Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Vegas Holiday Classic: The Return to Degeneracy and The Rekindling of Long Forgotten Inter-Generational Conflict

Now that Vegas has been slept off and normal life returns with all of its "normality" (such as it is), snippets of the latest adventure beg to be mentioned. Those folks searching for a properly entertaining trip report that haven't seen one yet should click themselves post-haste over and read Derek--the man just held another Trip Report Clinic, per usual. If I had the means I would, at a minimum, make sure he traveled to Vegas on a quarterly basis just so the world could be exposed to more of his gold standard and bar setting recaps. Get over and check Pauly's various entries, too, crafting special reports as only he can (and seriously, if you ended up here before The Tao then your priorities are seriously out of whack--fix that).

And now, with the preambles out of the way....

*Everyone I spoke with over three days was variously skull-fucked and/or ass-raped by BlackJack. It amazes me even after all of these years that people still play that game. (This coming from the guy known to find his way onto a Let It Ride table and Wheel of Fortune slot at least once per trip, but in my defense, at least the degrading orifice invasion is gentler. A good rule of thumb is, if you're gonna get fucked, at least avoid getting slam-fucked.) Blackjack=Bad news. Run fast, run far.

*I used to enjoy The Venetian, until this trip, when I came face to face with the $9 bottle of beer. I don't care if I had a fucking billion dollars, I would still get worked up over a bottle of beer being Nine.Fucking.Dollars. That's 900% markup at liquor store prices, and you know a place like The Venetian definitely isn't paying that rate. Truly odious and offensive.

*Regardless of the lack of coherent explanation as to just why it is so, the Geisha Bar at the IP is still the heezee. There is no better place on this planet to pull up a chair and watch Dealertainers bring The Circus of Desperation to a fever pitch. The Mariah Carey that wasn't really Mariah at all. Bily Idol looking way too young and entirely too sober. There was, however, Freddy Mercury, and while his flame burned quite a bit brighter than the real Freddy's ever did, that first performance during peak brainfry transported me to some other place, like having my mind shot from a rainbow cannon. All I could do after it was over was turn to Pauly and ask, "Did that just happen?" The answer eluded him as well. Strange times for the ill-equipped.

*The MGM does indeed have great beds. It's too bad I only spent about 7 hours in mine.

*I was overjoyed to be able to attend the Gracie and Sweet Sweet Pablo nuptuals, which were just as they should have been. In the words of Mrs.Head when the anouncement was made, "It's about time."

*More of the Geisha Strange included me somehow getting involved in a nearly 3-hour conversation with some random old guy at the bar named Mike, who was very angry at the world. I dropped some knowledge on him, he kept asking questions, and so I dropped some more--any opportunity to evangelize the Surreality of Things should be taken. I left a happier person in my wake and was able to reset after being shot from the Queen cannon. Everybody wins.

*I was there for the bustout hand between Michalski and Professional Keno Player Neil Fontanot, and I'm here to confirm that what you've heard is true. Dan played like a pussy and Neil had to bust him (the turn card betting action brought a waft of tuna-meltishness that demanded a call). But you already knew that.

What you may not know is that we may see the re-emergence of a dynastic war that up to this point had been thought by many to be long forgotten. Over the course of two evenings with PKPNF, while cruising the cosmic gelcaps and discussing the intricacies of the various degrees and general longevity of universal vibrations and how they relate to the world of the Keno Profits and Working Girls, I was also given a glimpse at a troublesome family history with its roots in the last name Fontenot. The lost spelling of the name is actually Fonteneaux, from a long line of numerological seers originating in The South, of all places.

It's here that students of history will know what I'm talking about. For hundreds of years, in the land now known as New Orleans, a pitched war of attrition went on for decades between the peace-loving Fonteneaux gypsy-seers and the warlike angle-shooting Polish clan (exiled some time before from their own homeland for various acts of highly suspect nature), the Michalski's. Public sentiment at the time was turning towards Keno (and it's derivatives) and away from the devious three-card monte racket the 'ski's were running. Neil's 6x's great-grandfather was accused of "charlatanism" by a co-opted magistrate and was condemned to prison by a corrupt local jury that had been mortally threatened by the Michalski's who, while this sham of a criminal prosecution was ongoing, were simultaneously rigging the local Keno games to discredit the Universal Vibration theories being advanced by the Fonteneaux tradition. He died in that prison, and for many many years it was assumed that the Fonteneaux clan had all but disappeared. However, to the surprise of many it seems they've simply been underground. As the current age continues its slow death in preparation for advancing into the new one, Neil, carrying on the family tradition determined that the opportunity presented by this burgeoning awakening of consciousness demanded that he step once again to the forefront and advance the Universal Vibration Method. But it seems that fate is not kind. Neil found himself met at the table, after so many years of obscurity and relative peace, by another Michalski, .

After spending a decade at Chino (on more trumped up charges for inadvertently bankrupting a local Keno parlour in LA for picks that were, quote, "too perfect"), there's one thing that PKPNF has learned that his forefathers never did. There comes a time where there can be no more running. You have to stand up and not be a punk.

Neil smelled Pussy on the turn bet, and for all of the persecuted ones in his clan who came before, he beat that thing inside-out.

But animosities continue to simmer, and few know what the future might hold, least of all me. I'm currently trying to arrange a sitdown/phone call with Michalski to get confirmation as to whether or not the rumor is true that he made it known to a few people (the Freddy Mercury Dealertainer being one of these, who would neither confirm nor deny) that he was going to shank PKPNF right in the neck for that public humilliation.

Oddly enough, though, when I relayed these wind-borne tidings to PKPNF, he simply wondered aloud how many times Michalski wanted to stab him, as that might be one of the missing numbers from the Final Keno Play prophesied and handed down through Fonteneaux oral tradition.

I'll keep everyone posted as I can as the situation develops.

*I got my bad-beat dollar from Sweet Sweet (but Shifty) Pablo. Seriously, do not try to stiff me monies. I will ride your ass like the paper delivery boy in Better Off Dead, but unlike him, I've got the juice running and a gang of hard pipe-hittin' niggahs ready to go to work.

*Truly, it was truly fantastic seeing everyone after a two-year absence, and great being able to meet a few that I hadn't previously.

(And in case I don't get back here before the New Year, Happly Non-Denominational ChrismaSolstiHanaKwanzooFestikah to you all.)