Speakin’ of Leavin’ & Grievin’ & Drinkin’ & Sneezin’ & Thinkin’…. Too Much…I Shoulda Left Las Vegas! & Louisiana! Naw! I Love Las Vegas/Or, As More Frequently Referred: “Lost Wages!!!” I Love Louisiana Too!!!–See Be-low! — Elisabeth Shue— Screw You Too!

“I May Drink Too Much!

Smoke too Much!

Stay Out Late Out Late At Night Yoo Much!

Elisabeth Shue!

Please Marry Me!

I Promise To Be True!

To You!

Life is Just a Tire Swing!

Hitch Yer Wagon to a Star!

Martha Tilton

Cred for vid: Croonr1

**********

Jimmy Buff–Aye!

OKAy!

Yay!

“I’m Just a Tired, Worn-Out, Broken Swing!”

C’est Moi!

Tired Swing!

Cred: OutdoorChautauqua

Thank You!

This is Such a Charming Video!

Huh???

Really??

Nother Fun Fack:

Lance is A Dumb-Ass With No Class!

Cred: Jimmy-Some-Guy

Gotta Make a Livin’

*****

I Love You Emmylou!

You Are So Beautiful!

Liz Shue

I Love You!

GODDoddm-nIt!

Gone-Damn It!

This HITS

Way Too Close to my-HOME!

(Fun, Pointless Fact: Those Are Baby Koi Carp in That Fish Tank)

I know My Fish! Trust Me On This!

****

Las Vegas
And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

(Not Many were brave enuff, or stupid enuff, to get into my car at two a.m.)

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm. 

Priceless.

Continue reading

This is Ded-Eye-Cated To A Woman Of Whom I Am Rather Fond, But Who Hates Me (Whew! Dat’s A bold Statement Cowboy) Her Name Begins With An ‘M’ and ends W/An ,,, N/M–No Doxxer Here! Not I. She Won’t read this NEway. “Shonnie The Biker’s Wife VI: Vegas’ ‘Soft Porn’, or ‘Blue Hotel Room’

Dedicated to the One I Love

And The Darkest Hour is Just Before Dawn (Or Mary, or Sue–I am easily Confused—Easily)

Author’s Apology: The Font(s) in this post are WAY Too Large, but WP will NOT Allow Me to FIX This. Once Again, I find me apologizing for the Lame-Azz inadequacy of Word-Press

***

Vid Share Cred: Folk Experience

******

Do NOT Read This With Kids Around!
It is Christmas time
Go Wrap the Presents, or sumthin…
Git Yer Mind Outta My gutter.
I Live There all alone
Merry Christmas

*****

Survey sez:

“Lance, You will be spending Yet Another Christmas All Alone.”

Lance sez, “Well, at least this time I am not in Iraq or Afghanistan or Sinai, and I do trust no one will be shooting at me…. Right?

“Don’t venture out.”

“Okay. Good advice. Thanks.”

“Da nada.”

*******

Shonnie Saga Continues:

Unsuitable for minors and miners, and especially casual diners:

Adult Content

If you find yourself on the

‘Prude Side of the Pew’,

You may want to skip this one.

(And That’s a Joke, Y’all.)

Relax!

Lock your screen if you need to step–away from your computer for a moment.

***

She extinguished her Marlboro and stood up. Nonchalantly dropping her robe onto the floor, she lay back on the bed. Seductively, she brought her left knee half-way to her chin, then turned slightly to face me.

I had to pause for a moment to fill my eyes. Her petite body approached perfection. Very light-skinned, almost cream colored–warm cream–French Vanilla, like for coffee.

She was so silky-smooth-to-my-touch, everywhere I touched.

With smatterings of freckles ‘strategically’ placed here and there, she could best be described as almost ‘Half-Ginger-Cinnamon-Girl’.

With Attitude

Cinnamon Girl

The combination of all her traits nearly made me believe in a God.

