On Saturday, I woke up at a semi-reasonable 8am and then flopped around in bed until 11. What is this blazing death ball in the sky that insists on my being up and about? Why won’t it leave me alone? …Where did it go?

That’s right, folks. It had started pouring outside, to the dismay of all of the NASCAR people who had flooded the city this weekend and four Seattleites who were hoping to engage in more shenanigans.

We immediately decided to head to the tacky end of the strip (aka the end I was staying on) to find the world’s tackiest hoodies to protect us from the elements. I had already predetermined that I was most interested in something that had ‘had the shit bedazzled out of it’ but I was also willing to consider a particularly gross or offensive picture or slogan.

What wonders might we find in the world’s largest gift shop?

Elvis, for one!

A book on proper pole-dancing for two!

Penis nose glasses for three!

We were all pretty taken by these totally fetch velour hoodies, but then I found one that was so tacky, it made me catch my breath in shock and awe. Something that had had the shit bedazzled out of it. We also found butterfly princess crowns that were topped with sparkling fiber optics and bubble wands, and couldn’t pass those up, either. We also considered all hitting the town in matching leopard print snuggies.

Properly outfitted, we decided that the next thing to do was have a lightsaber joust on the moving sidewalks at Bally’s.

Only, when we got outside, as it turned out, the moving sidewalks were broken down and closed off. This was somewhat of an advantage as we figured there wouldn’t be people getting in the way of our picture-taking, but after we climbed over the yellow rope and walked up the escalator stairs, we looked back, and hordes of people were following us up, demonstrating the lemming effect. When I asked them why they followed us, they shrugged. One woman insisted there was no sign or anything that told them that it was broken, so clearly she was either blind or illiterate. Can YOU find the yellow rope, ladies and gentlemen? Hint: It is not as difficult as finding Waldo or doing the Magic Eye pictures.

Jason got video of Matt and I charging one another for our joust, Matt stabbing me with his lightsaber, and me subsequently falling down…in the magnificently sparkly crown. As soon as this assuredly hilarious video hits the internet, I will link it here. (And make a new post about it.)

Jason and Kirsti then did battle.

We got some more pictures and then happened to look down the escalator, where security guards had now taken up residence. We ran for it. They weren’t coming for us, but we ran anyway, and then Jedi-posed on the escalator coming down on the inside.

After these shenanigans, we decided it was time to actually do some gambling and get some free drinks. First things first: Felix has a tradition. Every time one of his friends goes to Vegas, he sends them five bucks to place on the roulette wheel for him. I remembered this earlier in the day and texted him about it:

We couldn’t find a blackjack table for Matt with a reasonable minimum bet–the majority were at $15-$20 min a hand, so we set up shop at the video poker terminals at the bar in Paris.

The bartender was very attentive, and I was plowed in very short order. I began blowing bubbles with my bubble wand after each hand to milk the booze:money spent gambling ratio and also because they were “scho….pretty”.

Some dude came by and asked me to blow a load in his face, and who was I to refuse?

I then got four of a kind twice in a row, struck up a conversation with strangers who were talking about ordering some funky-ass drink called the ‘sparkling wiggle’, told my friends to guard my winnings and my one and a half drinks already at my terminal, and wandered off with said strangers to do shots with them. They were visiting from San Diego, I got phone numbers and supposedly we are going to hang out when I’m in San Diego next month and the Sparkling Wiggle is DELICIOUS. The lady standing next to me won $200 with a five of a kind, high-fived me, everyone screamed ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ down the bar to Kirsti, and then I roamed back, cashed out, and we continued our shenanigans elsewhere.

No one had good luck at the Star Trek machines.

Then we met this dude who wanted to show off his alcohol drinking prowess, and I was suitably impressed.

I was shooed away by a security guard when I tried to borrow someone’s Rascal scooter. He wasn’t using it! He was gambling! I would have brought it right back after a few laps. Jeez. I thought we lived in a society that shares.

Shortly thereafter, I abandoned my fiber optic crown that no longer sparkled and was denting my forehead.

We hung out in Kiki and Matt’s palatial room for a bit, and then called it a night. I ended up walking home to the Riviera, figuring it would be a good idea to try to walk off some of the booze, and also because I was feelin’ fine and wanted to strut a little and extend the evening instead of sitting for a cab for five minutes and calling it a night. I high-fived nearly every single person I passed on the way back. Only two people resisted my high-fivin’ prowess. When I saw people taking pictures of one another, I offered to take pictures of them together. Then we high-fived. One girl couldn’t stop fawning over my tacky sweatshirt, saying she had seen me before and wanted to know where I got that masterpiece. When I told her, she hugged me. Then we high-fived.

Then I walked into McDonalds, saw they were only serving breakfast, uttered ‘FUCK BREAKFAST’ and stalked out. By the time I actually got back to my room, it was 5:30 in the morning. Thus endeth day two.