Motherfucking Vegas, baby! Simply put, Las Vegas is so full of sin and filth that it makes me look like a devout, door-to-door Mormon missionary, spreading the good word and completely abstaining from sexual relations of any kind. Let’s start from the top though.
My buddy, “Pav,” who I met at acting school invited me and another buddy, “DoubleDouble,” to work a 6-day jewelry tradeshow in Vegas. Pav, like all Russians, was a fucking enigma. He and his dad owned a machining manufacturing company that designed and built CNC Mills, which most commonly, are used to create incredibly accurate molds for jewelry. Every year, Pav, his dad and a gaggle of Eastern European mad geniuses spend a week in the City of Sin for a jewelry tradeshow. We would be spending 6 days there and have everything compensated, plus commission on any sales we make individually. I wasn’t going to sell shit and I knew it. These CNC Mills were going for $20,000-$30,000 and most sales were to people who had already planned on buying one several months beforehand. DoubleDouble was a delusional bastard and figured he could swindle a few sales, but it was the furthest thing from my simple mind. Free alcohol and women spreading their legs quicker than work gossip?! I have a pen! Just tell me where to dip my ink… I uh, err, sign… where to sign. Though Pav never admitted it, and since I can find a way to turn a fucking Amish circumcision into a party, he only invited me as a partying justification, and I was more than ecstatic to be used as a rationalization to get fucked up and have a good time.
Flying over Vegas was the brightest my future had ever looked. Honestly though, it was unlike anything I had ever seen. Even in the daylight, it looked like a giant lit up Christmas tree.
When we land, I am like a kid on Christmas morning.
Daddy. Is. Home.
We were staying at the Excalibur Hotel and check in before heading to the tradeshow to help set up for the week. That night, we go out for lobster to celebrate a beginning of celebrations. It was my first-time having lobster and fuck me is it ever overrated. It’s like the California Condor of the sea. Dude, I’ve eaten more satisfying meals out of a dogfood can.
I stand by what I just said...
We have a few drinks and head back to our hotel. The next morning, we go to the tradeshow and literally stand around and shoot the shit all day. Hypothetically speaking, I could talk my way out of the death penalty on the day of execution, so I have no problem with chatting with potential customers. However, I have trouble properly putting my duvet cover on my comforter, so you could imagine me having absolutely no idea how these incredibly complex machines worked. Even the power button was giving me a fucking headache. So, I was just counting down the minutes until I could get so drunk that I shit myself. ALCOHOL IN MY FACEHOLE AT ONCE PLEASE.
The first day of the show could not have ended quicker. We strap on our diapers, grab some drinks, and start walking down the strip. Pav isn’t great with women but is the most confident guy on the planet and resembles Johnny Depp... if he never made a name for himself and instead became a used car salesman and had a consistent diet of canned tuna and Diet Coke. He was stopping nearly every girl walking by and was even more excited than me:
(Pav) “Hey ladies! It’s my friend, Liam’s birthday, isn’t he handsome? You should give him a birthday kiss.”
I receive a few kisses and a few fuck-offs. Relatively standard.
My turn. I stop these three girls who look like they just stepped out of a DaBaby music video:
(Liam) “Hey ladies, have you met Johnny Depp…’s half-brother?! He spent eight years addicted to opiates, had a few domestic disputes, and just got released from rehab this morning. It’s his birthday and he’s a little pent up, could you find it in your gangsta hearts to give him a birthday slobber?”
The one who looked like a ghetto Beyonce says:, “Mmm, that ain’t no Johnny Depp brotha. That be a fake. “that fedora is cute tho boyyyy!” (I stand by the fedora I was wearing. Shit was tight. Fight me.)
They strut away and I yell, “that’s not very patriotic!” As their ass cheeks were eating up their neon-colored spandex shorts.
Pav stops these two girls and they sloppily kiss me on either side of my cheek. They were from Southern California and boy oh boy, were as fucking scorching as the year-round weather.
Now, when it comes to chatting with women, this is more or less how I go about it. Starting from the batter’s box, I go from sweet, to vulgar, to questionably creepy, to charming, to funny, to being benched for the remainder of the season. Keeps everyone on their toes, know what I mean?
I start chatting with the blonde one, ‘Cali.’
(Liam) “Do you like foreign guys? We’re Canadian…” (Cali) “I do. Canadians are very, sweet foreigners.”