No. They Made me Actually Believe in a ‘God-Ess’, specifically ‘Aphrodite’ and her descendants, one of whom I held captive inside a Blue Hotel Room at that very moment in my time.

Yep

‘Aphrodite’

Much more accurate.

And here is why:

The Good, The Bad, and The Beautiful

The Good:

Justice: Aphrodite Always Helped The He who was forever teased and tormented by The She, The She with whom He was hopelessly in love.

Joyful: Because she was the Goddess of Love, she brought joy and laughter to mortals. (‘Weren’t no thang; just a happy collateral side-effect.’)

Beauty: Aphrodite was most Beautiful and Seductive, The Most Beautiful and Seductive, and she brought her ‘beautiful seductive’ to everyone who was lucky / unlucky enough to know her, or only even of her.

(Lucky or Unlucky?) Kinda depended upon one’s frame of reference and the eventual outcome. Your mileage may, or may already have–varied–Contingent upon your age, I suppose)

The Bad:

Treacherous: Aphrodite did not love her husband Hephaestus, so she sought out Ares.

Malicious: In the story of “Aphrodite and Psyche,” Aphrodite heard of Psyche, and jealous of all the attention people paid to Psyche, she summoned her son Eros, and had him put a spell on Psyche, thus ruining her day, and indeed, the rest of her life for that matter.

Jealous: Aphrodite did not want any mortal to be more beautiful than she. And she just would not tolerate it, not even the mention of the possibility of it.

Period.

End of that story.

Greedy: When she saw pretty things, she took them.

And I can attest to the veracity of this. Shonnie, descendant of Aphrodite, found my heart to be a ‘Pretty Thing,’ so she took it. She has never given it back either.

The Beautiful:

“A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words”

Do any of these traits strike you as being vaguely familiar?

Remind you of Someone?

Well they should, if you have been paying attention.

Here’s a Hint:Related by Marriage to a Biker

Not Actually Her: Just A Reasonable Facsimile

(Full Disclosure:  ‘Blond’ is not my usual ‘type’—truly I have always been a ‘semi-tall-brunette-with-a-tan’ man; never had any luck with blonds at all, but then, Shonnie was a different kind of blond, now wasn’t she?)

***

The sun was setting outside the huge hotel window and cast a slight shadow over her. Her hair was still semi-damp and fell down perfectly over her breasts, slightly curling up at the ends. Her right leg was seductively raised up, bent at her knee and turned slightly to the side.

(Yes. Yes! I know! I already mentioned this pose. Please allow me the simple, sinful pleasure of revisiting that image just-one-more-time-in-my-mind. Thank you.)

Her pose thus denied me any direct look at my lustfully desired objective, but I was confident I could find it.

A better scripted scene could not have been created by even Howard Hawks. (Thinking ‘To Have and Have Not’ here—Bogie an’ Bacall).

“Anybody got a match?”

“Yeah, Shonnie & Lance”

***

I continued to draw the scene into my mind, hoping to meld it permanently with my memory cells. Joni began singing “Blue Motel Room” on the boom box.

“You window shoppin’, or are you coming into the store?”

“Into the store,” I said, “I have spied something interesting enough to draw me in.”

I knelt down at the foot of the bed, picked up her right leg and kissed the underside of her foot, then took her big toe into my mouth for a moment or two sucking it; licking it.

Then I began working my way up her calf to the inside of her thighs, ever so slowly back and forth, ‘thigh to thigh’, I suppose you could say.

At this point she was beginning to writhe a bit. I proceeded north and just as ‘Blue Motel Room’ ended, I began.

Tantalizingly slow at first, then faster and faster, then slowly again… occasionally gently sucking her clitoris, alternating with circular tongue motions, also mixed in with rapid back and forth tongue movements.

While Joni sang ‘Song for Sharon’, a rather longish song, I brought Shonnie, by my count, to three or four climaxes. (But what do I know? Well, I WAS THERE, after all, and I felt her contractions in my mouth.)

