Fego Goes West: Get Money Get Paid

Disclaimer: This is a freeflowing post that occassionally touches upon mature subjects, so a lot of links are NSFW.

So we've been a little delinquent in making a post about our trip to Vegas, but I've succumb to the constant peer pressure by Charles Haley's big unit, and decided to take an initial stab at it. In lieu of a Simmons-esque Vegas diary, I'm going to go the John Lennon/Yoko Ono route and get experimental on you jabronis. In honor of the Academy Awards, here's an Oscars-style awards list of the highlights of Vegas (Using the common award name formula, these accolades would be called the "Veggys" but we'll call 'em the "vaggys" cuz I like the sound of that better).

The Envelope please...


The Vaggy for biggest table jerk goes to....
(Tie) In Oden We Trust/Fegonomist/Makhtar N'diaye/It Was All A Dream/Butters and Fete Fentz

I don't know if the other guys will own up to it, but the five of us were a monkey finding a time machine at the craps tables -- completely overwhelmed, confused, and constantly making obnoxious noises.

Craps is by far my favorite casino game because it is inherently collaborative. There's nothing better than being the shooter and catching fire. Guys will constantly give you fist pounds, and girls will come up and dome you out to renumerate you for netting them a little extra pocket change. However, I think our contingent took the team sports concept of the game a little too far. Whenever the shooter would hit the point, I would get in my best ump stance, and yell "Striiiiiiiiiii" to the entire table (gun hand motions included). The rest of our guys would go crazy, too, acting like they've just seen this....or that they were Gus Johnson in this clip. Everyone else at the table would then give me a blank look and quietly collect their winnings.

Equally annoying was our tendency to yell out random incantations to educe the shooter to roll a certain number. This essentially devolved into us putting a new spin on our most annoying verbal tics. "Lightweight, baby" became Light-eight baybayyyyyy. The "Noice" guy's "Aw sick" became "awwww six" and Noice transformed into "Aw noine noine noine". Needless to say, it was pretty clear that it was amateur hour whenever we were at the tables.

That being said, I don't think that our transgressions were any worse than the emo poster child we saw at the Bill's gambling hall. Obviously a denizen of the emo/hipster lifestyle, we deemed this Fall out Boy wannabe, Fete Fentz (Fake Pete Wentz). Mistake #1: buying in for $20 bucks at the blackjack table. Mistake #2: obviously having no idea of how to play blackjack. Mistake #3: Do not talk about fight club. Truthfully, whenever we were playing, we had a vendetta against the other people at the table, but this kid was a piece of shit. He lucked into getting 21 after hitting like 7 times, the problem was, it took FOREVER for him to realize it. I could just the chimp with an abucus in his brain, trying to sum up 3+3+2+6+3+4. So, writing this, it sounds like we held an irrational grudge against this guy. What your forget is A. I really like hating people for no good reason. And B. We were ready to stomp this guy out Tupac style. Luckily he struck out in 4 successive hands, and got the hell out of Dodge before we could go east coast/west coast rivalry on him.

Biggest Disappointment of the trip was....

So, I bought one of the guys a tag-team lap dance at the streeep tease. I guess the concept was that these two mejicana performers were do his di-ack like the Hyenas did to Scar, just TEAR that dick apart (at the very least, I thought that they were going to go ass to ass [super NSFW]). What really happened, at least from what he says, was some pretty weak sauce. Just a bunch of eskimo kisses and lighthearted banter between the girls. I dropped $40 on that shit?

Don't feel too bad for this guy, because in the same night, he also had....

Moment of the Trip (Strip Club Category)

So apparently, after chatting up this stripper, Heather, at the after hours joint we went to, this person to be named later (PTBNL) got the lap dance of a lifetime. Granted, there was some hood rat shit going on at this place as it was--by far the dirtiest lap dances I've ever experienced, but this guy went for a RIDE. I got a dance from Heather, so I know that she demands that you smack her ass as you're getting a dance. Of course, PTBNL obliged, but at the same time, he quasi-sexily said "I bet you let all the guys do that". Her Response: "Yeah, but I don't let all them do this"--> and proceeds to stick her tongue down his throat. Now, unlike porn, I don't have an encyclopaedic knowledge of strip clubs, but outside of Brady from season 1 pick up artist, I've never heard of someone hooking up with a stripper. That's service with a smile.

Oh yeah, she also propositioned him to do get all coked up and doped up with him backstage. Unfortunately, he didn't follow through. Shit, that was the closest any of us got to going all gonzo (NSFW) in Vegas.


Most Unsettling Taxi Cab Confession goes to....

that sketchy cab driver that gave us a ride back from the Plaza.

Now, I'm used to the cabs in Boston. (i.e. I expect my cabbies to be austere Ethiopian immigrants who talk on their bluetooth headsets the entire ride), but I knew that these Vegas guys were going to be a different breed. I don't really know how to explain this guy except to say that he was acting like me during the walderness party where I hooked up with the lowest rated prospect in the land. Homey seemed straight up drunk.

First off, he was definitely getting all herky jerky behind the wheel on the highway. But the most distinctive tell of this guy was his jarring, unintelligible manner of speech. I think part of this was the fact that he knew that he was in the company of five young, virile human individuals, and was trying to tell the funniest stories he had, leaving himself in fits of laughter. That's all and good. People can laugh at their own jokes and stories--I'm the king of entertaining myself. But imagine someone with a full frontal lobotomy chortling to themselves and trailing off on every sentence...with lots of elbow jabs thrown in.

