I woke up, on my last day in Vegas, and decided to go out in a blaze of glory. More specifically, I woke up at 6:15 am, on my last day in Vegas, ordered a large pizza, and a pornography from the pay-per-view system in our room.
I ate two pieces of pizza, watched about 5 minutes of fornication, and headed to my beloved New York, New York�
�and I did it all wearing my Authentic, Bernie Federko signed, St. Louis Blues jersey.
I arrived at the Casino floor at about 6:45, and I will say this, at any point in the day, there is something going on in Vegas, but around 7 am, things definitely slow the fuck down. About four people were gambling, and, oddly enough, eight people were serving drinks. I stepped to the bar, ordered a Wild Turkey, and Coke, and started to walk around, just taking in the re-created New York Skyline. I stepped to my dojo, aka, the ESPNZone, to find that it was closed. Bummed out, I returned to the Casino floor, bought another Turkey and Coke, and started to play Blackjack. The dealer was either Russian, Bulgarian, or a Czech, his name tag said something like Dobrowolski. (Side story, Dobrowolski was the name of my professor for Differential Equations at Rolla, fyi, I got an A)
As I sat down with my betting disks, he said, �Hey, you are captain of hockey team?�
I replied, �No, I bought this jersey.� He laughed and said, �You should act like professional hockey player, people give you drinks!�
Shortly thereafter, a compulsive gambler arrived, and when she sat down next to me, my comrade said, �Hey, this guy is captain of N-H-L hockey team!�
She said, �Really, which team?� I turned and said proudly, �The Saint Louis Blues, we didn�t make the playoffs this year, so I�m trying to turn my luck around.�
And old Dobro didn�t lie, when the cocktail waitress came by, the lady got me a beer. I offered her an autograph, but she said, �No thanks, I don�t like hockey.�
After making, and losing 200 dollars, I left after breaking even. And I hailed a cab to accomplish the only goal I had going into the bachelor party Vegas Trip. A little back-story on this: when I heard of the trip, my one goal was to go to the biggest dive bar in Vegas, and get smashed there. I literally looked up �Biggest Dive Bar in Vegas� on the internet, and found out about a place called, �The Double-Down Saloon�
I entered the car, and asked the cabbie if she had heard of the Double Down Saloon. She turned, and with a disgusted look, said, �Yeah, that place is a total dive.� I said, with glee, �That�s me destination.�
Before I describe my visit to the Double Down, allow me to explain where things went awry on my last day in Vegas. I was under the impression that our flight departed at 3pm�
I arrived at the bar, and this place did not disappoint, I�ve been in many dive bars in my days, and this place fits right in with all of them. I moseyed up to the bar, and asked the bartender what a good, stiff drink was. The guy, who looked like Santa Claus on a bender, said, �A Manhattan will fuck you up� I answered with a grin, �I�ll have one of those.� As the jolly old fat guy crafted my beverage, I started to empty my pockets. Mind you that I had worn the same shorts every day in Vegas, so every receipt, every ticket stub, and every ESPNZone ticket was still with me. My archives spread across the bar like an archeological dig, and I got the attention of the other bar patrons. This surprising cute girl stood up and said, �HEY, HOCKEY GUY, WHAT�S YOUR NAME?� I replied, �DUSTIN� She said, �YOU HAVE A LAST NAME?� I turned around, and pointed to the name on the back of the jersey, �IT�S DOERR, DUSTIN DOERR!�
She said, �WOW, KIND OF SOUNDS LIKE A PORN NAME!�
By this time, Kris Kringle had finished my Manhattan. I took my drink, and went to the pool table, which was not coin-operated, the pockets were just baskets that caught the pool balls, so every game was free.
While smoking a Camel, I turned to the jukebox, and decided to get some tunes going. AFTER entering a dollar, I noticed that the �Credits Remaining� indicator read �54� So tunes were free as well.
After playing a few of my jukebox regulars including: �I Drink Alone� -George Thorougood, �Tush�-ZZ Top, and �Killing In the Name Of�-Rage Against the Machine, I felt like changing it up. I played �White Man in Hammersmith Palais� by The Clash. The only reason I know the song is that my personal favorite band of all time, 311, had covered the song, and I dug it. The Clash version of the song was just as good as the one put together by my boys from Omaha, and the song would stick in my head for hours, and hours to come.
After The Clash, I put some Frank Sinatra on the airwaves. I played two in a row, because I felt like Vegas wasn�t Vegas without a little Rat-Pack class. After the second song, I guy came up to me and said, �Hey man, thanks for playing Sinatra.�
I said, �Oh, hell yeah, dude.�
He then said, �Can I buy you a drink?�
I laughed and said, jokingly, �What are you, a fag?�
He took a step back, and, uncomfortably, said, �Well, I am gay.�
Then I backed off, put my hands up, and said, �Oh� well� I�m not� so, jukebox is yours.� I grabbed my drink, and retreated to the bar.
I ordered a double Turkey and Coke, to try and forget the fact that I was just hit on by a queer. Shortly afterwards, I got a call from Donjon. Apparently, I had our departure time wrong, the time was about 2pm, and our flight was leaving in 20 minutes.
Needless to say, the story gets very interesting at this point�
Stay Tunes for the exciting conclusion of Double D's journey to Vegas....