I was about to lose it myself so I threw my back down beside her, pulling her on top of me. Grasping her so fine, firm little ass.

She suddenly sat bolt upright, straddling me, grabbing my arms and pinning me down. She passionately fucked me with what could almost be described as ‘pure sexual violence’.

(No ‘making love’ in this instance; we had succumbed to our basic ‘animalistic’ instincts!)

Embarrassed to report, but about twenty seconds after I entered her, I was spent. She didn’t complain though. She rolled off of me and lay on her back, both of us panting, sweating, but completely and blissfully sated (and spent)

Joni began singing ‘Refuge Of The Roads’.

***

Another Thinly Veiled Foreshadowing?

Perhaps…

“Another Fuckin’ Song Lance? Really? You’re Wearing us OUT!”

“This one is Important. Very Important!”

“It is Joni’s song, yes.

“But more than that, way much more than that,”

“It is Shonnie’s Song.”

Not requisite that you listen, only requested, but it sure would make-my-day if you did listen. The Words are important.

–Lance said That

“And… if you DO Watch/Listen, you will ‘auto-magically’ be entered into the First-Ever…”

“Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics”

“Give-Away of Free Stuff Lottery”

(Quantity and Quality of Stuff Subject to Availability)

‘Availability’ of money in the author’s bank account.

Good Luck!

***

Shonnie said, “Reach me a cig, will ya Baby?” (First time she had called me ‘Baby’. I loved the way it sounded coming from her slightly course and throaty voice.

I lit two Marlboros at once, ‘Movie Style’, handed one to her. We lay back, smoking and began (between giggles and exchanging ‘We are so great, and proud of us’ looks) a smoke ring competition.

(I lost.)

***

Cigarettes dispatched, Joni run out, silence now, Shonnie once again broached the subject,

“Are you ever gonna show me this town?”

“Yes, I am. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

***

There is Always Gonna Be At Least One Critic:

Previously:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Part VII: A Crappy Star is Born”

***

Commentary Section From Original Post.

For continuity, please read from the bottom up.

***

27 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE, PT VI: VEGAS’ ‘SOFT PORN’, OR ‘BLUE HOTEL ROOM’”

LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:36 Edit

Actually with just a little practice, they are quite easy to produce. Of course it helps a lot if you’re a smoker…

Thanks very much for your visit.

Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:33 Edit

I thought smoke rings was something they only did in cartoons? I almost want to take up smoking to see if it can be done in real life!

LAMarcom July 21, 2014 at 17:49 Edit

Hehehe,

Thanks so much.

Cheers,

Lance

NancyTex July 21, 2014 at 08:25 Edit

Total lady-boner material right here. Well done, Lance.

LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 12:31 Edit

It was, yes, one of those ‘wow’ moments.

😉

Thanks for reading and for the great comment.

Wow!

Cheers,

Lance

LVital7019 July 16, 2014 at 12:25 Edit

HEL-lo! Inaword: Wow. 😉

LAMarcom June 23, 2014 at 19:12 Edit

evil grin *

Thanks Sandra!

Sandra June 23, 2014 at 18:42 Edit

Dang is the AC broken again? No, it’s just Lance telling another story. 😉

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 11:12 Edit

Haha! You know, wh@t happens in Vegas… Well, you know.

Thanks Annie for reading my ‘Blue’ Hotel Room.

Cheers,

-Lance

Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 22, 2014 at 10:58 Edit

I know it is hot in Vegas, but REALLY! LOL

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 10:13 Edit

Don’t touch that dial!

🙂

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:57 Edit

Really?

Money?

Cash money?

Hahaha!

And I spent all that time reading an’ watching ‘Macbeth’

And trying to emulate Shakespeare and Marlowe…

Sadie,

You always make me smile!

My Friend!

🙂

~ Sadie ~ June 22, 2014 at 00:52 Edit

WOW Lance – women pay money for this shit . . . just saying . . . 😉

Looking forward to Part 7!!

