Sorry, but this can’t stay in Vegas. I should know better than to utter the words, “I’ve seen it all.” I haven’t. Not even close.

After playing two baseball games in the hot desert sun, three fellow players and I went to check into our hotel. I dropped off the drunks-to-be at the bar and proceeded to the registration desk. I expected to return to carnage and I wasn’t disappointed.

It doesn’t matter if the males in question are two-year-olds or fifty-year-olds; left to their own devices, a mess will be created. Infants will turn flour, pet food, markers, crayons, and cooking oil into catastrophes. Grown men will turn alcohol and cleavage into Joplin, Missouri. (Sorry. Too soon?)

After checking in, I approached my teammates and noticed silly pink drinks in front of them. Yes, I deployed the F-word (the one that rhymes with Andy Dick) while they defended the drink choice by pointing out that five shots of vodka were in each. Uh oh. ‘Twas the fuse done lit.

One of my partners discovered an unattended lady (Nelly) at the bar and made his approach.┬áHe escorted Nelly to our table either to share or to brag, I wasn’t sure which. She was attractive, pleasant, and about four drinks behind us. As one of my mates (a sausage-fingered beast nicknamed Magnum) begged her to give him a title shot, she played along but gravitated toward me, the safe guy.

My other two teammates (Sully and Royce) were now at the hugging drunk stage. It’s not a pretty sight, even in print, so I’ll spare you.

I began interrogating Nelly. She was wearing a wedding band and texted as we spoke (both as expected, nowadays). Then she propositioned me.

“What do you say we go up to my room for about twenty minutes?”

“Hold on a second there, I thought you said you were a cop … a married one at that?”

“I am. I just needed a break from his nonsense so I came here alone.”

(I smelled something funny. Yeah, I know, the alcohol slowed my response time.)


“Then, come on.”

She pulled me away and we headed toward the elevators as my teammates cheered me on. Now, before you slap me with criticisms, please understand that I am a man who seeks freaks. Writing material finds me and I have learned to never turn away. Yes, she could have been a prostitute or someone simply planning to “roll” me, but I knew where the casino cameras were and I made sure I stayed in range.

“So, have you ever had a threesome?” she inquired.



“Unless my two hands count.”

“Well, you’re about to.”

“Oh goody, goody, gumdrops.”

As we got into the elevator, a huge marine-looking dude climbed in behind us and smirked at her.

“You lost the bet,” he said.

“No I didn’t,” she proudly responded. “This guy said he’d do it.”

“The bet was four guys, not one guy.”

I had to interject.

“Hold on, hold on. I’m going to take a wild stab and assume Private Mountain here is your husband …”


“… and he bet you that you couldn’t get four men to gang bang you?”


I moved my attention to the man-mountain.

“All right. Might I surmise, Sir, that this is just a fantasy and you wouldn’t actually need the act to be completed to determine the winner of the bet.”

“No, she doesn’t win until all four men finish.”

“Interesting … and what would you be doing while this train left the station?”

She answered.

“He likes to sit in a chair and masturbate while he watches.”

“Naturally. Well, I’ll tell you what: Why don’t you two work your shit out while I try to re-cage my circus animals?”


That’s one twisted matrimony right there. *shivers*

I returned to the three amigos play-wrestling. (For those of you without testicles, this is stage two drunk: displays of retard strength.) Mr. Too-Sober (moi) tried to calm them down and use logic. Silly me.

“Hey, dickheads, you’re going to get us tossed out of the hotel. Might I remind you this is a holiday weekend and finding another room won’t be easy.”

… and, boom goes the dynamite.

Stage three drunk level was reached and breached. Sully got all crazy-eyed and tackled Magnum into the casino walkway. He steamrolled Magnum so hard that he knocked him out of his sandals. The tears of my laughter obscured my view as I scrambled to catch it all on my iPhone. Royce pulled them apart, but every time Magnum tried to get back into his sandals, Sully assumed the three-point stance and plowed him over. A crowd gathered, hoping it was a fight, but then reveled in the glory of stumbling drunks at play and on display.

Yes, security came quickly. I have to hand it to them because they didn’t tase any of us. I guess they’ve seen this act before (like, hourly). The four guards gently placed Sully into a wheelchair and escorted the parade of the inebriated up to my room. The three obliterated boobs collapsed and I stood over them like a pastor giving last rights to battle casualties. Then I realized it was only 9 p.m., I had available credit, and my liver was being underutilized, so I left them and returned to the bar.

Nothing else happened that night because I was in Vegas.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.
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