(Liam) “Perfect! I also ejaculate maple syrup, so my cum is as sweet as I am.” *INSERT CREEPY SMILE*
(Cali) “It’s too bad I hate syrup.”
(Liam) “It’s too bad I come from a family of moose, so I’m hung like one.”
(Cali) “It’s too bad that this is my girlfriend, and I don’t like moose dick.”
Since I am in love, I feel guilty for starting this relationship off on a lie because my penis is painlessly average. They come out with us to a club and Pav haggles a deal to get the five of us in with bottle service. He is a magician if nothing else. Shockingly enough, I end up hooking up with Cali. We are on the dancefloor, chewing on each other’s dinner, when I slip my grandpa’s ring on her finger and propose. Not long after, I go to the washroom and when I come back, the girls are gone.
Pav is smiling mischievously, and I say, “where did the girls go and why the fuck are you smiling like a pedophile…did they leave? Shit am I married now? Is that how it works in the Vegas? Is she gonna come after me for half of everything I don’t have?”
(Pav) “Dude, I have no idea where they went.”
DoubleDouble, who is hilarious, but doesn’t give a shit about anything except Guinness, video games and gambling, says, “you fucking idiot, they probably went to the washroom. Fuck ‘em anyway.”
(Liam) “Well, yeah man, I’m trying here.”
I wait for about 10 minutes in case they were in the washroom, but they never come out. Did I just get played like a cheap lottery ticket? We’re in Vegas, where everything is about odds and I couldn’t care less about them leaving, until I remember she has my ring. Fuck! Leaving Pav and DoubleDouble, I go out and search for Cali for a while and end up finding her outside of her hotel by herself. I am fuming.
(Liam) “What the fuck is this shit!”
(Cali) “Well, this is awkward… you found me, and I pawned your ring. Got a date with Chumlee in the process. He‘s looking good these days.”
(Liam) “Although I am proud of Chum for changing his life around and dropping all that weight... I fuck! I, look, I haven’t hit a girl since I was 5 and smacked my sister’s friend, “Montana A,” in the face with a Tinker-Toy, but I--” she then gets down on one knee and proposes, ring in hand. I am silent for a few seconds.
(Liam) “We’re getting divorced first thing after breakfast sex, and I am coming after you for everything you have. I hope your daddy is rich.”
(Cali) “My dad supplied the semen for my mom. That’s the extent of him being in my life.”
!!JACKPOT!! $696,969,696
I swoop her up and we head to my hotel room. DoubleDouble and I were sharing a room and he was passed out in his bed a few feet away. I throw her on the bed and start eating her out like a Hotel Continental Restaurant Dinner, when not long in, she taps out.
(Cali) “This is waaaay too intimate, Canada. Just bend me over and stick your dick in me!”
(Liam) “My tongue inside of you is too intimate, but me treating you like you’re a dog is uhh formal?“
Whatever, I don’t fight her too long on it. The next morning, I wake up and see DoubleDouble sitting on the edge of his bed and looking like a boy who had just heard his parents have sex. I jump on his bed half-naked and start dry humping him.
(Liam) “When in VEGAS, BABY!!”
(DoubleDouble) “Dude, get the fuck off me! That doesn’t even make any sense. You would hump my leg literally anywhere.”
I meet Cali again that night and it was much of the same. Penis entering vagina, things of that adult nature. There is a tram that connects the Excalibur to The Luxor Hotel and the Mandalay Bay, where the tradeshow was taking place. The following morning, Cali was heading home but came with us on the tram to the tradeshow as a send-off. While we’re being carried down the moving walkway outside Mandalay Bay, we’re making out and planning our future like a damn rom-com. It was disgusting. We part ways and I am hopelessly and unquestionably in love... for about a minute and a half, when I see a stripper coming home from an honest night’s work and she reminds me of where I was. (Me and Cali did stay in touch for a while though.)
That night we go to our hotel’s restaurant. An eloquent little establishment appropriately called “Dicks Last Resort.” The food is fucking awful, but it’s not why you go there. You go there to feel worse about yourself as a person. Their whole shtick is roasting and demeaning you. So, by in large, I’m a huge fan.
