VPC Went Vegas III; A Trip Report
04-11-2012
, 07:04 AM
Day 1 (Part 2): Home, Sweet Home.
After a cruciating 5 hours we start descending for Las Vegas. I can’t help but think how much it would suck for the plane to crash now. I mean, a header into a high building would have been the nearest thing to a blessing five minutes after departure but know that we got through 49% of our lifetime US Airways travels we might as well put this piece of crap on the ground safely and enjoy a week of good old fashion manly fun.
Our pilot – who’s clearly on an internship – doesn’t drive us straight into the MGM’s Lion Cage so about 30 seconds after touchdown the first dollars are lit on fire on the McCarran Slots with all legs and arms accounted for. We somehow get separated after baggage claim but I manage to find Fratie, Bozzie & Peltinho so we hob into the first cab available.
“Why?”. Good question, sir. The question is asked by our cabdriver after we tell him our destination; Imperial Palace. The reason we are staying at Imperial is pretty simple; location, location, location aka ‘we are cheap bastards’. During our 2009 trip we stayed at Circus Circus and ‘upgraded’ to Imperial for the 2010 trip. We hardly ever spend more then 5 hours in our room so paying more than the bare minimum seems like a waste of monies we’d rather blow away on ice cold beers and equally cold misplaced 4 bets. With a Subway in O’Shea, a Starbucks around the corner and a low-limit poker room to gather at before going to diner Imperial offers us all we need. So, we take the smell, the Carnival tent on our balcony and the STD’s in the bathroom for granted…..
Surprisingly we don’t get longhault by the friendly cabby and we shoot him a $ 20,- note for this $ 12,- quickie. We have to wait for Iebus to check in because he somehow ended up with al the necessary papers. Peltinho was my roommate for the past two trips but he shipped the single room fair and square on our last home game a few weeks ago so I’m gonna try my luck with Fratie this trip. Fratie quit smoking five weeks ago but unfortunately his spine is as flexible as his legs and he therefore requested a smoking room. I protest mildly but when I find out the smoking room is not in Tower 5 I’m happy enough not having a DJ on my doorstep till 4AM so I indulge.
Single Room Winner Peltinho.
It takes me about four steps from the elevator to the hallway to muster up a massive headache from the terrible smell on floor 6. How the hell did I agree to a smoking room? There are no dead hookers or used condoms in the room so I’ll guess the room is as good as can be expected form IP. I unpack quickly, jump into the shower and head downstairs to let the good times roll.
Hugo & Baars were supposed to arrive in Vegas two hours before us but after checking at the desk we found out they haven’t checked-in to IP jet. They don’t respond to any text messages so they probably missed their connecting flight in Houston which was scheduled rather ambitiously. I head over to the poker room which is severely pimped since our last visit and now located at the front of the casino. As I’m about to sit down I see Hugo & Baars in the check in line and head over to shake hands. Apparently they didn’t have any trouble on their trip and arrived more then two hours ago but Baars immediately fell in love with the dealertainers and Hugo shared the same passion for some fresh Budweiser’s so they left their luggage at the desk and stormed towards the casino floor.
It’s 19:30 when I sit down at the 2/4 Limit game to kick of this trip. I remember my first hand from the 2010 trip (KQh) and have low expectations of the first one on this trip but ATh pops in the window and it’s only $ 2,- to see the flop on the button. Great deal imo. Flop comes 46T. Two hearts. Vegas baby! I’m back. I had a great run in Vegas for the past two trips. To give you an idea; I played seven tournaments in Vegas so far en shipped two, chopped one four way and ended third and fourth in two others. That’s five ITM finishes out of seven tries. I can’t make a hand in my local casino to safe my life but in Vegas the card have always been good to me.
Me still having chips…..
First hand, fist flop, top pair, top kicker, nut flush draw. Booyah! I bet the flop and turn (2c) but smell trouble when MP leads the 9s river. I’m basically death all-day but this is still 2/4 Limit. In Las Vegas. I call and see that 49o arrived at wherever it was going to on the flop. Small mistake of the Vegas poker gods. No Biggie. The very next hand I see A6s and flop A78. Two spades. Here we go. Ship da moniez. I again bet flop and turn but scratch my hand when and old chick leads the river 6. Hmmm. 2/4 Limit. Las Vegas. Friday night. Two pair could be good. Old chick tables the obvious 9To.
