Whenever people go and visit the fabulous city of Las Vegas, they always say, "Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." These people obviously didnt have a good time. Or maybe it's because they had too good a time. But how could you not? The beautiful hotels, the friendly people, and all the free alcohol to be used at your disposal...
In my fantasy trip, Rose and I would have been greeted at the airport by a yellow and black checkered cab, the kind with all that extra plush space to lounge around and act all 1940s decadent and driven by a jolly man with a funny accent and a newsboy cap. Instead, the only taxi's available outside the McCarran International Airport were those big, ugly minivan kind that smelled like two parts Lysol, five parts Airwick Solid. In my opinion, that was just no way to arrive in Vegas. So I ordered a limo. A white stretchmobile, fully equipped, fully accessorized, and fully capable of helping us make our grand entrance.
As we drove down the strip, I felt like I was in one of those video montages you see in the movies with the actors looking out the window in awe at all the sights and sounds of the city. Only this was my montage, with that cheesey Elvis song "Viva Las Vegas" playing in the background. And it continued to play well into the night as we made our way to Jet, the ultimate nightclub in Vegas, strolling past the outside lines and velvet ropes, courtesy of a call made to my new friend Rod earlier that day.
The next day, with enough alcohol in our system to fill up our marble hot tub, we donned our dark, oversized sunglasses and Venti Caramel Macchiatos and stumbled our way to Chapel of the Bells, which was the closet thing we could find to a church on a Sunday morning, on the strip. It was also a chance for me and Rose to get a feel of how her upcoming nuptials would be like and a chance for me to see if marriage with Damien was something she really wanted to do.
Turns out it was. True, Damien wasnt a candidate for Boyfriend, Father, or even Human of the Year, but he did have his good qualities. Which I really cant recall at the moment, since I was unable to function properly during my state of inebriation. But I do know I left the chapel with a new mission in mind: to try and stop this bizzare wedding. I only had about a day before the rest of our friends and the groom-to-be would arrive so I had to work fast, because, as the old saying goes, friends dont let friends become members of the Future Bitter Divorcees of America Club.
After witnessing several, “what the hell?” marriages Rose and I made our way back to the Mirage to Japonais, for a free mid-day meal, courtesy again, of Rod, my soon-to-be best friend. After eating the best sushi of my life, we headed to the casinos and for a brief mortal minute, I forgot all about my mission, because I was on a total roll. On my very first try, I won$40 on the dollar machine. And then $35. And then $20. And then $12. And then $11.75. And then I stopped because I finally saw the pattern in my winnings and realized I didn’t have a house to mortgage off for some extra cash. So I did the next best thing and moved to the penny slots where, on my first try, I won ten thousand...pennies. Which added up to about a hundred bucks, but that was totally fine by me because it was way more than what I, an unprofessional, inexperienced gambler, expected to win.
With my winnings in tow, Rose and I ventured down the strip and began to do all the tourist-y things like collect those little cards with the hookers posted on them, posed with both living and dead celebrities at Madame Tussaud's, watched the water show at Bellagio, saw the sexy sirens of T.I. have a verbal battle of innuendos with fellow pirates, and cheered on the Coyote Ugly girls as they danced on the bar and kept our glasses filled with refreshing and delicious alcohol.
With another day gone to waste and me being wasted beyond all human belief, I knew I had to hurry if I was to put a stop on this wedding. And fast. I tried bringing up past horror stories of Damien's actions, to which Rose replied, "If it was possible to erase all those days, I'd still want to be with him." I tried pointing out all of Damien's flaws, including the fact that he had no arm definition and that his moustache made him look like a mouse, to which Rose replied, "It's not what's on the outside, it's what's on the inside that counts." Damn the person who created that hateful speech.
None of my influential ideas were working. I needed to find sanctuary in a place where I could gather my thoughts and regain my strength. That's when I decided to bring out the big guns and take Rose to a male strip show with guys who had even bigger guns. One call to my BFFL, best friend for life, Rod, and I had a pair of comped passes to Austrailia's Thunder From Down Under. Hopefully the sight of ten gyrating crotches would help Rose forget about her own soon-to-be, wedded crotch. It didnt help. Instead, the sight of all those swarthy hunks dancing around us only made Rose hot and horny and by the time we got to the airport to meet and greet the rest of her wedding entourage, Rose and Damien were like one. One big mess of kissy, huggy love. Blech. I guess getting off the plane made you realize how important love was. And how important getting off was. Ew.
But with new, flown-in reinforcements, I knew Operation: Stop Rose And Damien From Entering A Marriage That Would Most Likely End Due To A Conflict Shown On An Episode Of COPS was back on track and good to go. The only thing was, everyone was kinda for this wedding. The general feeling was, if this wedding made Rose happy, then what was the real harm? Everybody wanted Rose to be happy. Was I the only one who cared about her?
