Another Damn trip report….I’m slot hoki almost done…really!

So it’s 10AM and the sportsbook is packed. In any other part of the world screaming gamblers high on booze and glory would be a shameful sight. In Vegas, hell, we started at 5.

Good news! The Bengals are on the big screen. Bad News! I can see just enough of the Ravens game to see that Eli Manning won’t dent the under but Kyle Boller (Kyle F-IN’ Boller!) was gonna cost me some dough.

My parlay was Jacob Marley too. The Colts chose my trip to Vegas to suck nuts and provide none. So the Bengals were the bomb. The line is 11 and the B-girls are down by 20. The great and glorius Carson Palmer drives the team to the 5 only to…be a Bengal. But then, salvation, a fake field goal…a run for a score and my hunny is as good as…earned?

Now, by this point Cap’n Al is holding court while Mrs. Can’t hang is snoring away beside me. It’s not every day that I’m side by side with a man who dares slot hoki me to drink more booze, and it’s never been a day when I refused. Al ordered shots of booze like fish call a river. I was blazed.

Come 2PM Vegas Time

I was in full-Bengal headed glory. I think we all raked…Iggy..Dr. P…the whole damn crowd. (Bad Blood Costanza excluded). I needed another game and all the blogger action rode the Chargers game. Daddy, who sat right next to me, and who was one of the first people I spent any time talking to in Vegas was taking the Bolts to lose. But Al, had the chargers, and a song. A very very loud song….

San Diego…Super Chargers!

San Diego…Super Chargers!

Charge! Charge! Charge!

I was hooked. So now I am, by virtue of virtue’s lack, hooked up with team Al. Which gave me my favorite memory of the day.

Mrs Can’t Hang to Al : “Our bar tab is out of control. We can’t afford it. STOP BUYING SHOTS”

Al to Mrs. Can’t Hang : “OK”

*** Pause ***

Al to entire crowd of 15 bloggers : “So….who needs a shot!!!?”

I should have said, “no”, in deference to the lady but I’m a bitch for peer pressure. Just ask Otis. SoCo is tasty.

With each score the song is back and the sportsbook loves it. My SoCo goggles were convinced of that. At one point a bald gambler in the table just in front of ours takes a break from what appears to be a very depressing bit of life lost to turn and conduct our chorus. Euphoria! More winnings! Sports gambling turns out to be the best expected value of the trip. Turst your heart. Follow the song.

As soon as the game ends our party breaks, except for the Can’t Hang crew which will stay for the ESPN Eagles. Bad Blood, CJ and I actually take the tram from Mandalay to Excalibur. It’s 2 friggin’ properties away. Just on the other side of the Luxor. But this is Vegas, so we took the tram.


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