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:23 Edit

And sexy, eh?

Laughing out loud!

Tis a true story, by the way.

Shonnie was just that… sexy.

I miss her!

Anonymous June 22, 2014 at 00:20 Edit

Wow!

Intense!

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:16 Edit

Sadie, I am just a guy with a desire.

To write.

Thank you.

~ Sadie ~ June 22, 2014 at 00:12 Edit

Lance – I haven’t even read it yet – in the middle of 3 diff things BUT def reading before I go to bed tonight. Just had to tell you when I checked my email & saw the new installment I was all frickin excited dancing in my chair & chanting yay yay yay!!! I have absolutely loved this series of stories. GREAT job in the writing & the execution, keeping us all waiting with bated breath for your nest chapter!!! 🙂

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 23:44 Edit

My weakest point is, alas, understanding things. But I’m a-hang around just the same because fading away is something I ain’t mastered yet, either.

Keep ’em coming, my friend!

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:53 Edit

yes.

Frame of ref here, David.

My mind is all over some place.

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:51 Edit

Happily enuff, It is coming.

After the bliss what was the bliss, that was, Las Vegas.

For us.

(You see? I have to build the bliss, before the remiss.)

Shorely, Certainly, (Shirley?) you, of all people, understand.

The unrequited bliss.

David Scott Moyer June 21, 2014 at 22:43 Edit

Used to be???

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 22:41 Edit

Oh man, I was looking for the weird and all I got was that Lance got laid. Where’s the weird? I wants the weird! 😀

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:20 Edit

Most assuredly, the pants.

Loosen ’em up a mite.

Then you will be fine.

With wine.

And thanks for reading.

(Don’t tell anyone I used to be a pervert.)

Please!

Anonymous June 21, 2014 at 22:16 Edit

Whew! Is it hot in here or is it just me yoga pants?

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 21:59 Edit

Lee, I thought you had banished me due to my Socialist Lean.

So glad ya didn’t.

Thanks my old good friend!

Keep reading.

It does get ‘weirder’

Lee June 21, 2014 at 21:40 Edit

whew!

Re-Run Retard Alert! (Embedded in My Last–The One b4 This One) “Still In Vegas And Rememberance Mode! And Here, Find Here: A Final Throw-Back: “Lost Wages” I need a Sabbatical”

“So, What Brings You to Las Vegas?”

“I Came Here To Drink Myself To Death.”

 

Thought I’d throw this back out, before I delete it and since I ‘swerved onto it’ and it made me laugh because I still cannot believe I am capable of writing such shit at this late date in my lifetime.)

And a fucking night moth just flew past my ear. This Moth don’t know my mind and who she is fucking with! Just saying. Just saying: Sleep is an option (for me). Gonna explore it. 

Catch Y’all Manana.

And… ya know… Rambling is my soul.

Laughter is the song of your Soul.

Hope you like it.

(be certain to watch the video of Sammy Davis and Dean and Frank and Johnny Carson: you will not be disappointed–classic Rat Trap, er…Pack.)

Cheers,

Lance

Shucks!

***********

Las Vegas

And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

One Saturday night after a not-too-lucky session at the craps table, I fell asleep in my car, which was always parked in the Union Plaza Parking Lot & Cow Pasture.

plaza

Union Plaza
Live it Up!

Well I woke up Sunday morning, (with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt) knowing full-well that I was due back in San Diego and on my “boat” before nightfall.

While attempting to drive out of the parking lot, the young uniformed schmuck informed me that I owed two dollars for the parking.

“Listen Asshole, I just dropped two grand in your casino last night.”

“Sorry Sir, but the parking is two dollars.”

“Let me say this one more time: I just ‘invested’ two large in your fucking casino.”

“Sir, I am just doing my job.”

“And me mine, for fuck’s sake. I’m protecting your way of life and your right to be an idiot.”