The next day, with our friends in tow, we did even more tourist-y things, like walk to the top of the Stratosphere Hotel and watch wannabe singers perform as Britney Spears, pre-Cheeto diet, Elvis, post-Priscilla marriage, and Michael Jackson, pre/post/mid-cosmetic surgerical operation. Then it happened. Between a Cher and Madonna tribute, Rose and Damien started having one of their classic arguements. If they were rich and powerful and lived in the glamourous hills of Beverly, those two would succeed at becoming a tabloid Hollywood couple yet. But for now, their heated arguements were reserved only for me and our friends. And the other poor, paying customers that sat amoung us. It got so bad, that eventually Rose dragged me and our friends Pamela and Josh outside, where we walked in complete silence to the Bellagio. I didnt know what to do or say, but inside, I was jumping up for joy-joy, knowing a wedding was definitely not on the horizon.
Josh and Pamela wanted to do some gambling and I figured it was the perfect way to help clear Rose's mind. So we made our way around the tables and ended up watching this older English gent play Craps. His accent was so funny and so British that we couldnt help but adopt English accents ourselves and cheer on Mr. Carpenter. And though our bloody accents were Dick Van Dyke-bad, Mr. Carpenter had a jolly good laugh and promised us $100 poker chips and dinner at Olives, if we continued to keep cheering him on. Mr. Carpenter hit the jackpot and won over $67,000 that night, but it was around the $30,000 mark that I realized maybe I was wrong about Rose and Damien.
ROSE: I say, the ol' chap should just stop right now. He 'as too much at stake.
ME: Bloody 'ell! You're only saying that because you lost a hundred pounds.
ROSE: Quite right. Quite right. But, if I had that much I would stop all-togetha now. Just think of 'ow much 'E could do with all that money. And 'e's just gambling it all away.
ME: Because maybe 'E enjoys taking risks. Maybe 'E's tired of always playing it safe and never winning.
ROSE: But that's playing too bloody dangerously, dont you think?
ME: But it makes 'im one 'appy chap, eh?
ROSE: 'E's gonna be one sorry chap in a moment.
ME: Who cares? So long as 'E's 'appy and living in the moment, then what's the harm?
It was then that I had a crystalized clear thought and realized that the same philosphy I was preaching in the City of Mortal Sin, could be used towards Rose and Damien. Sure, they had issues. A lot of issues. Like more than your average newstand, amount of issues, but if getting married was something they wanted to do, then really, who was I to try and stop them? Besides, when I thought about it, Rose didnt ask for my opinion on whether or not she and Damien should get married. She just asked for my support. And what kind of person did that make me if I couldnt support a friend? After all, husbands and wives come and go, but it's the people who are your best friends that stay with you forever. Or until someone with better connections comes along. And though I know it's totally cliché, but, if you're able to make a friend into a spouse, well then that's something worth betting on.
In my fantasy trip, Rose and I would have been greeted at the airport by a yellow and black checkered cab, the kind with all that extra plush space to lounge around and act all 1940s decadent and driven by a jolly man with a funny accent and a newsboy cap. Instead, the only taxi's available outside the McCarran International Airport were those big, ugly minivan kind that smelled like two parts Lysol, five parts Airwick Solid. In my opinion, that was just no way to arrive in Vegas. So I ordered a limo. A white stretchmobile, fully equipped, fully accessorized, and fully capable of helping us make our grand entrance.
As we drove down the strip, I felt like I was in one of those video montages you see in the movies with the actors looking out the window in awe at all the sights and sounds of the city. Only this was my montage, with that cheesey Elvis song "Viva Las Vegas" playing in the background. And it continued to play well into the night as we made our way to Jet, the ultimate nightclub in Vegas, strolling past the outside lines and velvet ropes, courtesy of a call made to my new friend Rod earlier that day.
The next day, with enough alcohol in our system to fill up our marble hot tub, we donned our dark, oversized sunglasses and Venti Caramel Macchiatos and stumbled our way to Chapel of the Bells, which was the closet thing we could find to a church on a Sunday morning, on the strip. It was also a chance for me and Rose to get a feel of how her upcoming nuptials would be like and a chance for me to see if marriage with Damien was something she really wanted to do.
Turns out it was. True, Damien wasnt a candidate for Boyfriend, Father, or even Human of the Year, but he did have his good qualities. Which I really cant recall at the moment, since I was unable to function properly during my state of inebriation. But I do know I left the chapel with a new mission in mind: to try and stop this bizzare wedding. I only had about a day before the rest of our friends and the groom-to-be would arrive so I had to work fast, because, as the old saying goes, friends dont let friends become members of the Future Bitter Divorcees of America Club.
After witnessing several, “what the hell?” marriages Rose and I made our way back to the Mirage to Japonais, for a free mid-day meal, courtesy again, of Rod, my soon-to-be best friend. After eating the best sushi of my life, we headed to the casinos and for a brief mortal minute, I forgot all about my mission, because I was on a total roll. On my very first try, I won$40 on the dollar machine. And then $35. And then $20. And then $12. And then $11.75. And then I stopped because I finally saw the pattern in my winnings and realized I didn’t have a house to mortgage off for some extra cash. So I did the next best thing and moved to the penny slots where, on my first try, I won ten thousand...pennies. Which added up to about a hundred bucks, but that was totally fine by me because it was way more than what I, an unprofessional, inexperienced gambler, expected to win.
