enough time to look up to see if there was a bathroom nearby, but not take a single step, before I threw up about a gallon of liquid all over the bar/floor.  The Ox, having done this intentionally, squealed with laughter as I regurgitated over and over again until security appeared and escorted us swiftly and curtly off the grounds.

Fast forward a few more hours and we're back at Mandalay, at the same blackjack table I annoyed Steve away from earlier.  By now, it's after midnight and we've been partying aggressively for about 13-14 hours straight.  Things have gotten dicey.  We sit down at the blackjack table and Yams orders a gin and tonic.  We play about three hands before Yams knocks his drink over and spills it all over the felt.  I groan as the dealer calls for a towel to mop up the mess.  Yams is looking around sheepishly as they clean up his mess when he spots the cocktail waitress and orders a replacement drink.  I actually started to protest, but it was too late.  After a few minutes, the drink is replaced, the table is clean and play resumes.  For about 60 seconds.  **WHACK**  Another gin and tonic all over the table.  I couldn't believe it, I was about to say "Yams, maybe you should take a break" when the dealer just leans across the table, looks him square in the eye and sternly enunciates :

"GO.  TO.  BED."

I started laughing, but agreed with him and grabbed Yams and took him up to the room.  By now, it's nearing 1 AM and I figured maybe it was time for a quick nap myself, when I notice the message light on the phone is on.  I hit the message button and hear the familiar voice of the gal I was trying to locate at Hard Rock, telling me that she was parked at the Center Bar at Mandalay and to come down there if I hear this message.  So naturally, I high-tail it down there and sure enough, she's sitting there, by herself.  Puzzled, I roll up and ask where her new boyfriend is.  She tells me that this was their first weekend away and after a few hours, she realized he was "boring and kind of lame," so she ditched him and came over to Mandalay looking for me.  What a skank.  I actually had something of a moral/ethical debate with myself for about 11 seconds before I pushed those feelings aside and started applying the Timeless Art of Seduction.  It really wasn't necessary as she was, to borrow bon mots from "Jersey Shore" parlance, thoroughly DTF.  The problem was that she was decidedly NOT down to go back to my room and shag with Yams milling around or even passed out in there, and ostensibly her new "boyfriend" was likely to be in her room at Hard Rock.  So, we did what any drunk, degenerate, horny 20-somethings would do, we rolled into the men's room right off the casino floor.  We ushered ourselves quickly into the handicapped stall and she grabbed the rail while your old pal EG gave the what for from behind.  I know the casino is covered with cameras, so I was half-waiting for the stall door to get kicked in by security at any second, but it never happened.  Either we were undetected or security just didn't give a crap with all the money changing hands at the tables.

Post-coitus, we slid out of the stall and then the restroom under the gazes of several casino patrons - some confused, some approving - and back into the casino proper.  I was escorting her toward the front door/taxi stand so she could get back to her cuck boyfriend at Hard Rock when suddenly, I get absolutely leveled from behind.  Thinking for sure that it was police or security taking me down for my bathroom foray, I was prepared to be ejected from the hotel or thrown in the drunk tank when I realize that it's the Ox.  The Ox likes to tackle me when he gets really hammered.  The Ox is 6' 5" 275 lbs.  Two of my ribs cracked from this impromptu QB sack in the lobby onto a tile floor, but I barely felt it at the time, such was my relief that it wasn't security.  My joy was short-lived as not more than 15 seconds later, ACTUAL security descended upon us.  The gal saw them coming and wisely rolled out the front door to hail a cab while the security guards accosted Ox and myself.  Luckily, as registered hotel guests, all they did was escort us back to our room, where we promptly passed out.  I never saw my bathroom tryst again, in person at least (postscript will afford clarity to this.)

Part 2 - Saturday to follow this afternoon or tomorrow AM.

 
Also, my advice to you all based on part 1 is that it IS possible to have sex in the bathroom of a Vegas casino.  I would NOT, however, recommend trying the same move at a place called Kelly's Roadhouse Bar in Evanston, WY.  It won't end well.

 
Godsbrother said:
One thing that impresses the hell out of me is that even in my best partying days once I threw up I was done drinking for the night.  

For EG, it was just a signal that the next phase of the drunk was about to begin.
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Clears out valuable real estate to facilitate more beer intake.