I then proceeded to drive through his little wooden gate, trailing splinters all over, never looking back except briefly to see the look on his face. (This behavior is not unprecedented in my past).

Got to San Diego with no gas, no cigs, no money, and no nada.

Had to ring up (collect) my girlfriend to meet me at a station and buy me some gas just to get to 32nd Street and back to my ship.

Ah! To be young, bullet-proof, and not worry about life’s consequences!

I love Las Vegas.

Was once almost thrown out of the El Cortez (Downtown Glitter Gulch) for card counting.

You see, I had read and studied Kenny Uston’s book

My Hero

My Hero

which I had purchased in a book store in Hong Kong. I spent many hours a day while at sea, practicing Uston’s card-counting methods.  I also read Ed Thorp’s (The guy who “invented” or rather “discovered” card-counting)

Actually, I got rather proficient at it hence my early and unceremonious exit from El Cortez.  I was too proud of my new-found skills and did not try to conceal my counting behavior.  I would place one or two-dollar bets when the deck was ‘cold’ and fifty-dollar bets when the deck went ‘hot’: breaking the cardinal rule, of never ever be obviously stupid. Technically card counting is not illegal, but the casinos will still throw you out if they suspect you have that skill.  And do not mistake: Black Jack is the only “game of skill” in Vegas, aside from poker, but who can afford that?

Slots? Oh Yeah. Once I was playing the “Big Quarter” ($25) machines at the Tropicana and won $5,000. (Proceeded to give it all back at the craps table, but not before I impressed the hell out of the management, betting black chips). They asked me “What do you do for a living?” I said, “I’m in the Navy.” They just shook their heads and asked me if I needed a girl. I said, “No. I just wanna roll a hard six; can you arrange that?”

Roulette? One time, after a particularly successful round of BJ, I was walking out of the Union Plaza (again), dropped a green ($25) chip on seventeen black: Bond, James Bond’s bet.

Bond; James Bond.

Bond; James Bond.

And WON! Took my winnings (approx. $800) and went to breakfast. Smartest, smoothest move I ever made in Vegas. Ah… those were the days My Friend; thought they’d never end….

Obviously I have some stories from Las Vegas.

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm.

Priceless.

***************

I guess that ‘bout sums it all up.

“Live it up, Y’all!”

Mind Gone! Blown! “Now Run Tell That!” –Peanut, semi-famous person.

(Here is the ‘Peanut’ link if ya wanna find the quote.)

My girlfriend is a poker-player. A real good poker-player.

She reads ‘tells’ like I read comic books, i.e. real good.

I am NOT real good at poker. (Craps, Blackjack? Yeah. I shine there)

Anyway…

Here is a transcribed recent conversation, recently transcribed:

“Lance, you’ve been drinking.”

“No I haven’t”

“Yes you have.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because of your ‘tells.’”

“My what?”

“Your ‘tells’.”

“Oh you mean William?”

“No! I mean your ‘tells’.”

“Huh?”

“You telegraph your state.”

“Texas?”

“No Idiot. You telegraph.”

“I don’t speak Morse Code.”

*exasperated looks*

“Lance, I can ‘tell’ when you’ve been drinking from your ‘tells’”

“Tell me my ‘tells’ so that I may amend them.”

“No fucking way I am telling you your ‘tells’”

“Ah! Why not?”

“You just don’t get it do ya?”

“Do tell…”

“Fuck you!”

“Okay.”

P.S. The dog can ‘tell’ too. But he just don’t give-a-shit.

“Bring me a fuckin’ soup bone.”

I threw this video in just because I love it.

(Adds absolutely nothing germane to the story)

“Ahso Meta-Mook!”

Is this a word? ‘Meta-Mook’?

(I guess that line forms on the right.)

The King of COOL!

Bobby Darin!

Still In Vegas And Rememberance Mode! And Here, Find Here: A Final Throw-Back: “Lost Wages” I need a Sabbatical

“So, What Brings You to Las Vegas?”

