"Every Bimbo Within 1,000 Miles Must Be Here Tonight"

This one goes back to my first poker session of my most recent trip.  It was a Friday nite, two nites before the Super Bowl, so it was a busy weekend.

Being a Friday night, it was a Slut Parade night. By sheer coincidence, I was sent to a table at the front of the room, looking directly at the foot traffic as it proceeded to and from the nightclub. 

There was a guy at the table who I initially took to be mid-40’s, but based on his comments, he was obviously older than that.  At first, early in the evening, he was wondering why the poker room had been moved to its current location.  We told him about the club and that it was impossible to play poker over there when the club was open.  You know, now that I think of it, I hear that question so often that I really should print up new cards.  Instead of just having the blog’s URL on them, I should put the URL to the Slut Parade post, so that when people ask why the poker room moved, I can just hand them the card and say, “Read this.”

But it wasn’t long before the young ladies started walking by.  This got the attention of virtually every man, but this guy had an especially strong reaction.  The first verbal reaction I heard from him was, “Holy shit!”  He was not referring to his cards.

The dealer, who I’ve referred to as “Doug” in the past so let’s go with that, couldn’t help noticing the guy’s reaction to the barely dressed young ladies.   Doug told the guy, “Yeah….if you go over to where the poker room used to be, between 11PM and 1AM you’ll see tons of them.  Huge crowd.  And it’s like 4-to-1 girls to guys.”

The guy said, “Oh really?  It must be easy to get laid, then.”

“It depends…..” The speaker was a young guy, a college student from Southern California who apparently came to Vegas often and knew how the whole club scene worked.  “You gotta spend a lot of money.  You can get laid but it costs money.”  He paused for a bit.  “Also, depends on how much you want to lower your standards.  The primo guys get the primo girls.”  He said it also depended on the percentage of girls to guys, which varies from night to night.  He said sometimes there are just so many girls they actually let guys in for less to balance things.  It sounded like he might have known what he was talking about, but really, who knows?  He wasn’t dressed like he was going to the club on this night.  Instead he was playing poker with a bunch of guys

Anyway, a few minutes later a group of girls walked by wearing the standard issue club dress, meaning they were extremely short (the dresses, not the girls).  The older guy couldn’t help himself, exclaiming, “My god, those dresses are so short, they’re barely covering their pussies.”

He immediately caught himself and realized how vulgar that sounded.  “Oh man, I shouldn’t be thinking like that.  I got three daughters.”

I laughed and said, “Well, don’t let them come here.”

A little later another group of girls walked by and caught his attention.  The dresses these girls were wearing made the previous dresses we had seen look like Berkas.  He just stared at them for a few seconds and then finally gasped….very slowly….”Mother f***er.”  It took him about 10 seconds to get out those four syllables. 

Sometime later, in a totally non-related context, he mentioned that his middle daughter was 35!  Wow, he was a lot older than I thought.  He said his eldest daughter was 38 and the youngest was 15.  When he revealed that, he was quick to add that they were all from the same mother.  He said something about the last one being an “accident.”  I’m sure she’s thrilled to be known as an “accident.”

There was a guy who said he was going to be married soon (no, not the guy who was telling us how to get laid).  The older guy said that he had been married once and that was it for him.  If his wife died before he did, he was never going to get married again. 

It turned out he was in Vegas with a buddy, not the Mrs.  His pal was playing at another table and he eventually game over to our table.  The two friends chatted, and the topic of conversation was the scenery we had all been enjoying.  His friend said, “Every bimbo within 1,000 miles must be here tonight.”

And the guy at our table said, “The pussy around here tonight is unbelievable.”

Guys, guys.  Very judgmental of you.  And kind of creepy.

At one point, a group of guys caught our attention.  There were five or six young lads, all wearing identical t-shirts that said, “Party with Vegas Sluts.”  I’d actually seen this shirt in gift shops before, but this was the first time I’d seen anyone wearing it.  A bachelor party, perhaps?

Another group of guys who walked by looked like they had escaped from a Marching Band.  Again, five or six of them, each one wearing a drum like you’d see in a Marching Band.  No other instruments, just six drummers.

Just another Friday night in Vegas.

There was some poker too.  I had not won a hand when I limped in with Ace-3 of diamonds in late position.  Yeah, I was trying to get a flush so I’d have at least one ticket for the next drawing.  The big blind was a guy who had missed his return flight to Chicago just hours earlier and thus had to get a room across the street at Hooters.  He raised to $17 and I figured I would fold.  But before it got back to me, two guys had called and I was the last to act.  I figured with the pot that big I might as well roll the dice and call.

It was a low flop with 2 diamonds.  The guy from Chicago bet $40 and the other two folded.  I called with my draw to the nut flush.  Medium sized diamond hit the turn, completing my flush.  This time the guy checked.  My stack was only about $50-$60 at this point.  I couldn’t really bet without shoving, so I shoved.  I suppose I could have checked and hoped he bet the river, but I’m not comfortable slowplaying flushes. He thought for a long time before folding.

When he folded, he said, “I guess I didn’t raise enough.”  He meant the preflop raise of course.  I can’t really blame him.  The $17 raise was enough—it was more than enough.  But unlucky for him, the two guys in front of me didn’t feel like folding to his big raise, so I came along for the ride.

A little bit later I had King-Jack of hearts in the big blind.  The only limper was the same guy from Chicago.  I flopped a gut-shot, but there were two diamonds on the board, no hearts.  We both checked.  I hit my straight on the turn.   Since there was virtually no pot, I only bet $6, and he called.  A third diamond on the river gave me pause.  I checked.  I didn’t like that third diamond and I didn’t want to get raised.  But he shoved anyway—for about $35.  I almost folded but then thought better of it.  Somewhat resignedly, I called.  I said, “You got the flush?  I’m giving you some of your money back.”

But no, he only had top pair.  I stumbled into the right play, I guess.  He was through for the night.  I was clearly his nemesis. 

With pocket 7’s, I called a raise to $12, three of us saw a flop of 10-8-7, two hearts.  Preflop raiser led out with $26.  I made it $80.  Was that a mistake?  It was such a wet board I couldn’t see just calling there.  The other guy folded and the bettor thought for a long time before folding.

The last hand of note was the first time I had the dreaded pocket Kings for this session (and this trip).  I raised to $10 and there were two callers.  It was a low flop but it was all hearts.  I did have the King of hearts.   I bet $25 and no one called.  Not a memorable hand but I did want to point out that I can sometimes win with that crappy starting hand.

I had a small profit for the night.  Not a bad way to start a trip.