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Clears out valuable real estate to facilitate more beer intake.
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:goodposting:  

On my 21st I had to heave after being helicopter spun overhead by Wrestler Big Boss Man after crashing his wedding reception. He laughed as I beelined to the bathroom, handed drink to buddy, blew heavy, rinsed mouth, grabbed cup back from buddy and back to the bar. Big Boss man bought another round and we carried on from there. The fresh start can be rather liberating mid-bender. 

Oh.. and EG... amazing story as always :lol:   F5 for 2nd installment. 

 
Part 2 - Saturday

So after sleeping for a few hours, all the bachelor party attendees started trickling in.  This Saturday happened to be day 1 of the NFL draft, so Murray (the bachelor) immediately knocked on my door and drummed me out of bed to go watch the draft in the sportsbook.  Leaving the Ox, Yams, and our friend Beef snoozing away, I pulled myself together and headed down, hungover as s###, to the book and grabbed a seat to follow the draft.  I met a bunch of Murray's friends who were popping in and out between runs to the tables, and started in on the bloody mary barrage.  These guys were fresh as daisies and I knew the only way I could get back to normal was to wallop as many of these as I could in short order to whip the hangover into submission.

After about 9, I switched back to beer and started socking away as many as I could with the drink tickets I kept collecting by placing paltry $10 and $20 baseball bets.  Remember those days?  A small wager and a smile often got you 3-4 drink tickets, nowadays you have to bet over $100 a game AND tip the guy placing the bet for you, otherwise you pay $7 a beer.  New Vegas sucks.  Anyway, by the time it got to mid-afternoon and all my partners in crime from the night before were up and about, I was already three sheets to the wind.  Beef, who'd arrived at the crack of dawn on a red-eye and slept all morning, asked me what number drink I was on.  When I told him "17," he just rolled his eyes and laughed : "Well, we know where this night is going."  Not exactly.

By the time the draft was starting to wind down.  Scott Ferrall was doing a live radio broadcast from a booth set up in the sportsbook, so I wandered over there to check it out.  I had recently become familiar with his work, so while he was on air, I started bellowing to him to pour me a draft, etc (listeners of his know what I mean.) Then, I started yelling at him to play "Fight Fire with Fire" by Metallica.  I was so loud and obnoxious, that I actually got his attention and he started talking to me while he was on air (I believe.)  He said something about "some guy requesting 'Fight Fire With Fire'", then spat out, in his inimitable scratchy voice : "Yeah... why not have another drink, what is it, 3:30 in the afternoon?"  After that, having annoyed someone famous for the second time in under 24 hours, I figured it was time for a change of scenery and something to eat.  I rounded up a bunch of the bachelor party guests and the bachelor and we all headed to Rumjungle to get the Brazilian churrascaria.  On the way, I stopped and bought a 750ml of Jager from the gift shop in a brown paper bag and brought this with me to the restaurant.  While everyone else was sipping caipirinhas, I was liberally swilling from my bottle of Jager, no glass.  I'm sure the waitresses weren't particularly thrilled with this, but I think they recognized that I was pretty far gone and didn't want to deal with the hassle of trying to take it from me or kick me out and lose the tip on a 4-figure check.  While we shoveled medium rare beef into our faces, I regaled the table, many of whom I had just met, with a bunch of the stories you guys have read in this thread.  Eventually, everyone just kind of stopped talking and was listening and laughing to the many misadventures of your old pal EG, up to and including part 1 of this story.

After dinner, we walked back over towards the sportsbook and Murray (degenerate gambler) challenges me to take $100 and put it on one event, something stupid, just for s##ts and giggles.  Hammered and amenable, I walk up with him and survey the board.  He gets to the window first and decides to plop his hundo down on the San Francisco Demons money line to win the inaugural (and last, I believe) XFL Million Dollar Game.  I couldn't believe he was betting XFL and figured that was about as ridiculous a wager (excepting futures) that one could place for the night, and then I saw it.  I slammed my hundred on the counter and told the guy I wanted to wager it all on Hasim Rahman to defeat Lennox Lewis at +1400.

