Vegas Nights All Kind Of Fuzz Together
Albert Marshmallow's story reminds me of one night when I was invited by a stranger with an English accent to the Mandalay Bay's Foundation Room, which, incongruously, turned out to be on the penthouse level. The stranger had money, influence, and swagga, and had reserved the central couch and fireplace section in a room packed with hundreds of people, many of whom were nubile women. The central section was empty, except for the stranger, myself, plus a baker and a boxer who had caught the Englishman's fancy. While I lolled around on my fat ass on the couch, the women constantly leaned into the central area from the jammed perimeter and pleaded for relief from their cramped stillettoes. Their smiles were so sweet and appealing: I smiled back, pleaded helplessness, and politely told them to fuck off.

But I made money that weekend, so that's off-topic.

One day, after losing $3,500 in eight hours, I looked up bleary-eyed at a billboard, that offered breast implants for $4,000. Opportunity lost - I could have had breast implants instead!

But that's off-topic too. File that one under 'boobies'.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 13 May 2010, 21:38, 1 reply)

What happens in Vegas
is meant to stay in Vegas!
( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Fri 14 May 2010, 18:41, closed)