DoubleDouble had been there before, and the hostess pre-warns us. Pav hates the idea of it, which makes me even more excited and we convince him to try it out. Our server starts roasting us right away and Pav is boiling. DoubleDouble is laughing his ass off, which is only increasing Pav’s temperature. I’m roasting the guy right back and trying to steal the show because I’m clearly funnier than this professional:
(Liam) “My man, if I gave your mom a fat tip would you roast us while I’m hitting it? And would you call me daddy?”
(DoubleDoube) “Liam, you’re cheap and have a small penis, so that doesn’t make sense in two different ways.”
(Liam) “Daaaawg, whose side is you on?”
The server is playing along with me, but hates it and was getting progressively more obnoxious out of spite. I sincerely fucking dig this dude.
Pav has hit his boiling point though and hates this dude.
(Pav) “Yo, fuck this guy. I’m the one paying the bill. Let’s leave.”
The server can hear him ranting, but isn’t fazed. He’s definitely used to the occasional drunk person getting offended. Since me and DoubleDouble love it, and more than anything, are loving Pav’s reactions, we convince him to stay.
The server finds out we are Canadian and makes us paper hats that say, “Moose Fucker,” “I use maple syrup as lubricant” and “I eat poo-tine.” It’s hilarious, but only gasoline-soaked-kindling to Pav’s already blazing fire. He rips his hat off and is just sitting there like an upset child, red in the face and not breaking eye contact with a structural column behind me. There is honestly nothing funnier than a Russian who feels like he’s being disrespected. Honestly, find one and disrespect them, it’s magic. He angrily finishes his meal and we leave without Pav tipping the server, so that makes him feel a bit happier. What an evil fuck.
DoubleDouble and Pav go to the poker table and I am heckling because I don’t have the brain capacity to play poker in the drunken state that I am currently living in, so I go and hit the penny slots. The slots are filled with Asians and trailer park looking residents wearing sweat-stained Hawaiian shirts, visors, and fanny-packs.
I approach an old Asian woman, “’Scuse me, if I give you this dollar bill, will you come home with me? Not for the sexisizz, but to make me the wontonsizz? I is hungryyyy.” *INSERT CUTE FACE*
(Woman) “No, no, no, no.”
I say, “Yeah, I love you too, babyyyy. Stay haaaaat,” as I stumble away, blowing her kisses.
I walk up to a guy who looks like he belongs on a bocci ball field and say, “hey my man, 2 questions sir, 1: do you have a fanny in that pack and B: can I see your fanny?”
To his credit, he opened the pack up and had a good laugh. I grab three more beers, give one to Fanny and double fist the other two. We hang out for a while and he is hilarious.
I go back to Pav and DoubleDouble and their focus is impeccable, they’re like mannequins on Adderall and It’s impressive, but fuck them. Since I am bored out of my mind and they aren’t giving me the attention that I desperately need, I force them off the table, so we can go talk to women and leave Vegas with a garden variety of STD’s like I planned.
(Liam) “Dudezzzzz, let’s go find some bootayyy, so I can be somebody’s axdent tomorrow morning. They can wake up and be all like, yoooo, I shouldn’t have fooooked dis guy…”
I pretty much drag them off the poker table and we decide to go check out a different casino. As soon as we open the casino doors and step outside, I feel a presence so strong that it nearly sobers me up. As I lift my head up, I make eye contact with the presence, who was sitting on the cement edge of the roundabout. Now, we’ve all heard of “Crazy Eyes,” and for someone like me to call another person crazy in general, would be like Jeffrey Epstein calling Harvey Weinstein a predator - they are one and the same. Buuut throw in the “Crazy Smile” on top, and fuck me, this one had it all.
Picture this:
-Eyes so disproportionately large that you could have your back to her and still be making eye contact.
-A smile so wide that she was knocking things over with her jaw. I didn’t think humans had so many teeth until this night.
She was wearing a red dress identical to Jessica Rabbit in Who Framed Roger Rabbit, which was both very confusing and triggering for me. Jessica Rabbit was my introduction to the troubling world of sexual arousal and for a 7-year-old, is incredibly confusing, if you could imagine.
Complications from said triggering: I’ll leave it up to your imagination, but I stopped fully growing vertically when I was 17 and 7 years later, the growing had continued horizontally…
I was in love. I was feeling guilty. I was uncomfortable.
Do my parents know I have a boner right now, like they did when I was 7?! FUCK.
She was striking. I couldn’t look away, literally, there was no escaping the eyeballs.