Well, sports fans, I don't think I need to tell you what happened next.  San Francisco got absolutely smoked in the XFL Super Bowl (maybe even shut out?) while the rapidly tiring and thoroughly outclassed Hasim "The Rock" Rahman landed the lucky punch heard 'round the world and knocked the champion right on his back.  Apparently, I wasn't the only one heavy on Rahman because as Lewis hit the canvas, the book absolutely EXPLODED.  I don't know if you've ever been at a Vegas book when a huge underdog wins and a large percentage of the punters are on that longshot, but it was absolute chaos.  People were losing their minds as the count went on - people jumping off of chairs, running around screaming, just bedlam.  When the ref waved it off and Rahman leapt up in victory, a roughly 65 year old toothless black man with a filthy mesh baseball cap leapt into my arms.  I grabbed him and started running down the aisle squeezing him throughout the piggy-front ride.  A sea of humanity descended behind us to the windows with such passion and vigor that they actually had to get on a microphone and beg people in the book through the PA to "BACK UP !  BACK UP PEOPLE !!  WE'RE NOT GOING TO RUN OUT OF MONEY...."

After I collected my cool $1,500 - there was only one thing I wanted to do.  That's right, buy ANOTHER 750ml of Jagermeister from the gift shop.  Having wiped out the first one (without very much help,) I figured the best thing to do was buy another bottle.  After doing so, the few of us that watched the fight went back up to the suite to find that the evening's entertainment had arrived.  The best man had arranged for a trio of professionals to provide some in-room entertainment and we were just in time.  I paid my share and the shares of the guys that stayed to watch the fight with me from my newly found windfall and we settled in for some hot girl-on-girl action.  I was pouring Jager shots into Solo cups for anyone that wanted to toast with me for winning the hail mary bet and by now, I was totally ossified. The suite was full of beer and booze - they'd even filled one of the tubs with ice and had at least 200 beers and various other libations in there - so the best man told the ladies of the evening to help themselves to whatever they liked to drink (not that it really matters, but I didn't hear/know this.)  So, I'm sitting on the couch talking to my buddy when one of the girls comes up beside me without my seeing her.  I hear : "Yeahhhh, he got what I want..." as she rips the bottle of Jager out of my hand and starts unscrewing the cap.  For whatever reason, in the moment, I felt aggrieved that she'd simply torn the bottle away from me, and now I see her about to drink directly from the bottle with her whorelips.  Instead of letting this pass, I yelled out "HEY !!" and jumped up and snatched the bottle away from her right as she was about to take a healthy pull.  She looked flabbergasted, as did the dozen or so dudes that were nearby in the suite.  After a beat, she says something to the effect of :

Hooker : "Hey, what the f### man!?" (She starts trying to grab the bottle back from me.) 

EG : "Whatever - this is my celebratory Jager bottle and you didn't ask me for a shot."  I said this with a smile on my face, fully intending to pour her a shot once she got a glass (she was NOT going to drink out of that bottle, I don't care if alcohol kills germs.)  "Grab a glass and-"

Hooker : "F### you !!!" (She now grabs the bottle and is yanking on it, trying to wrestle it away from me.)

She's REALLY pulling on this thing, it's now a matter of principle for both of us, I guess.  Ultimately, I am able to overpower the 110 pound woman :-)flex:) and haul the bottle back away from her.  She's visibly pissed off at this point but damn it, if we don't have manners, what has society come to.  So, in order to teach her an etiquette lesson, I decided to handle it thusly.

EG : "Oh yeah?  F### me?  Well, now you don't get ANY !!!!!!"

And with this, I proceeded to open and chug the remaining half bottle of Jager in about 15 seconds, right in her face.

EG : "There you go, B#TCH !!!!"

And with that, I left the suite and slammed the door behind me.  I walked down to the elevator and a few seconds later, the door opens and Ox, Yams, and Beef all spill out into the hallway, beside themselves with laughter.

Yams : "Dude, that was the single greatest thing I have ever seen in my life."

Beef : "You should see it in there, everyone is just standing around slack-jawed in utter silence.  No one can believe it."

Ox : "I think they're all confused.  I mean, I don't know if this was the time to dig your heels in and refuse to concede the moral high ground."

EG : "If you don't have rules, you have disorder !!!"

Ox : "Are we going back in?"

EG : "Hell no, let's go to Olympic Gardens...."

