Billowing clouds of thick, acrid fog boil out of the blackness in angry masses. They surge into the pulsating discord of lights emanating from the underside of a spacecraft, the bulk of which is lost in the inky gloom. A figure in an astronaut's space suit suddenly looms out from the swirling chaos. He is backlit by the appearance of an ominous orange light that wells up from the primordial darkness and fights it's way through the oily atmosphere, clawing angrily at the suit's resistant shell. A sharp clap of thunder erupts and twin lasers flash down like vindictive bolts of lightning, erupting into small explosions to either side of the mysterious traveler. In that instant the space suit somehow disintegrates and is lost is the swirling maelstrom - leaving a tuxedo-clad Wayne Newton who erupts down a flight of pulsating stairs that materialize from the void. Next to me, Elvis Presley hoists a giant mug of margarita over his head and begins to whoop at the top of his lungs. My life isn't always this strange; only some of the time. It's summer and Reece is going to be getting married in a couple of months, so we decide that we should all go on an out of town stag/bender. Vegas is selected as the destination because it seems like the perfect place for a stag - lots of booze, gambling, booze, showgirls and booze. We also decide that the groom should be dressed in an Elvis costume because nothing is funnier than someone in a giant black wig and airtight synthetic suit on a summer day in the desert. Opening Night: A Different Kind of Pyramid
Eight of us go - screaming into the acrid, ruby-eye of Vegas on a Thursday night, bloodstreams already coursing with airline booze. After a quick dinner at our hotel, it's off up the strip in search of gambling excitement. We soon wind up at the Stardust where we gamble tiny sums of money until the small hours, while trying to wring as much courtesy booze out of the waitresses as possible. Stu begins to demonstrate an interesting affinity for blackjack that isn't coupled with a knack for it. Happily, Stu's devotion to Blackjack makes getting free booze easier for the rest of us low-rollers. Already bored with the gambling, Flipperson wanders off to scout the casino out. He rounds a corner and suddenly finds himself face to face with a large cougar. She is sitting at a slot machine, a cigarette dangling from bright red lips. Perhaps 50 years old, she is sporting a tight leather miniskirt and a strapless, sleeveless, leopard skin top. A pyramid shaped obelisk of golden blonde hair that teeters precariously atop her grizzled frame completes the effect. Flip is frozen in place like a deer caught in the headlights, causing her to turn and notice him. She takes a good look, eyes like viscous oil slicks panning up and down, sizing up potential prey. Her eyes meet his, her mouth cracks slightly open and a rubbery, wormlike tongue slides out and licks her lips. Flip panics, spills his drink, and runs for the safety of the group. He reappears at the Blackjack table, pale and jittery. The evening rolls on while we gamble, drink, and generally annoy the staff. Several odd little men approach Reece with great excitement, assuming he's a real Elvis impersonator. They become distressed and then angry when they discover that he's only a guy on a stag. The weirdest people on earth gather in Las Vegas. Day Two: Mr. Flick's Wild Ride An angry desert sun burns down from the dry reaches of the thin Eastern sky, directly onto a swimming pool ringed by lifeless palm trees that loom as weary sentinels in the heavy air. To the West, every nanojoule of the sun's escaping fury is reflected directly back down onto the pool's hapless inhabitants by the giant parabolic mirror that is the Luxor hotel. Breakfast margarita's in hand, we lounge in the distractingly cool waters of the pool. Flip and I stay low in the water, watching with amazement as our fellow pasty-white Canadians stand and lie around sunning themselves. Naturally no one considers suntan lotion. Once everyone but me and Flip are cooked a bright, lobster red, we are ready for a big day of wandering the casinos. I make a point of slapping on the back anyone who suggests anything, enthusiastically saying "good idea!" Numerous death threats are uttered. Vegas is a tough town. |
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