We start chatting. “Minnie” was from Minnesota and here for one more night and yada, yada, yada, I can’t stop thinking about whether or not my dad knew that a cartoon character gave me a boner when I was fucking 7.
I am then snapped out of my childhood confusion by Minnie’s friend, who was initially hidden by the eyes and smile of this being, but is now as visible as day and yanking on Minnie’s arm to leave like an impatient child. She’s interrupting us over and over again and I’m having trouble getting a word in. I would rather masturbate using 100 grit sandpaper than have Smother Hen cut one of us off one more time, so let’s see what we can do here.
I am detecting, identifying, deciding, engaging and assessing my victim.
*Cue Verbal Sniping*
*Liam scoping a clucking Smother Hen. Sees beak moving north, east, south, and west at a highly dangerous rate*
*Loading M24*
*Final Firing Position*
She continues jerking her neck front and backward and CLUCKING, “we’re not interested. Let’s go, Minnie! These guys are loserBUBUBUCKAAAAAAHS!”
*Cocking Handle. Steady. Engaging*
Spotter: “FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!”
(Liam) “A blind person wouldn’t find you attractive!”
*And a Colossal Miss*
You’re better than this, Liam. I’m blaming my colossal miss on my obnoxiously Inebriated frame of mind. Regardless of this lameness, I get the reaction I want out of her and she‘s fuming. Not a complete miss I suppose. I am a Happy Liam.
(Smother Hen) “UGH. Fucking loser! I am leaving! Are you coming?!”
Focus on your target, Liam, you drunk fuck.
*Cocking handle. Steady. Engaging*
Spotter: FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!”
(Liam) “You won’t be coming anytime soon, ya fucking poultry. Ain’t nobody want you! The last time you got checked out was at the clinic!”
*She drops*
This was the look on her face: HOW DARE SOMEBODY ACTUALLY CALL ME OUT ON MY BULLSHIT. THIS IS COMPLETELY UNWARRANTED AHHHHHHH.
*Catastrophic Brain Shot and Immediate Incapacitation of Target*
Smother Hen’s feathers ruffle upon impact and she dashes back to the coop, never to be seen again. I look up at the sky, press my hands together in a praying motion and mouth “thank you.“
*Liam dusts hands off. Packs up M24*
Spotter: “Listen man, it ain’t an easy life, but it’s necessary. Walk this one off, pal.”
Minnie is laughing so hard that at this point she is merely a laughing emoji. We head back into the casino with DoubleDouble and Pav leading the way. Minnie pulls me to the side, grabs my arm and whispers in my ear, “I just wanna be alone with you.” Fuck me, man, the hair on the back of my neck isn‘t the only thing standing up right now... So, dick-thinking and without DoubleDouble and Pav even noticing, we vanish to the hotel bar.
We have a few drinks, and she asks me if I can sing. I clear my throat and before I even have a chance to totally own the spotlight, she cuts me off and is belting out, “So sing me a song, Mr. Piano Man!” And continues the entire chorus as I’m catching the blood that is pouring out of my ears. This is a fucking travesty. I don’t like this at all, not only is she stealing The Liam Show, she’s butchering my sweet Billy Joel. After she‘s done screeching, she just stares at me while the corners of her mouth tickle her earlobes and her eyes that are popping out of their sockets, bounce off my face like a damn paddle ball. She’s not outwardly laughing but looking at her, I could hear maniacal cackling.
She started telling me that she’s a Life Insurance Agent, with thousands of clients and made more money than she knew what to do with.
I didn’t know what a Life Insurance Agent was and assumed it was some sort of Las Vegas code. So, my first thought to what she said was this: I am an escort, with return customers, but I am expensive.” This must be protocol, but I’m not hip with Vegas secret-code terminology.
My second thought is this: She was actively on the search for a sugar baby. Sweeten this boy up, momma!
After not believing her and changing the subject to how great I am, she makes me Google her. Talk about vain… To her credit, she completely backed up everything she said and was wildly successful. Alright, am I moving to the States, or are you moving to Canada? Let’s get right to it, baby.