So, off we went to Olympic Gardens.  For those of you unfamiliar, this is a strip club just north of Stratosphere, in the seedier part of town.  We grab a cab there and the place is jammed on a Saturday night.  We can't find seats anywhere, so we're standing at the back bar, watching the dancers from afar.  I'm nearly blind drunk after about 20 drinks and the better part of 2 full fifths of Jagermeister, everyone else is pretty well lit, but not as bad as I am.  We're minding our own business, talking and laughing, when this Latina girl pops up next to us, a patron rather than a dancer.  She's obviously pissed about something, so I ask her what's wrong.  She goes off on a tirade about what an a**hole her boyfriend is, how he's treating her like crap, he doesn't listen to her - I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention.  Anyway, ultimately, Yams asks her : "Is he here with you?"  She says yes and points down towards the mob of people sitting around the various stages.  Regrettably, I say :

EG : "That guy?  Right there?" (I'm not referring to anyone specific, just looking in the general direction she is.)

Chica : "Yeah, right there."

EG : "Holy ####, Yams, that's the guy who asked us on the way in how much it costs to get hand jobs in here !"

Chica : :"WHAAAT !!!?"

Yams (playing along) : "Ohhhhh yeah....."

EG : "Yeah, I told him that this is just a strip club, not a brothel, but he was insistent that you could get a tug in this place."

I barely finish the sentence before this girl storms off, absolutely apoplectic.  She runs down to the lower level and starts SCREAMING at her boyfriend.  He stands up, then his crew stands up.  Now, we're a pretty big group of 4 but these guys are frigging enormous.  And frightening.  And all decked out head to toe in Raiders gear.  It hits us like a glass of ice water that we are potentially about to be in very serious trouble if this guy starts asking her who told her this nonsense.  I grab the Ox and Beef, who have now gotten hip to what's going on, and we start making our way around the periphery of the bar.  We barely get moving before I see her pointing back to where we were standing and looking for us as her very VERY angry boyfriend is beginning to walk in that direction.  We pick up our pace and get to the door unseen, throw our drinks down, and bolt out of there into the Vegas night.  I didn't really feel safe again until we were mid-Strip.

Unfortunately, I have run out of time for today.  Tune in tomorrow for the (somewhat anti-climactic but kind of amusing) conclusion  - Part 3 - SUNDAY.

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Eventually though, he starts to get annoyed (again rightfully so,) especially since I have ceased referring to him by name entirely and am now just calling him Steve.  The exchange ended with something along these lines (paraphrasing):
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I got a ride home with Ian one night when I lived in Vail, and the drunk girl sitting next to me kept calling him "Steve..."  I thought it was hilarious but you could see it happened to him all the time and he didn't take it well.  :hot:

Ian had a place in Vail, CO when I worked there.  They had a ritzy place in Cordierra and Nikki used to lay by their house pool, sometimes with no clothes on.  Unbeknownst to her, the surveyors that I worked with in my office would check her out through their survey equipment :eek:  whenever they were working nearby (I know creepy), and few of them even snapped photos.  This was before easy internet access and finding photos of her was not easy, so those personal photos from the surveyors were money.  She absolutely qualified as a Tropicana swimsuit model.

So one late night I'm out at a club in town and Ian comes walking up to me, introduces himself, and then points at a girl at the bar and says "I understand you know that girl."  Turns out to be a hairdresser I fooled around with a few times, she's about a 7, but she's hanging out with one of her "hot" friends, and it was pretty obvious Ian wanted to get rid of the 7 and bang the 9.  He bought me a drink and we shot the #### before he drove me and the 7 back to my place. Overall, he acted like the coolest guy in the room and was generally a #####-bag, pretty much like his character in 90210. 

Nikki was a straight-up 10 on the Offdee scale (yes they do exist), so it always blew me away to see him make an effort to go pick up skanks in a club. 

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
By the time the draft was starting to wind down.  Scott Ferrall was doing a live radio broadcast from a booth set up in the sportsbook, so I wandered over there to check it out.  I had recently become familiar with his work, so while he was on air, I started bellowing to him to pour me a draft, etc (listeners of his know what I mean.)
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Good lord. Scotty Ferrall.  Are we talking about the early heydays of 24-7 sports talk radio? Papa Joe? John "The Freak" Renshaw?

