You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you crazy.™
Going to Vegas with a bunch of buddies who have no scruples and even less brain cells.
Vegas is a sinful little zip code where what happens inside Clark Co. Nevada stays inside Clark County Nevada.
And when you add a lethal dose of dry heat, sunshine and liquid elixirs – sometimes remembering what allegedly happened is a chore.
Sometimes you need a crew who can piece it together.
The Dirty Dozen is that crew and it just conquered the strip for a 72 hour, no sleep, no holds barred romp of insanity.
Craps tables and European topless pools were just the appetizer.
The hours were filled with laughter and adventures that you just don’t get back in regular life USA.
The days start early and and the nights go long and you wonder how a bunch of 30 and 40 somethings can maintain the intensity of a college frat house on adrenaline.
The dirty dozen is a group of great guys who teach and tax and lay shingles.
But on top floor of the Encore, these guys are a wrecking crew.
The names are as telling as the stories no one can remember.
There’s Buck and Osama and 007. There’s Godfather and one leg and baby Jesus. There’s Gonzo and Yosemite Sam and Dill. There’s Tax Man – And of course there’s Gumbo.
“Bless his heart!”
The nights are always unique but always consistent with the sin city themes.
There’s fake boobs and too much booze and bad comb over hair pieces. There are old guys with bling walking with young honeys who snap your neck when they walk by.
There’s the ding ding of the slot machines and the chatter of the always vociferous craps table.
“Wheel of Fortune!”
There’s short dresses and inappropriate dresses and dresses so sharp you could get a paper cut on your eye.
And then there’s the clubs that are hot and not so hot and all of them harder to get into than a pair of jeans from college.
thumpata thumpata thum
That’s the sound track to the craziest city in America. It’s a song with no beginning and no end. It’s techno-flavored – ear mucous – pulsing through my skull.
It’s sonic beams of light and confetti and table service with $500 dollar bottles of Jack Daniels that would normally for $29.99 where you live.
And then there are the dj’s who are reportedly world famous but for the life of me I don’t know why?
It seems like they spin records using other people’s music.
Vegas is laughter and fantasy and high dollar hi jinx.
Vegas is two aspirin the next morning and sitting around with the dirty dozen and letting Gonzo piece it all together like Inspector Clouseau.
Brain cells the next morning are fuzzy, like cobwebs in stale beer. Guys are laying on couches and on the floor. The room reeks of death and hung over warriors.
Gonzo always begins the day. He is loud and animated. He gets up in a wobbly way and like a conductor of a drunken symphony, begins putting together the lost filaments of time.
“And then that guy did this. And then Godfather did that. And remember when Gumbo got on that elevator with that person and did that thing.”
The room will explode with laughter as everyone begins throwing their memory into the pot like a poker table of forgotten moments.
It usually takes about half an hour, filled with laughter and occassional groans of “I feel like crap.”
The stories are the foundation of an experience that others pay $8.50 for a movie ticket to see.
Vegas for the Dirty Dozen is friends coming together and blowing out and creating memories that last a life time, memories that never leave the Clark County Line.
As Gumbo likes to say with that slow Louisiana draw:
“Some things – they just hard to explain…..”
And that is crazy.™