For the next two hours I watch my ugly grey chips fly over the table in every direction but the correct one. I manage to not win a single pot over the course of two hours. That doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself. I’m having a blast with an Irishman called David, but more on him later. There are two American buddies in their mid thirty’s at the table. Right of the bat I don’t like these ****ers. It’s more than clear than they are roll playing about there jobs. One is a ‘lawyer’ and the other one is a ‘doctor’. I wouldn’t trust these guys to make my a Subway sandwich correctly but if you’re trying to be more interesting the three days a year the misses lets you out of the house; by all means go ahead.
In the ten seat is an old man. A friendly old man. Someone who could just be anyone’s grandfather. This guy is minding his own business and sipping on a rum and coke while folding his cards all-day. At one point the board is AA964 and the friendly old man tables K9. One of the two buddies who’s heads-up with him shakes his head in disbelieve, looks at his card for 10 seconds and again shakes his head. The dealer pushes the $ 25,- pot toward the old man when this piece of crap tables AQ for the winner. Really? Did you just slowroll an at least 75 year old? Both buddies are laughing their ass of as I start my prayers for them to get hit by a bus on The Strip tonight.
Anyway, back to David. David is an Irishman in his mid forties. David has been quiet for his first 15 minutes at the table but then out of nowhere asks if the shirt that I’m wearing is new. It isn’t. I’m wearing a yellow Italian designer shirt which I bough about a year ago. It was prized $ 250,- but we’re staying at Imperial for a reason so you guys know I’m not paying no $ 250,- for no shirt. I bought it at around ¼ of it’s original price at some final sale in a boutique. It strikes me a little odd that a forty something year old guy from Ireland could apparently care less. David is wearing an Adidas t-shirt which I think was black about 10 years ago when he bought it but it’s as grey as IP chips nowadays. Again 15 minutes pass when Davis – again, out of he blue - asks: “The shirt, was it on sale?” I’m not nearly vein enough to claim it wasn’t so when I start of by saying ‘Yes’ and want to follow up with the final sale story when I realize - rather late - that this guy is taking a piss at me and my shirt. “Still a nice shirt though”, David ends our little chat. Ireland 1. Netherlands 0.
If you know anyone from Ireland you know they use the word you Americans refer to as ‘The F-bomb” an average of three times in every sentence that contains more than five words. David is no exception to this stereotype. Dealer Jack explains that rule number five doesn’t allow profanities at the table. “Well **** rule number five”. Strike one. Jack explains that there is a lady at the table so David should watch his language. “Miss, do you mind if I use the word ****” Strike 2. David balances on the thin line of getting removed from the table but a dealer change saves him. David sees the dealer change as three new strikes and pretty much uses these strikes with one sentence. At this point I’m crying my eyes out in laughter. David decides to quit the game but politely informs the person taking his place of the rules. “Sir, you cannot say **** at the table but you have three strikes so it’s **** one. **** two. **** three and your out. Remember that”. Epic David.
After two hours and zero pots I cash out $ 11,- and shake off the loss on the long walk towards the IP restrooms. I tell myself that if this had been a No Limit game I probably would have been on the next flight home and because de cocktail waitress was testing her new running shoes I managed to squeeze in seven or eight Corona’s during this slaughtering. Weighing them in a $ 8,- a pop without tip this can hardly be seen as a loss. The hell with poker. Time for some serious Clubbin’.
There is a thing you need to know about VPC Clubbin’. We call everything that even remotely involves the consumption of alcohol; Clubbin’. If you see two VPC’ers drinking a glass of red wine ( you wont, don’t worry) at a restaurant then those two would be; Clubbin’. If you see us waving our dicks at hot chicks while balancing on the Voodoo Lounge balcony we’re still just; Clubbin’. Although the latter maybe be referred to as PowerClubbin’.