 
Evilgrin 72 said:
Part 2 - Saturday

So, off we went to Olympic Gardens.  For those of you unfamiliar, this is a strip club just north of Stratosphere, in the seedier part of town.  We grab a cab there and the place is jammed on a Saturday night.  We can't find seats anywhere, so we're standing at the back bar, watching the dancers from afar.  I'm nearly blind drunk after about 20 drinks and the better part of 2 full fifths of Jagermeister, everyone else is pretty well lit, but not as bad as I am.  We're minding our own business, talking and laughing, when this Latina girl pops up next to us, a patron rather than a dancer.  She's obviously pissed about something, so I ask her what's wrong.  She goes off on a tirade about what an a**hole her boyfriend is, how he's treating her like crap, he doesn't listen to her - I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention.  Anyway, ultimately, Yams asks her : "Is he here with you?"  She says yes and points down towards the mob of people sitting around the various stages.  Regrettably, I say :

EG : "That guy?  Right there?" (I'm not referring to anyone specific, just looking in the general direction she is.)

Chica : "Yeah, right there."

EG : "Holy ####, Yams, that's the guy who asked us on the way in how much it costs to get hand jobs in here !"

Chica : :"WHAAAT !!!?"

Yams (playing along) : "Ohhhhh yeah....."

EG : "Yeah, I told him that this is just a strip club, not a brothel, but he was insistent that you could get a tug in this place."

I barely finish the sentence before this girl storms off, absolutely apoplectic.  She runs down to the lower level and starts SCREAMING at her boyfriend.  He stands up, then his crew stands up.  Now, we're a pretty big group of 4 but these guys are frigging enormous.  And frightening.  And all decked out head to toe in Raiders gear.  It hits us like a glass of ice water that we are potentially about to be in very serious trouble if this guy starts asking her who told her this nonsense.  I grab the Ox and Beef, who have now gotten hip to what's going on, and we start making our way around the periphery of the bar.  We barely get moving before I see her pointing back to where we were standing and looking for us as her very VERY angry boyfriend is beginning to walk in that direction.  We pick up our pace and get to the door unseen, throw our drinks down, and bolt out of there into the Vegas night.  I didn't really feel safe again until we were mid-Strip.
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:lmao:  

 
OrtonToOlsen said:
Good lord. Scotty Ferrall.  Are we talking about the early heydays of 24-7 sports talk radio? Papa Joe? John "The Freak" Renshaw?
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Yes indeed.  I think this was right in that sweet spot.  April 21-23, 2001 was the weekend in question (I love when an event whose date can be checked online occurs during one of these stories so I can get precise dates...)

 
Part 3 - Sunday

So after we returned to Mandalay Bay after our brief, ill-fated trip to Olympic Gardens, we ate quickly and then returned to our suite to pass out.  Never went back to the bachelor's suite to find out how the rest of the evening with the hired help played out (I later found out it was uneventful.)  Around 3:30 AM, I wake up in bed and am more dehydrated than I have ever been in my life.  It didn't occur to me at the time that I had had nothing non-alcoholic to drink in 48 hours and had probably consumed the equivalent of 70-80 drinks in that span.  I literally felt like I was going to die, I was dangerously dehydrated and needed to get my hands on some water IMMEDIATELY.

Of course, still being 3/4 drunk and a galloping jack###, rather than just head to the bathroom sink.... or the vending machine in the hallway, I bolted out of the room, down the hall, into the elevator, and hit the button for the casino.  As I got to the ground floor, I realized I had no shoes or socks on.  So, I walked to the nearest bar to the elevators, barefoot, and asked the bartender for 3 bottles of water.  He retrieved them, dropped them on the bar and asked for the $6 (or whatever they cost.)  This was the exact moment that I realized that my wallet was in the room.  With all my money, my credit cards, and my room key in it.  As the realization that I couldn't pay for this water dawned on me, rather than admit my mistake and just ask for a glass of water, I instead opted to turn on my heels and run away from the bar at top speed.  Looking back on the series of decisions made in this 5-minute span, I can only shake my head with chagrin.  I ran back to the elevators (thank God you didn't need a room key back then to access the elevator bank,) jumped in and hit the button for our floor.  Returning to the room, I had no way to get in and knew the 3 people I was sharing the suite with were asleep in the bedrooms with the doors closed.  I started pounding on the door hoping to rouse someone, but to no avail.  After about 5 minutes of beating on the door, I just gave up and slumped down in the hallway with my back to the door, figuring I would either try again in a few minutes or just sleep in the hallway until security arrived.  I was still hammered, but the hangover was just beginning to set in and the dehydration was becoming troubling.  I sat there for about 5 or 10 minutes when suddenly, the door opened up abruptly and I fell backwards into the room.  Thanking the Old Gods and the New, I jumped up as I saw Beef holding the door open.

