Wednesday, April 4, 2012

the dancing diarrhea fountains of las vegas pt.1

Before we begin this mystical journey together I would like to point the sad fact out that I no longer need to spellcheck the word "diarrhea." This here yarn I'm about to unfold is a luckless hand to be laid, and Kenny Rogers ain't around to advise through song. Let's just say shit got real ugly.

For those uninitiated to the bottomless debauchery of Las Vegas, I like to say that Vegas is to heathens what Africa is to black people-it's the motherland. During the day Vegas looks like the the Mall of America gave Donald Trump a blow job and then barfed up its guts into the desert-giant, corporate hotels covered in jizz. However, at night with all the overstimulating and hypnotic neon, it's like a giant midway for ne'er do well adults to be "naughty" and set fire to their money and inhibitions.

I arrived in the a.m. with my then wife(I was married once-whoops)to meet my best friend(we'll call him "Jeremy") and his wife at the time(double whoops)and was rather disgusted at the giant monument to western capitalism and greed. After we learned we could drag 12 packs of beer around and smoke anywhere we pleased, I immediately lost my moral compass and we indulged our heathen tendencies, almost to a point of self-reflection, and pretty much figured 'fuck it-let's puh-puh-puh-party.'

The days were spent with the wives doing tourist activities and behaving like civilized adults until they eventually got sleepy. Then we'd give the car-keys to our inner savages and say, "have at it, dickholes!" and drink and gamble til the awful and unforgiving sun came up, retreating back to our hotel rooms for maybe 2 hours of sleep. And by "sleep" I mean "being unconscious." Wake up, eat ancient Greece-sized portions of MSG filled buffets and repeat.(Weird side-note: in some casinos they get bummed if you swear. I know-that's weird, right? This was mentioned to us at a black jack table around 5 am to which Jeremy responded, "you're fuckin' kiddin' me?" to which they responded by calling security.)

So after 3 days of buffets and 3 nights of heathenry it was time to leave the city for some more tourist bullshit. It was time to go to Red Rocks Canyon. (Oh-and if yer ever in Vegas get the kobe beef bloody mary at the MGM. Holy shit-it's like drinking a steak.)We stopped for big coffees on the way and began some ol' fashioned trash talking about how that canyon better be deep as we planned to fill it with irresponsible amounts of diarrhea(no spellcheck-holla!)brewing from the irresponsible amounts of alcohol and buffet food we'd ingested.

As we pulled into the park we saw that the tourist info building was closed and man, I really needed to take a shit. The restroom was also closed but I figured I could hold it for awhile. We pulled up to a scenic view point with a trail leading into the canyon. For some reason our wives(oopsy daisy)were wearing high heels along with dresses that weren't exactly hiking friendly so we decided to go down together, leaving the women behind in hopes that the men would return-possibly with food. Wow-things got kinda western. Anyways, as we began the descent, poop-fist landed it's first blow...

COMING SOON-part 2 of this epic adventure in which shit gets ugly and the rather self-explanatory "poop-fist" is explained.


  1. your patience will be rewarded. well, sorta.

  2. The anticipation is killing me, which one of you trusted your fart first?

  3. It's the 12th you lazy sack of shit. What the hell am I paying you for?

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