Miraculously, we were all able to piece together some of the anecdotes this guy was telling us. Apparently, he was involved with some sort of ride/dome exchange with some fresh-faced Ashley Dupree wannabe. Basically, this girl would call him up, and he'd pick her up and drive her to the desperate slob who was retaining her services....I'm not sure what he got in exchange, it was either a cut of her earnings, or the chance to go all Peter North on her belly. Anyway, he started talking about how this nubile young coed was all put off because, throughout the course of their gentlemanly arrangement, he'd never tried to piledrive her. He started making jokes about how he was too old to get his di-ack teased by this girl, which led to this really awkward exchange where I kept on making jokes about his impotence. I'm pretty sure I started throwing around the term "boner stipend"....yeah, ok, I don't really know how to play along with people making bawdy jokes. (Sidenote: I somehow doubt this guy's story as he looked like a cross between that piss-soaked homeless guy who wanted to fight me on the T and this guy):



The most annoying trend of the trip was.....

Constantly getting carded. Everywhere. What can I say, the Fegonomist and Oden we Trust are baby faces (Both in the wrestling, and actual sense).

The Vaggy for hottest white trash goes to......

Danica Patrick. I know, not Vegas related, but I just wanted to get that squared away. MORE:


Dumbest Exchange of the trip was....

We stayed at the Planet Hollywood, which turned out to be one of the best decisions we made the entire trip. One of the big value added pieces of the hotel is the fallaciously named "Pleasure Pit". Basically, this is an "Adults Only" section of the casino floor replete with pole dancers (who don't strip) and dealers dressed in pink negligees. In theory, this sounds great, but upon further examination, the concept is inherently flawed. Girls who want to pole dance and walk around in underwear, but lack the physical gifts to work the pole? Yeah, most of these girls ended looking like this girl, possessing the potential to be hot, but having some sort of deer in the headlights glaze that makes my johnson completely flaccid:


Anyway, one of the nights Butters is able to work his magic and get us onto the list at Tryst, the club at the Wynn (which is simply epic, by the way. The place was a hybrid indoor/outdoor club with a huge waterfall as the centerpiece). After doing a few rep's of Faderade, we headed to the casino floor. The Fegonomist forgot something in the room, so he and It Was All a Dream head back to the room, leaving the three of us in the Pleasure Pit. Earlier in the trip, I had noticed that one of the Pleasure Pit dancers had a tiny tramp stamp tat. I started my approach by waving at this girl with a vigor unseen since Forrest Gump jumped off his boat to greet Lt. Dan. She meekly waved back to the hulking, mute-drunk Asian guy from Saw.

Emboldened by my Popov Vodka fever dreams, I brazenly approached this go-go girl while she was unenthusiastically gyrating, leading to this exchange:

Me: "Hey, nice tramp stamp....what is it?"
Dancer: "It's the Japanese character for "Dance."
Me: *Raising Hand* "I'm Japanese."

...then I stumbled away. What can I say, ever since I've read "The Game," I've been money with the ladies. Speaking of which.....


Best Unfaithful Reenactment....

I'll be the first to admit it, I love an older woman, especially an older woman at a club. There's nothing better than a woman with latent sexual desires that can't be satisfied by her lightswitch husband. Nobody embodied this ideal better than Diane Lane in Unfaithful. She was hot in the early 80's in "The Outsiders." She was hotter in the 90's in whatever the fuck movie this was. But she was Super, Scintillating, SENSATIONAL in Unfaithful (All ridiculously NSFW). Given this precedent, I've made it my categorical imperative to bag an older lady. Vegas seemed as good a place as any. This led to some trouble.

While we were at Tryst, we decided to break up into splinter cells to divide and conquer the cloob. It Was All a Dream and I starting dancing with some pretty women who looked like they were within a standard deviation of our age. Still engulfed in the Faderade haze, I fail to realize that It Was All a Dream only danced with them for a couple songs before moving on. Stranded on my own, and lacking the motor facilities to move onto greener pastures, I just lurked on these women for what seemed like 3 hours. Somewhere along the way, I started dance talking to one of the older looking members of their group. Think a juiced-down Brenda James minus the D cups and perfect Aiss.

During the course of the conversation I was able to glean these nuggets from her: 1. She's 43 years old. 2. She has a 15 year old daughter. And 3. She's in Vegas with some old high school boyfriend that she reunited with on facebook (but I don't think that they were boning). Anyway, by the way that she's talking to me, I get the sense that she's digging the power dynamics and the "this is so fucked up, but I'm going to let my poos do the decision making" aspect of being hit on by a guy literally half her age. After talking to her like a broken muppet for the bulk of the night, the other guys finally find me, they're impatient and trying to book it to a streep tease. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have said that it was very nice to meet her, then given her an ass-out hug. However, we were in fucking Vegas, so I said "Fuck it, we'll do it live!," and asked for her number. Her response: "I could be YOUR MOTHER, get out of here!"


I haven't seen a denial that vociferous since these:



Long story short, this is life. This isn't Maxim Magazine.