Beef : "Sorry, I heard the knocking, but I couldn't answer the door, I was taking a dump."  Literally, as he said this, I felt a rumbling in my bowels, as if on cue.

EG : "My stomach doesn't doesn't feel right."

Beef : "Mine either, maybe it was something we ate.  Or the 10 million drinks..."

Just then, I went from Defcon 4 to Defcon 2 and realized I needed the toilet even more urgently than I needed water.  Again, I was thankful he opened the door when he did or I might have #### in the hallway or elevator trying to get back downstairs.  As I ran to the bathroom, I heard Beef say : "Oh man, you're going in there?  I busted that place up - sorry.  I think it was the Kansas City steak and eggs..."

I ran into the bathroom and slammed the door and was nearly choked by the stench.  It remains, to this day, the worst-smelling dump I have encountered in 45 years on the planet.  It was truly indescribable - so rank and so THICK, it was like the fecal cloud was hanging in the bathroom like the stifling humidity of a hot summer day in Florida.  I sat down on the toilet just in time as my insides dumped about 2 gallons of liquid through my ### in about 30 seconds.  It was Harry Dunne in Dumb & Dumber on steroids.  I was holding my breath, trying not to catch wind of the new melange of #### stink that was being created in the bathroom when I accidentally let my guard down for a split second and breathed in through my nose.  My stomach immediately flipped and I had just enough time to lean sideways and get the arc of vomit into the bathtub rather than all over the floor.  My rump was continuing its assault unabated as well, and the balancing act was difficult to maintain.  I could hear Beef laughing maniacally outside the door as the after-effects of his own expulsion were causing this nightmarish cacophony ringing through the suite from inside the bathroom.  By now, Yams had also awakened and I could hear Beef apprising him of the events of the last 10 minutes as I continued to noisily expel fluid from both ends simultaneously.  The two of these ##### are practically choking with laughter as I am literally choking in my own personal hell.

Ultimately, everything subsides and I exit the bathroom and flop onto one of the beds, exhausted and near death.  The two of them are still laughing, and at this moment, I realize that Yams is holding two ice cold liter bottles of Dasani.  I beg him for one and he says : "F### you, get your own."  I don't even have enough energy to explain to him in the moment that this is exactly what I was trying to do when everything went sideways - all I could eke out was "Please......"  I must have hit just the right note of abject helplessness and desperation because, uncharacteristically, he gave me a bottle.  I'm pretty sure I never drank a bottle of water faster in my life.  We smoked a joint and as I started to finally drift back out of consciousness, I heard Yams say "Man, my stomach feels messed up too......."  Then, the warm embrace of sleep came and I was out cold, until...

"Dude, isn't your flight at 9:30?"

I see Beef standing over me and glance over at the clock - it's 8:40.  In a panic, I jump out of bed, head pounding, the taste of puke lingering, stomach still flailing about.  Holy ####, I have 50 minutes until the plane takes off and I'm at Mandalay Bay.  I grab the Ox, useless #### that he is, and tell him we have to leave NOW.  Yams and Beef are flying back to Newark on a much later flight, so of course they're delighted watching us have to scramble around while they still have hours to rest and recover.  We grab up our stuff in about 60 seconds and sprint out the door, down to the cab stand, and get a car to McCarran.  We managed to talk our way to the front of the security line and sprinted to the gate, just as they were closing the door.  I screamed "WAAAAIT !!" and managed to get them to stop just long enough that we made it onto the plane with seconds to spare.  I got back to SLC and slept for 19 straight hours.

Now, the story proper ends here, but there are a few postscripts to this one.

  • I found out later that Yams actually got the stomach bug worse than Beef or I did, but it took a few more hours to manifest.  Mr. Laughs spent that entire morning and afternoon praying for death as he vomited and #### alternately every 5 minutes.  Beef had to call the desk and threaten to sue the hotel for giving us all food poisoning in order to secure a late checkout.  By late afternoon, the Mandalay Bay finally vacated them and they had to sit in the sportsbook just a few feet from the nearest bathroom so he could run back and forth every ten minutes.  He drank an entire bottle of Pepto and they managed to get on their plane, although he crapped, in his words, "about 358 times" between Las Vegas and Newark.  I was at Mandalay Bay a few weeks ago and was in the book; I saw the bathroom right near there and pictured him sprinting back and forth 25 times.  The Ox managed to avoid intestinal distress altogether.