I can’t find anyone after my lovely poker session and no one answers their phone. Great. After about ten minutes I receive a text massage that says: Carnival!. So I head over towards Harrah’s Carnival joint. This place used to suck monkey balls from what I remember but I guess we have to get the party started somewhere. Glad to see they cleaned up the joint at least a little bit and the blackjack tables in the back don’t hurt either.
When I ask Baars what his first impression of this little town is I can see we took a serious gambler to town as Baars doesn’t hear a word I’m saying and is looking at the blackjack table like a hawk looks upon it’s prey. We hang around the Carnival for a couple of hours and drink Budweiser’s out of a can. I don’t mind. I love drinking beer out of a can for some strange reason but I seem to be the only one.
The Carnival joint.
After about an hour I get approached by two women who say they absolutely love my shirt. Seeing how I usually get approached by women around zero times per year when not in Vegas my ‘entertainment industry’ alarm bells start ringing immediately. These girls don’t look like working ladies but one can never be sure here. Maybe triggered by David’s remark earlier I somehow respond “I know the shirt is epic” in the most arrogant way I’ve probably ever said anything. I try to save myself by saying thanks but the damage is done. The girls look at each other as if they just met the biggest douche ever and wonder off into the Vegas night. Good start. I left a lovely girl back in The Netherlands and don’t have any intentions of cheating on her but I do enjoy the occasional flirt. These girl were 7’s. Vegas has a huge lack of these type of girls. Most women in Vegas are either breathtaking or horrendous and if you look at our introduction pictures 7’s are definitely the top of the range we should be aiming for. Oh well.
Baars is already on a hot blackjack streak but Hugo, Iebus & Fratie aren’t doing to well when we leave the Carnival to move our thirstiness towards The Rockhouse. It’s 02:30 and we don’t feel like paying the $ 20,- entrance fee. We manage to get in for $ 10,- (which is the normal entrance fee anyway) but the place isn’t doing it for us. The Rockhouse is crowded with hip-hop lovers and that music just blows. We drink two Budweiser’s but then leave the place. Now, it’s 03:30 on our first Vegas night so going to bed is not an option. I suggest bowling at the GoldCoast and about ten minutes later the balls are in the air.
It’s my fifth of sixed visited to this place but walking around the corner and seeing the 70 lanes still baffles me. For traditional reasons Iebus buys the ugliest socks available. I don’t remember much form the bowling accept that I didn’t hit more than five pins. I usually bowl around 150 while being drunk but its gutter balls all around this time. We pay for two games but are done with bowling after one round. We head downstairs for craps, more beer and ballroom / elevator dancing.
New socks for Iebus....
Fratie in the Ballroom....
Fratie & me dancing…..
Lol @ Bozzie drinking beer….
Peltinho, Bozzie, Roeie & Fratie take the cab back to IP while the rest hangs around the craps table. Craps has been explained to me four times but all four times at approximately this time a night so I don’t have a clue as where to start. About 15 minutes later we arrive at IP as well and are hungry. Subway & Burger King are both closed at O’Shea so we start walking until we smell food. We end up at Flamingo’s Food court were – of course – we find Bozzie sinking his teeth into a huge burger. Seems like a plan to me. This would only be my fifth burger of the day so what the heck.
Everyone goes to sleep because it’s 05:30 but Hugo and I had over to Bellagio for some poker. Underway we see fight breaking out at Bills which is about as surprisingly as finding Bozzie in the Flamingo’s food court so we don’t stick around to see who will win this brawl. Unfortunately they can’t seat us at different tables at Bellagio so we decide to call it a night. We burn a couple of dollars at the Village People slots in IP and score a water off the waitress for the inevitable headache tomorrow. 06:30. Bedtime. The first night in Vegas strangely felt like returning back home for some reason. When I arrive at my room I find Fratie sound asleep while holding the remote in his hand. I have to pull it out of his hands with some force, a ritual I will be repeating about six more times this week.
Fratie in action.
