Sunday, February 04, 2007

Bring Out Your Dead

4:12am- Carrot Top! Your grotesque Eric-Stoltz-in-Mask-like countenance haunts my nightmares. You have driven me to early grave!

9:01am- Wake up with what feels like hatchet cleaved between lobes of brain. Decide must just be hangover, but then notice pool of blood and wooden handle protruding from forehead.

11:12am- Graciously treated to buffet breakfast by friend of friend who won $1000. Unfortunately, it is Excalibur’s Buffet Breakfast which basically consists of slop buckets of gruel leftover from Middle Ages. Immune system fails to fight off time traveling parasites and microbes. Wooden card wheeled out to collect my putrefying remains.

11:30am- Ride the Luxor’s Inclinator one last time. It’s herky-jerky sideways motion causes me to lose footing and be trampled in stampede of people in hurry to checkout of hotel.

12:14pm- Enter the reconstructed burial place of Tutankhamen at Luxor Hotel & Casino. Mistaken for tomb raider and shot dead on the spot.

12:39pm- Discover a Little Caesar’s Pizza inside Luxor. Did anyone know those even still exist? Obviously, must order Crazy Bread with Crazy Sauce. The double whammy causes instant insanity. Scratch face down to bone. Onlookers horrified.

12:41pm- Am forced to listen to same clip of Artie-fucking-Lange promo over and over while enjoying aforementioned snack. Finally snap, bum-rush television screen and punch it with both fists. Lacerations so extensive, no doctor can staunch blood flow.

4:04pm- Determined to ignore any and all Super Bowl activities, am dragged against will to Sports Book at Mandalay Bay to meet up with boyfriend’s friends. After calling out, “why don’t you people all get a life?!” am tackled to the ground and bludgeoned.

6:12pm- Splurge for dinner with gigantic bacon cheddar cheeseburger and greasy steak fries. Heart attack.

7:18pm- Use my Player’s Club Card chips from previous night to either make it or break it at Blackjack table. Break it. Become hobo. Untimely death-by-overdose goes unacknowledged on the harsh streets of Sin City.

9:02pm- Stand in line at airport security acting critical of every stupid ass who gets up to the X-ray machine and then doesn’t have a clue what to do next. Like, hello? Have you ever flown before or read a damn sign, you fucking waste of meat?! When it comes to my turn, I have jacket off, shoes off, belt off, all set to go. Oh wait! My LIQUIDS! They’re stuffed somewhere in my bag. Zip, zip, unzip, shuffle, zip…where ARE they? Finally find them after holding up line for 2 minutes. Egg on face. Suffocate.

10:44pm- Fly back to SFO without aid of Xanax, making me fully aware of plummeting to death once plane loses wing. Wheeee!

Other than that, pretty good day.

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