What Happened in Vegas

The Happiest Place on Earth may or may not be Disneyland, but it sure as shootin' ain't the Southwest Airlines terminal at McCarran airport on a Sunday afternoon. Some suggestions for the Southwest marketing department: "The Crappiest Place on Earth," "The Best Place on Earth to Find Angry Degenerates in Wife Beaters Who Just Lost Money They Couldn't Afford to Lose." Note to Southwest - go ahead and include the royalty checks for these slogans in the same envelope with my Rapid Rewards statement.

Speaking of marketing slogans, "What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas" has pretty well been beaten to death by the Vegas Chamber of Commerce and by apparently being the title of a recent RomCom. The slogan may be tired, but I think the concept still applies. Therefore, I will not be blogging about my trip to Vegas this past weekend. For the most part, that is - the following is a true Vegas story from the weekend, expressed in song:

[To the Tune of "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers]

On a warm summer's evening
in Vegas at the Westin
I sat next to the Gambler,
he was too drunk to speak.
So we took turns a-starin'
as the dealer turned up blackjacks,
but when his cocktail glass was empty,
he began to speak.

He said "Bro, I've read a book
'bout basic blackjack strategy.
I know when to double down
or split a pair of fives.
So if you don't mind me sayin'
I've been cut off by the waitress.
See that Asshole playing first base?
I'll give him some advice."

So I motioned to the waitress
and mouthed the words "Coors Cutter,"
the Gambler stared at Asshole
as he stayed on soft sixteen.
The room got deathly quiet
as the Gambler's eyes went glassy
"If you're gonna play the game, Asshole,
stop playin' like a queen."

Then I heard him say:

"You gotta know when to hit 'em,
know when to split 'em.
Stop playing like an Asshole,
you give Americans a bad name.
I just bet this guy eight dollars
that I'll fight you in the alley.
Now crush out your cigarette,
you're an Asshole and you're lame."

Then down sat a new player
from New York, and with dreadlocks.
He was pleasant company,
did not play like a fool.
But the Gambler he was drinkin'
and thinkin' he was clever,
called dreadlock guy "Warm-io"
'cause he didn't look that Cool.

Then the Gambler, he decided
I should hook up with the pit boss.
She was high-mileage, forty-eight,
and that is being kind.
The Gambler waves her over,
tells her I'm rich, in real estate.
If the pit boss had been younger,
I guess I wouldn't mind.

Then I heard him say:

"You gotta know when to hit 'em,
know when to split 'em,
take even money on a blackjack,
or double down for less.
You never order Alabama Slammers
when you're sittin' at the table -
now they'll only bring me coffee,
must've slurred the words I guess."

"You gotta know when to hit 'em,
know when to split 'em,
take even money on a blackjack,
or double down for less.
Your never order Alabama Slammers
when you're sittin' at the table -
now they'll only bring me coffee,
must've slurred the words I guess."