After a cruciating 5 hours we start descending for Las Vegas. I can’t help but think how much it would suck for the plane to crash now. I mean, a header into a high building would have been the nearest thing to a blessing five minutes after departure but know that we got through 49% of our lifetime US Airways travels we might as well put this piece of crap on the ground safely and enjoy a week of good old fashion manly fun.
Our pilot – who’s clearly on an internship – doesn’t drive us straight into the MGM’s Lion Cage so about 30 seconds after touchdown the first dollars are lit on fire on the McCarran Slots with all legs and arms accounted for. We somehow get separated after baggage claim but I manage to find Fratie, Bozzie & Peltinho so we hob into the first cab available.
“Why?”. Good question, sir. The question is asked by our cabdriver after we tell him our destination; Imperial Palace. The reason we are staying at Imperial is pretty simple; location, location, location aka ‘we are cheap bastards’. During our 2009 trip we stayed at Circus Circus and ‘upgraded’ to Imperial for the 2010 trip. We hardly ever spend more then 5 hours in our room so paying more than the bare minimum seems like a waste of monies we’d rather blow away on ice cold beers and equally cold misplaced 4 bets. With a Subway in O’Shea, a Starbucks around the corner and a low-limit poker room to gather at before going to diner Imperial offers us all we need. So, we take the smell, the Carnival tent on our balcony and the STD’s in the bathroom for granted…..
Surprisingly we don’t get longhault by the friendly cabby and we shoot him a $ 20,- note for this $ 12,- quickie. We have to wait for Iebus to check in because he somehow ended up with al the necessary papers. Peltinho was my roommate for the past two trips but he shipped the single room fair and square on our last home game a few weeks ago so I’m gonna try my luck with Fratie this trip. Fratie quit smoking five weeks ago but unfortunately his spine is as flexible as his legs and he therefore requested a smoking room. I protest mildly but when I find out the smoking room is not in Tower 5 I’m happy enough not having a DJ on my doorstep till 4AM so I indulge.
Single Room Winner Peltinho.
It takes me about four steps from the elevator to the hallway to muster up a massive headache from the terrible smell on floor 6. How the hell did I agree to a smoking room? There are no dead hookers or used condoms in the room so I’ll guess the room is as good as can be expected form IP. I unpack quickly, jump into the shower and head downstairs to let the good times roll.
Hugo & Baars were supposed to arrive in Vegas two hours before us but after checking at the desk we found out they haven’t checked-in to IP jet. They don’t respond to any text messages so they probably missed their connecting flight in Houston which was scheduled rather ambitiously. I head over to the poker room which is severely pimped since our last visit and now located at the front of the casino. As I’m about to sit down I see Hugo & Baars in the check in line and head over to shake hands. Apparently they didn’t have any trouble on their trip and arrived more then two hours ago but Baars immediately fell in love with the dealertainers and Hugo shared the same passion for some fresh Budweiser’s so they left their luggage at the desk and stormed towards the casino floor.
It’s 19:30 when I sit down at the 2/4 Limit game to kick of this trip. I remember my first hand from the 2010 trip (KQh) and have low expectations of the first one on this trip but ATh pops in the window and it’s only $ 2,- to see the flop on the button. Great deal imo. Flop comes 46T. Two hearts. Vegas baby! I’m back. I had a great run in Vegas for the past two trips. To give you an idea; I played seven tournaments in Vegas so far en shipped two, chopped one four way and ended third and fourth in two others. That’s five ITM finishes out of seven tries. I can’t make a hand in my local casino to safe my life but in Vegas the card have always been good to me.
Me still having chips…..
First hand, fist flop, top pair, top kicker, nut flush draw. Booyah! I bet the flop and turn (2c) but smell trouble when MP leads the 9s river. I’m basically death all-day but this is still 2/4 Limit. In Las Vegas. I call and see that 49o arrived at wherever it was going to on the flop. Small mistake of the Vegas poker gods. No Biggie. The very next hand I see A6s and flop A78. Two spades. Here we go. Ship da moniez. I again bet flop and turn but scratch my hand when and old chick leads the river 6. Hmmm. 2/4 Limit. Las Vegas. Friday night. Two pair could be good. Old chick tables the obvious 9To.
