Friday: Descent Into Madness

"Spending the weekend with the bloggers, who revel in playing rotten hands, it’s hard to find a crummy hand that doesn’t have a nickname.
--Michael Craig at Table Tango

"It's amazing someone hasn't died at one of these things yet."
--Iggy, peering at me over the tops of our 12th greyhounds of the morning.

Commence semi-chronological snippeting.

Upon entering the Excal (I'm so done with that fucking casino and its poker room employees), I see Bobby, April and The Princess playing blackjack. I kiss Bobby first. He's playing two spots, tipping two bucks in every spot, 'cause that's just how he rolls.

Hear that ladies?

Head off with DonkeyPuncher and the two ladies for a couple errands and "lunch with the girls" after dropping a c-note on blackjack. Briefly lose the ladies when DP and I can't resist a Newcastle at the MGM bar. Eat sushi and chicken at Caesar's and bet DP a dollar for every dried red pepper I can eat. I earn a dollar and a hole in my espohagus. Meet with Caesar's Poker Room managers. All three of them are named Carmine. DP puts them on tilt admiring their pinkie rings.

Back to the Excal for 2-6 retardation. Meet Hoyazo and Dawn. Play with Maudie, Derek, Zeem, Chad and The Rooster, who cracks my Kings with Aces, even throwing in a Best Performance in Low-Limit Reverse Tell Bullshit Acting when an ace falls on the river. Stop playing poker. Take abuse from Felicia. Leave when she threatens to lift up her shirt.

Roll some dice. Lose $25. Buzz kicking in. Eat something, somewhere. Shower and don my linen finery for the trek to the MGM. Set up shop in the bar. I don't pay for drinks. Female bartender remembers us from last trip and is comping. Hear that ladies? Josh shows up. Stays upright. Meet tons of bloggers: Garth, Kat, Jules, Blinders (and, okay, you know what, if I miss listing you, I apologize. I was well in the bag by this point and that particular condition showed some bleeping stamina this weekend. So, let's all just assume I'm a drunk idiot from this point until Sunday at 11 a.m. when I start to remember things again).

Play 1/2 NL cash game. Have Nickerson two seats to my left when I sit down. Wait two orbits for him to notice me. He doesn't. During discussion of getting dealt good hands when away from the table, I mention I always get aces when I have diarrhea. Immediately leave table for three orbits (to go to the bar) and, upon my return, announce that I didn't wash my hands.

Offer to back Mrs. Head in Roshambo against ANYONE. No takers. Can't find Bobby, who, at last report, was passed out in Pauly's room.

Tell new girl at my NL table she smells good. She says "thanks" then gives me odds to draw all the way when she holds aces. I don't hit. Go to bar for SoCo. My bartendress benefactor is gone. Actually have to buy it.

Meet Waffles. There is a look of fear in his eyes as I pump his hand. Go to the bar for Newcastle. See Bobby. He's a fetching shade of green and drinking water. I give soon-to-be Blogger Champion F-Train a swat on his bony ass. I don't remember why.

I also don't remember going back to the Excal, but I must've, 'cause that's where I woke up Saturday morning.