A friend of mine, in his infinite wisdom, decided to have his bachelor party in Las Vegas on Super Bowl weekend when there was also a big UFC fight. This calculated yet incredibly naïve move all but guaranteed that everything that makes Vegas fun (gambling, crowds, atmosphere, booze, and weird fucking people) would be exacerbated to catastrophic and nearly unbearable levels. Depending on your perspective, and how much of a no-fun tightass you are, you can roll with the punches or whine about it all weekend. Either way, these are the nine types of people you will encounter while in Vegas.
The Guy Completely Losing His Ass
We’ve probably all been this guy at some point. If you lose money slowly, you can still have a pretty good night as long as your alcohol intake offsets your losses a little, especially considering Vegas drink prices. But the guy completely losing his ass will be down $200 before the waitress even returns with his first Jack and Diet. This guy is a trooper, and he will casually laugh off the whipping he just took and say, “Well, at least I got my losing out of the way early,” as he returns to the ATM. If only that were true. After he quickly becomes $500 down, his tune changes. It will not be easy to pull him out of this deep depression of failure. Perhaps the best bet is to consult an Obvious Prostitute. The house always wins, but most STDs are manageable.
The Obvious Prostitute
While prostitution is legal in the form of brothels in some counties in Nevada, it is not legal in Clark County, which contains Las Vegas. That being said, there are obvious, plastic-heeled prostitutes on the arm of every dirty old man and Mafioso on The Strip. They all have the same grip on the guy’s upper arm. It’s a firm yet subtle grip that says, “Yeah, I have daddy issues and do weird shit with gross people, but I make more than you ever will.” These women of the night are everywhere, looking for the next unsuspecting hornball to share her herpes with for a substantial fee. The high-class ones are already spoken for for the next thirteen minutes, but the lower-end hobags will openly solicit on the street, offering a “good time” with the implied promise of penicillin and urine that burns with the heat of a thousand suns. The Vegas skanks are true masters of their craft, and you have to respect it.
The Overly Shitfaced Friend You Ignore
It’s only 8 p.m., and Kevin is fucking shithoused. He’s not gonna make it to any of the planned activities, nor will he be able to stand for very much longer. You distinctly remember telling him to load up on carbs and protein at lunch and dinner, but he didn’t want to pay for a steak, so this cheap asshole just made his poor decisions your problem. You could be a good friend and take him up to his room to sleep it off, but you’re on a heater, so you ignore Kevin until this time bomb of a situation reaches critical mass. The only thing higher than your chip count is the probability that this dipshit is going to hurl in public. Eventually, you decide to avoid the vomit-induced spectacle and take him upstairs, returning to find your heater is over. Fuck Kevin.
The Sociopathic Dealer
Most of the dealers in Vegas are really nice people, who at least make you believe they want you to win. Then there are the total dicks who like nothing more than seeing you hemorrhage money and slowly devolve into a sad, drunk rage-monster. Enter Mei, who took us to the woodshed while not smiling, speaking, or making eye contact for twenty minutes. She had none of the usual playful banter between dealers and newly-reamed patrons, just cold-blooded scowls and emotionless silence. Mei is a sweet looking, balding, older Chinese (I think) lady. That is, until you look into her dead, sadistic eyes after she flops her third blackjack in a row and you realize she’s actually a demon sent from hell to take all your money and possibly claim your soul for Lucifer. That kind of evil can’t be from this world, and I fully expect there to be a giant pentagram drawn in blood on the carpet where her table sits. A couple more years of balding and the Mark of the Beast will be clearly visible on Mei’s scalp. What a bitch.
The Guy Trying To Score Illicit Drugs
Every group has a wild card. It takes a special kind of degenerate to decide that ample gambling, prostitutes, and unlimited free alcohol just aren’t enough to get his fucking party on. This guy will casually drop hints to others at the table that he’s looking to blow illicit drugs up his nose, with every idiotic attempt more brazen than the last. After countless strikeouts, he opts for the home run ball and asks the dealer if he “has a guy for that.” The dealer gives his best “WTF, man?” stare and then just looks away in disgust. The odds of this guy finding drugs and not getting murdered doing so are about 10 percent. Raoul Duke would not be impressed.
The Unsolicited Life Story Giver
It’s true, gambling next to someone creates a bond that will last a lifetime. You may have forgotten his name or his job when he said it, but he was a good guy and you went on a hell of a run. Then, there’s the guy who mistakes you for a friend and tells you he came to Vegas to hit it big so he could leave his shitty life behind. I mean, he’s just really dumping out his purse on the roulette table. Hopefully you’re not on a heater, because you need to relocate ASAGDMFP.
The Enforcer Of The Vegas Douchebag Stereotype
This guy is your classic over-quoter and invoker of clichés. He’s dropping The Hangover quotes all weekend and saying, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, motherfuckers!” to every round of drinks. What a beating. This will be the guy who tries to order shots from casino waitresses. He can’t handle Vegas, and he’s overly confident that he’s the life of the party. He will soon start creepily approaching large groups of girls who came with larger groups of guys. He’s going to get his ass kicked, and you have to accept that.
The Terrifying Eastern European Guy
From the second he sits next to you at the tables, this possibly Russian, Serbian, Romanian, Ukrainian, or whatever guy scares the absolute piss out of you. You don’t know if it’s his sheer size or his likely employment as a sex trafficker, but you’re terrified. When he wins a hand, there is no response, but when he loses, he clinches his giant fist or cracks his knuckles in such a way that sends a chill running down your spine. If he loses three hands in a row, take your chips and get the hell outta there before Dolph Lundgren here loses his shit and snaps you in half.
This guy just doesn’t quite fit in among the gaggle of tourists and weirdos in Vegas, and there’s a reason: He’s from Vegas and he still resides in this city of broken dreams and cheap lobster tail. While most non-locals make an event of going out in Vegas, dressing up and whatnot, this guy just rolls out of bed, throws on his Las Vegas Outlaws indoor football T-shirt, and hits the town. He’ll tell you about this “awesome bar just off the strip no one knows about” that you have to try. He’ll tell you how he won ten grand one night when he was twenty and the dealer never carded him. He will neglect to mention that the bar is a shithole, and in the twelve years since his big win, he has given back his winnings with 1,000 percent interest. He has a mean gambling addiction and lives in shitty hotels or shittier hotels depending on the ebbs and flows of his gambling losses. He also smells like shit..
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