For the next two hours I watch my ugly grey chips fly over the table in every direction but the correct one. I manage to not win a single pot over the course of two hours. That doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself. I’m having a blast with an Irishman called David, but more on him later. There are two American buddies in their mid thirty’s at the table. Right of the bat I don’t like these ****ers. It’s more than clear than they are roll playing about there jobs. One is a ‘lawyer’ and the other one is a ‘doctor’. I wouldn’t trust these guys to make my a Subway sandwich correctly but if you’re trying to be more interesting the three days a year the misses lets you out of the house; by all means go ahead.
In the ten seat is an old man. A friendly old man. Someone who could just be anyone’s grandfather. This guy is minding his own business and sipping on a rum and coke while folding his cards all-day. At one point the board is AA964 and the friendly old man tables K9. One of the two buddies who’s heads-up with him shakes his head in disbelieve, looks at his card for 10 seconds and again shakes his head. The dealer pushes the $ 25,- pot toward the old man when this piece of crap tables AQ for the winner. Really? Did you just slowroll an at least 75 year old? Both buddies are laughing their ass of as I start my prayers for them to get hit by a bus on The Strip tonight.
Anyway, back to David. David is an Irishman in his mid forties. David has been quiet for his first 15 minutes at the table but then out of nowhere asks if the shirt that I’m wearing is new. It isn’t. I’m wearing a yellow Italian designer shirt which I bough about a year ago. It was prized $ 250,- but we’re staying at Imperial for a reason so you guys know I’m not paying no $ 250,- for no shirt. I bought it at around ¼ of it’s original price at some final sale in a boutique. It strikes me a little odd that a forty something year old guy from Ireland could apparently care less. David is wearing an Adidas t-shirt which I think was black about 10 years ago when he bought it but it’s as grey as IP chips nowadays. Again 15 minutes pass when Davis – again, out of he blue - asks: “The shirt, was it on sale?” I’m not nearly vein enough to claim it wasn’t so when I start of by saying ‘Yes’ and want to follow up with the final sale story when I realize - rather late - that this guy is taking a piss at me and my shirt. “Still a nice shirt though”, David ends our little chat. Ireland 1. Netherlands 0.
If you know anyone from Ireland you know they use the word you Americans refer to as ‘The F-bomb” an average of three times in every sentence that contains more than five words. David is no exception to this stereotype. Dealer Jack explains that rule number five doesn’t allow profanities at the table. “Well **** rule number five”. Strike one. Jack explains that there is a lady at the table so David should watch his language. “Miss, do you mind if I use the word ****” Strike 2. David balances on the thin line of getting removed from the table but a dealer change saves him. David sees the dealer change as three new strikes and pretty much uses these strikes with one sentence. At this point I’m crying my eyes out in laughter. David decides to quit the game but politely informs the person taking his place of the rules. “Sir, you cannot say **** at the table but you have three strikes so it’s **** one. **** two. **** three and your out. Remember that”. Epic David.
After two hours and zero pots I cash out $ 11,- and shake off the loss on the long walk towards the IP restrooms. I tell myself that if this had been a No Limit game I probably would have been on the next flight home and because de cocktail waitress was testing her new running shoes I managed to squeeze in seven or eight Corona’s during this slaughtering. Weighing them in a $ 8,- a pop without tip this can hardly be seen as a loss. The hell with poker. Time for some serious Clubbin’.
There is a thing you need to know about VPC Clubbin’. We call everything that even remotely involves the consumption of alcohol; Clubbin’. If you see two VPC’ers drinking a glass of red wine ( you wont, don’t worry) at a restaurant then those two would be; Clubbin’. If you see us waving our dicks at hot chicks while balancing on the Voodoo Lounge balcony we’re still just; Clubbin’. Although the latter maybe be referred to as PowerClubbin’.
I can’t find anyone after my lovely poker session and no one answers their phone. Great. After about ten minutes I receive a text massage that says: Carnival!. So I head over towards Harrah’s Carnival joint. This place used to suck monkey balls from what I remember but I guess we have to get the party started somewhere. Glad to see they cleaned up the joint at least a little bit and the blackjack tables in the back don’t hurt either.