With my winnings in tow, Rose and I ventured down the strip and began to do all the tourist-y things like collect those little cards with the hookers posted on them, posed with both living and dead celebrities at Madame Tussaud's, watched the water show at Bellagio, saw the sexy sirens of T.I. have a verbal battle of innuendos with fellow pirates, and cheered on the Coyote Ugly girls as they danced on the bar and kept our glasses filled with refreshing and delicious alcohol.
With another day gone to waste and me being wasted beyond all human belief, I knew I had to hurry if I was to put a stop on this wedding. And fast. I tried bringing up past horror stories of Damien's actions, to which Rose replied, "If it was possible to erase all those days, I'd still want to be with him." I tried pointing out all of Damien's flaws, including the fact that he had no arm definition and that his moustache made him look like a mouse, to which Rose replied, "It's not what's on the outside, it's what's on the inside that counts." Damn the person who created that hateful speech.
None of my influential ideas were working. I needed to find sanctuary in a place where I could gather my thoughts and regain my strength. That's when I decided to bring out the big guns and take Rose to a male strip show with guys who had even bigger guns. One call to my BFFL, best friend for life, Rod, and I had a pair of comped passes to Austrailia's Thunder From Down Under. Hopefully the sight of ten gyrating crotches would help Rose forget about her own soon-to-be, wedded crotch. It didnt help. Instead, the sight of all those swarthy hunks dancing around us only made Rose hot and horny and by the time we got to the airport to meet and greet the rest of her wedding entourage, Rose and Damien were like one. One big mess of kissy, huggy love. Blech. I guess getting off the plane made you realize how important love was. And how important getting off was. Ew.
But with new, flown-in reinforcements, I knew Operation: Stop Rose And Damien From Entering A Marriage That Would Most Likely End Due To A Conflict Shown On An Episode Of COPS was back on track and good to go. The only thing was, everyone was kinda for this wedding. The general feeling was, if this wedding made Rose happy, then what was the real harm? Everybody wanted Rose to be happy. Was I the only one who cared about her?
The next day, with our friends in tow, we did even more tourist-y things, like walk to the top of the Stratosphere Hotel and watch wannabe singers perform as Britney Spears, pre-Cheeto diet, Elvis, post-Priscilla marriage, and Michael Jackson, pre/post/mid-cosmetic surgerical operation. Then it happened. Between a Cher and Madonna tribute, Rose and Damien started having one of their classic arguements. If they were rich and powerful and lived in the glamourous hills of Beverly, those two would succeed at becoming a tabloid Hollywood couple yet. But for now, their heated arguements were reserved only for me and our friends. And the other poor, paying customers that sat amoung us. It got so bad, that eventually Rose dragged me and our friends Pamela and Josh outside, where we walked in complete silence to the Bellagio. I didnt know what to do or say, but inside, I was jumping up for joy-joy, knowing a wedding was definitely not on the horizon.
Josh and Pamela wanted to do some gambling and I figured it was the perfect way to help clear Rose's mind. So we made our way around the tables and ended up watching this older English gent play Craps. His accent was so funny and so British that we couldnt help but adopt English accents ourselves and cheer on Mr. Carpenter. And though our bloody accents were Dick Van Dyke-bad, Mr. Carpenter had a jolly good laugh and promised us $100 poker chips and dinner at Olives, if we continued to keep cheering him on. Mr. Carpenter hit the jackpot and won over $67,000 that night, but it was around the $30,000 mark that I realized maybe I was wrong about Rose and Damien.
ROSE: I say, the ol' chap should just stop right now. He 'as too much at stake.
ME: Bloody 'ell! You're only saying that because you lost a hundred pounds.
ROSE: Quite right. Quite right. But, if I had that much I would stop all-togetha now. Just think of 'ow much 'E could do with all that money. And 'e's just gambling it all away.
ME: Because maybe 'E enjoys taking risks. Maybe 'E's tired of always playing it safe and never winning.
ROSE: But that's playing too bloody dangerously, dont you think?
ME: But it makes 'im one 'appy chap, eh?
ROSE: 'E's gonna be one sorry chap in a moment.
ME: Who cares? So long as 'E's 'appy and living in the moment, then what's the harm?
It was then that I had a crystalized clear thought and realized that the same philosphy I was preaching in the City of Mortal Sin, could be used towards Rose and Damien. Sure, they had issues. A lot of issues. Like more than your average newstand, amount of issues, but if getting married was something they wanted to do, then really, who was I to try and stop them? Besides, when I thought about it, Rose didnt ask for my opinion on whether or not she and Damien should get married. She just asked for my support. And what kind of person did that make me if I couldnt support a friend? After all, husbands and wives come and go, but it's the people who are your best friends that stay with you forever. Or until someone with better connections comes along. And though I know it's totally cliché, but, if you're able to make a friend into a spouse, well then that's something worth betting on.
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