Thursday, October 16, 2008

Vegas Indian Summer 2008 - No City For Old Men - Part III

You thought a little financial crisis would prevent me from writing the final piece of my trip report? Au contraire. You can delay and distract Kid Dynamite, but you cannot silence him. Where were we? Oh yeah - part ONE and part TWO - read them if you haven't already.
Wednesday: Big Show and I woke up and hit the sports book, so I could grab the daily racing forms and use my patented "handicap by name" method to find a winning horse. We walked across the street to Chipotle, where Big Show attempted the Guac Freeroll and failed. We settled down at a table, and I scanned the sheets.
"Hot and Swampy?" I offered out loud.
"Sounds like my pants," Big Show replied quickly, and I crossed that horse off the list.
Unable to find any jackpot ponies, we cruised over to the Palazzo, to dominate their double deck blackjack game outside the high limit salon. We crushed the game for a few hours, and then some interlopers came to crash our party. I quickly called an audible, picking up my chips without hesitation, and headed into the Salon to dominate some Baccarat and rip up some cards.
Our dealer was a young punk who chided us as clearly being poker players who just wanted to play baccarat to rip up the cards. "Nice read," I told him, and proceeded to school the Palazzo in my advanced baccarat charting abilities. The dealer told us we could do anything but rip the cards, and we quickly challenged him by ripping up the cards, which tilted him minorly DYKWTFIA?!?!
For some reason, I kept trying to be a mean reversion guy: I was betting on the Bank, figuring, the banks had to make a comeback sooner or later - they've been getting killed in the press lately. As this strategy seemed to be failing, Big Show finally asked me, "Why BANK? Banks SUCK! We need to get on the Player!" We made the momentum switch and took the baccarat table for a solid ten units in a quarter of a shoe before we were joined by a veteran griseled old Asian lady. Now, in baccarat, whomever has the largest wager on each side (bank, player) gets to handle (read: shred) the cards for that hand. Thus, Big Show and I prefer to play alone, so that we don't need to get into a bigger dick contest with the other people at the table - all we want to do is rip up the cards. Before this lady's ass even hit her chair, I had signaled to Big Show that it was time to jump ship, and we returned to our now vacant double deck BJ table 10 yards away.
"Do you need our players cards?" I asked the pit boss, but he shook his head. "HKWTFWA (he knows who the fuck we are!)" I told Big Show, who agreed that we were on the map. After pounding the double deck game for another stack of green chips, we hit the Pai Gow table, where we encountered an interesting subject: this girl, if it had been night time, would have been 100% hooker. She was alone at the table, dressed nicely, with well done makeup. I was thrown off because it was around noon on a Wednesday, and I didn't see the hooker angle making sense. She claimed she was in marketing, which of course resulted in me leaning over to whisper to Big Show, "porn," even as she was still explaining her "job."
"You play a lot of Pai Gow?" I asked, to which she responded that she did indeed.
"So you're a pro, eh?" I continued, trying not to giggle. She thought I was still talking about Pai Gow, but Big Show was choking on a laugh, knowing what I meant.
We got felted at the Pai Gow table, and Big Show wanted to throw some dice, so after he sevened out quickly, I decided to dominate the table with my dice control skills. Unfortunately, I was betting like a pussy, and despite the fact that I rolled for almost 40 minutes, I ended up about $60. Everyone else at the table loved it though, including Big Show, who cashed almost $300 from my roll, off of $10 bets with odds.
I went over to talk to Casino Credit about a dinner comp, and she wrote us up two comps for Wolfgang Puck's Postrio. I was all psyched until we actually go to Postrio, and I realized that I'd been there previously, and didn't really like it. Anyway - we were sweating a 3-team parlay throughout dinner, with updates on Big Show's Iphone, and right as we finished, our third leg was locked up, eliciting a loud "YES!" and a high five from the two of us, which turned some heads on the Postrio patio.
After dinner we were in a groove at the Palazzo, again crushing the double deck blackjack game, when suddenly an interloper sat down mid-shoe and put the mother of all kaibashes on us. I dropped 15 units in 3 hands, and was on bajungi tilt. The interloper had the sense to apologize at least, but I gave him the cold shoulder, and colored up to walk away. We cashed our big parlay ticket at the sports book, and then Big Show wanted to take on the Venetian's double deck game. I opted to hit the poker room again, and found a quick seat in the Omaha hi-low game.
It was now around 1am, and I enjoyed a tableside massage in the poker room, as I tried to tilt the guy 4 seats to my left who was next on the massage list by extending the massage. One hand, I limped in EP with 4-6-9-9, and apologized to the table as I did; "I apologize in advance for this beat I'm about to put on someone."
I managed to flop an over-full when the flop came 5-5-9. I led out, and some doucheball who clearly had a 5 raised me. I three bet, and he called. An 8 came on the turn, and I led out again. He raised me again, and I three bet. He called, and the dealer said "should I leave the bets in front of you?"
"No, I'm going to scoop this pot - you can pull them in," I told him, and he responded by painting a 5 on the river. I laughed, and check-called a bet, where I was shown the case 5 of course, and no low draw. My opponent was drawing dead to one out in Omaha 8 - that's a tough spot to get yourself into.
I grinded it out for another hour or so, before venturing back to the pit to check on Big Show, who was treading water. I borrowed his Iphone, and standing behind his chair, managed to log in to check-in for my flight home later that morning, and upgrade to first class. I marveled at how I could stand there on the Venetian's gambling floor, drunk, at 2:30 in the morning, and secure a first class upgrade on a touch screen phone - yeah technology!
Shortly thereafter, I decided to pack it in, and Big Show returned shortly after, having come back from the abyss to secure a small win.
Thursday morning we pounded out a Grand Luxe comp for breakfast, and Big Show had to leave right after that to catch his flight. I checked my bag with the bell desk, and went to lounge in a shady spot at the Mirage pool for a few hours. Right before I left to catch my flight, Chops stopped by to drop off a vintage WickedChops t-shirt for me, which made me the envy of all the chooches arriving for the weekend.
I thanked Chops and hopped in a cab, telling him "The Airport - and don't even think about taking the highway." "No sir, never," he replied, and I made it to McCarran and eventually home to JFK without further incident. I arrived home early in the morning, and collapsed into bed, dreaming of the next trip to the desert.

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