When I ask Baars what his first impression of this little town is I can see we took a serious gambler to town as Baars doesn’t hear a word I’m saying and is looking at the blackjack table like a hawk looks upon it’s prey. We hang around the Carnival for a couple of hours and drink Budweiser’s out of a can. I don’t mind. I love drinking beer out of a can for some strange reason but I seem to be the only one.
The Carnival joint.
After about an hour I get approached by two women who say they absolutely love my shirt. Seeing how I usually get approached by women around zero times per year when not in Vegas my ‘entertainment industry’ alarm bells start ringing immediately. These girls don’t look like working ladies but one can never be sure here. Maybe triggered by David’s remark earlier I somehow respond “I know the shirt is epic” in the most arrogant way I’ve probably ever said anything. I try to save myself by saying thanks but the damage is done. The girls look at each other as if they just met the biggest douche ever and wonder off into the Vegas night. Good start. I left a lovely girl back in The Netherlands and don’t have any intentions of cheating on her but I do enjoy the occasional flirt. These girl were 7’s. Vegas has a huge lack of these type of girls. Most women in Vegas are either breathtaking or horrendous and if you look at our introduction pictures 7’s are definitely the top of the range we should be aiming for. Oh well.
Baars is already on a hot blackjack streak but Hugo, Iebus & Fratie aren’t doing to well when we leave the Carnival to move our thirstiness towards The Rockhouse. It’s 02:30 and we don’t feel like paying the $ 20,- entrance fee. We manage to get in for $ 10,- (which is the normal entrance fee anyway) but the place isn’t doing it for us. The Rockhouse is crowded with hip-hop lovers and that music just blows. We drink two Budweiser’s but then leave the place. Now, it’s 03:30 on our first Vegas night so going to bed is not an option. I suggest bowling at the GoldCoast and about ten minutes later the balls are in the air.
It’s my fifth of sixed visited to this place but walking around the corner and seeing the 70 lanes still baffles me. For traditional reasons Iebus buys the ugliest socks available. I don’t remember much form the bowling accept that I didn’t hit more than five pins. I usually bowl around 150 while being drunk but its gutter balls all around this time. We pay for two games but are done with bowling after one round. We head downstairs for craps, more beer and ballroom / elevator dancing.
New socks for Iebus....
Fratie in the Ballroom....
Fratie & me dancing…..
Lol @ Bozzie drinking beer….
Peltinho, Bozzie, Roeie & Fratie take the cab back to IP while the rest hangs around the craps table. Craps has been explained to me four times but all four times at approximately this time a night so I don’t have a clue as where to start. About 15 minutes later we arrive at IP as well and are hungry. Subway & Burger King are both closed at O’Shea so we start walking until we smell food. We end up at Flamingo’s Food court were – of course – we find Bozzie sinking his teeth into a huge burger. Seems like a plan to me. This would only be my fifth burger of the day so what the heck.
Everyone goes to sleep because it’s 05:30 but Hugo and I had over to Bellagio for some poker. Underway we see fight breaking out at Bills which is about as surprisingly as finding Bozzie in the Flamingo’s food court so we don’t stick around to see who will win this brawl. Unfortunately they can’t seat us at different tables at Bellagio so we decide to call it a night. We burn a couple of dollars at the Village People slots in IP and score a water off the waitress for the inevitable headache tomorrow. 06:30. Bedtime. The first night in Vegas strangely felt like returning back home for some reason. When I arrive at my room I find Fratie sound asleep while holding the remote in his hand. I have to pull it out of his hands with some force, a ritual I will be repeating about six more times this week.
Fratie in action.
04-11-2012
, 09:21 AM
Welcome to the States drink in Philly. The empty spot between Checkko and Bozzie is reserved for Fruithof to be photoshopped in. Kind as a tribute...
The poor dude has never seen Vegas IRL, and likely never will, but he tells the stories better then anyone who has lived them.