  • I saw a lot of the guys from the bachelor party the following weekend at Murray's wedding.  They were all hailing me as some sort of conquering hero for my Jager chug in the hooker's face and the stories I told them (that you all of heard many of) at dinner.  The night before the wedding, we were all partying in Park City, UT and I didn't pay for a single drink all night.  Unfortunately, my buddy Dan (the Stone Cold lookalike from the other Vegas story) got himself a DUI driving back to SLC from Park City that night.  The next day at the wedding, I must have gone through 20-25 drinks before the reception was even over.  At the after-party in various rooms at the Stein-Eriksen Lodge, there were a few people talking about how many drinks I had plowed through the previous weekend.  This prompted one of Murray's friends from NY, who wasn't at the bachelor party, to challenge me to a shot contest.  Did I mention this guy was Samoan and weighed 450 pounds (literally)?  Of course, because I am a GD idiot, I accepted the challenge and we went shot for shot on a bottle of Jim Beam, wiping the entire thing out in about 30 minutes.  This was after a wedding reception.  I blacked out at the end of this - the contest was called a draw - and left the room I was in to find my own so I could collapse.  Apparently, I didn't quite achieve this. I don't recall even a split second of this, but evidently I passed out cold while walking and just face planted right outside the main doors into the lobby of this 5 star resort.  This is not the type of place that sees this behavior frequently (http://www.steinlodge.com/) so they immediately called the police.  The people I was sharing the suite with were dismayed to get a knock on the door at 2 AM and swing the door open to find your old pal EG, unconscious and slumped over, being CARRIED into the room by two uniformed police officers. It remains one of the 5 drunkest nights of my life.


  • A few years later, I got a Facebook friend request from the girl I plugged in the bathroom on Friday.  She's now married with kids and we still chat occasionally.  A couple of years after this, I got a friend request from a girl I used to teach swimming to back in the early 90s at a day camp (RUSF18 also worked there.)  She was a little kid at the time and one of my favorite students, just a doll of a kid.  I was touched that she remembered my name all these years later and, now a grown up, looked to reconnect.  I happily accepted her request and saw that we had 1 mutual friend.  I figured she must have located one of the other counselors/instructors, so I clicked to see who it was.  Would you believe the bathroom bang from Vegas?  I met that woman in San Francisco and porked her in Las Vegas, to the best of my knowledge, she'd never been east of Nevada.  Turns out, she's the aunt of this little girl I taught to swim in New Jersey, who to my knowledge, had never been west of the Tri-state area.  Small world.


  • Finally, a few years after the events of this story, I had moved to Florida and had been living here (and posting on these boards) for years.  I'm sitting one night at Pat O'Brien's on Universal Citywalk with a couple of friends who had flown down for a weekend to hit the parks.  We're swilling hurricanes and catching up, when all of a sudden, a woman taps me on the shoulder and says : "Excuse me, but where are you from?"  I replied : "New Jersey.  Why, are you a Jersey native too?  Recognized the accent?"  She says, "No.. you're not from Utah?"  I replied : "Well, I lived in Utah for a couple of years, but now I live here in Orlando."  She says : "Do you know Murray [Redacted]?"  I replied : "YEAH !  Sure, I do, I just talked to him a couple weeks ago..."  I get cut off by a man's voice from the next table.  "I KNEW IT !!!!!  You were at his bachelor party in Vegas !!  I knew I recognized your voice !  You were the guy that chugged the Jager in the stripper's face ! (nice cover-up, dude, she was a hooker.)"  Turns out that this guy was at the bachelor party (I didn't really recognize him initially) and had been telling people the stories I told them at the dinner table at Rumjungle for years.  He was down there with his wife and 2 kids visiting Disney and Universal.  He introduced me to his friends and took pictures of us together like I was some kind of celebrity.  We talked for a few and then he headed out.  My friends from up north at our table were suitably impressed... they asked what had happened that weekend that made me "famous."  If they only knew.


THE END​
 
shadyridr said:
HTF did you drink so much AND remember the details? Legendary
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I was a machine back then.  My friends used to call me "The Android" due to my ability to drink heavily for long periods of time and still (usually) hold my #### together.  These days, it's less cool.  People would just think I was a phone.

 
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