“I Came Here To Drink Myself To Death.”

 

Thought I’d throw this back out, before I delete it and since I ‘swerved onto it’ and it made me laugh because I still cannot believe I am capable of writing such shit at this late date in my lifetime.)

And a fucking night moth just flew past my ear. This Moth don’t know my mind and who she is fucking with! Just saying. Just saying: Sleep is an option (for me). Gonna explore it. 

Catch Y’all Manana.

And… ya know… Rambling is my soul.

Laughter is the song of your Soul.

Hope you like it.

(be certain to watch the video of Sammy Davis and Dean and Frank and Johnny Carson: you will not be disappointed–classic Rat Trap, er…Pack.)

Cheers,

Lance

Shucks!

***********

Las Vegas

And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

One Saturday night after a not-too-lucky session at the craps table, I fell asleep in my car, which was always parked in the Union Plaza Parking Lot & Cow Pasture.

plaza

Union Plaza
Live it Up!

Well I woke up Sunday morning, (with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt) knowing full-well that I was due back in San Diego and on my “boat” before nightfall.

While attempting to drive out of the parking lot, the young uniformed schmuck informed me that I owed two dollars for the parking.

“Listen Asshole, I just dropped two grand in your casino last night.”

“Sorry Sir, but the parking is two dollars.”

“Let me say this one more time: I just ‘invested’ two large in your fucking casino.”

“Sir, I am just doing my job.”

“And me mine, for fuck’s sake. I’m protecting your way of life and your right to be an idiot.”

I then proceeded to drive through his little wooden gate, trailing splinters all over, never looking back except briefly to see the look on his face. (This behavior is not unprecedented in my past).

Got to San Diego with no gas, no cigs, no money, and no nada.

Had to ring up (collect) my girlfriend to meet me at a station and buy me some gas just to get to 32nd Street and back to my ship.

Ah! To be young, bullet-proof, and not worry about life’s consequences!

I love Las Vegas.

Was once almost thrown out of the El Cortez (Downtown Glitter Gulch) for card counting.

You see, I had read and studied Kenny Uston’s book

My Hero

My Hero

which I had purchased in a book store in Hong Kong. I spent many hours a day while at sea, practicing Uston’s card-counting methods.  I also read Ed Thorp’s (The guy who “invented” or rather “discovered” card-counting)

Actually, I got rather proficient at it hence my early and unceremonious exit from El Cortez.  I was too proud of my new-found skills and did not try to conceal my counting behavior.  I would place one or two-dollar bets when the deck was ‘cold’ and fifty-dollar bets when the deck went ‘hot’: breaking the cardinal rule, of never ever be obviously stupid. Technically card counting is not illegal, but the casinos will still throw you out if they suspect you have that skill.  And do not mistake: Black Jack is the only “game of skill” in Vegas, aside from poker, but who can afford that?

Slots? Oh Yeah. Once I was playing the “Big Quarter” ($25) machines at the Tropicana and won $5,000. (Proceeded to give it all back at the craps table, but not before I impressed the hell out of the management, betting black chips). They asked me “What do you do for a living?” I said, “I’m in the Navy.” They just shook their heads and asked me if I needed a girl. I said, “No. I just wanna roll a hard six; can you arrange that?”

Roulette? One time, after a particularly successful round of BJ, I was walking out of the Union Plaza (again), dropped a green ($25) chip on seventeen black: Bond, James Bond’s bet.

Bond; James Bond.

Bond; James Bond.

And WON! Took my winnings (approx. $800) and went to breakfast. Smartest, smoothest move I ever made in Vegas. Ah… those were the days My Friend; thought they’d never end….

Obviously I have some stories from Las Vegas.

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm.

Priceless.

***************

I guess that ‘bout sums it all up.

“Live it up, Y’all!”

Shoulda Left Las Vegas

Las Vegas
And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm. 

Priceless.

Continue reading