This girl was smitten and I’m not totally sure why. I looked like a Salvation Army Sinatra, if you found him passed out in a puddle of his own urine for fucks sakes. She keeps laughing and saying, “Oh my gaaaaad, yer soooo haaatttt” in response to everything that I was saying. Throughout the hour we’re at the bar, she makes sure to tell me about 8 different times how she wasn’t going to sleep with me, as if I were asking her. Whenever a girl voluntarily tells me she isn’t going to have sex with me… well, I don’t need to finish this sentence. Man, I ain’t breaking any ground here, this has been going on as early as the 15th Century - “I shall not catch but a wink with thee!” The wench that first said it, certainly caught more than a wink. I am sure of that.
Minnie says, “so, do you wanna go to my…
The bill was already paid, and I have one leg in the elevator by the time she finished the question.
...Hotel. Room…?”
On the way up, Minnie was still saying she wasn’t going to sleep with me, and I kept saying it’s alright because I am an insomniac. We get to her room and are fooling around in an adult manner.
She says she isn’t going to sleep with me.
We continue.
She stops and says, “I don’t wanna go any further than kissing.” Uhhh. this is a new one. Shit, maybe she really isn’t going to sleep with me. I respect her decision and since I’m in the Vegas, I don’t want to waste any precious time. Fuck this, I’m out. I tell her I’m going to go find my buddies and start sliding to the edge of the bed. Before I have a chance to leave, she turns the lights off and disappears.
I slide to the back of the bed. The fuck? Is this one of those Vegas set-ups? Was she going to knock me unconscious, tie me to the bed and then shiv me with the heel of her stiletto when she finds out I’m broke?!
Is this Seafood Restaurant going to be a Steakhouse? No, no, I would have noticed. You can always notice. That’s not true. You can’t always notice. She can’t be a dude, she’s too pretty. Dudes can be pretty. She is tall. She is a dude.
Out of nowhere, she emerges on top of me, nearly giving me a heart attack. She takes her clothes off.
She says she isn’t going to sleep with me.
She sleeps with me.
The entire time we’re fucking, she’s laughing hysterically and making me and my penis feel incredibly insecure and inadequate. He isn’t shy about speaking up:
(Liam the 1st) “What the fuck is this!? She best not be laughing at my size… I work out multiple times a day! The bitch better be laughing at your seizure-looking-ass excuse for a bang!”
We finish up and I fall asleep. Fast forward 5 minutes? 5 hours? 5 days? I’m not sure, I was on Vegas time. But I wake up to Minnie giggling. My eyes are only half open and after seeing her silhouette, I quickly close them. I’m squeezing my eyes shut so hard that my contacts were about to pop off my corneas. My contacts were so dry that it was like they were grains of sand in my eyes and were starting to heavily water.
I wonder if she saw my eyes open…
(Minnie) “I seeee youuuu.” She says like she’s talking to a baby and poking my nose.
Fuck.
I open my eyes and she wasn’t even smiling anymore, she was just teeth’n at this point. She was laughing and moving her head back and forth and all I could see were eyes and teeth.
This was the second fucking time that I had woken up to a girl fully clothed and sitting at the edge of the bed laughing at me after sex. Can someone please help shed some light on this for me?
I need to get the fuck out of here, so I spring out of bed and scoop up my shit in one swift swoop. Kiss Minnie on the lips. Turn around and look at the door. Get horny again. Turn back around. Make out with Minnie. Yank the door handle, so the door opens halfway and hip-check it open the rest of the way. I have one leg in my dress pants that are on backwards and holding my shoes as I hobble to the elevator. Hey man, you’re on Madame Vegas’s time, she ain’t pausing for no one! NO ONE I SAY!
I never saw Minnie again, although we did stay in touch. A couple days after the trip, she offered to take care of my flight one way and literally everything else if I came to Minnesota.
“Thou art mine own sugar moth’r!”
The next night, me, DoubleDouble and Pav head down to the Old Vegas Strip with Pav’s dad. From the moment we landed in Vegas, Pav’s dad was adamant about showing us the entire experience that is “Fremont Street.“
He kept telling us that Bon Jovi played a short set on the roof every single night at 8pm. A Bon Jovi rooftop concert!? Fuck yeah, Pav’s dad! Pulling through for the homies!
Now, escorts in Vegas are like tourists at Times Square in New York, they’re fucking everywhere. So, while Pav’s dad is tugging and mumbling at me in broken English to watch the roof because Bon Jovi is about to start playing, I am distracted by the escorts that are pretending to be street performers and handing out “business” cards, and other eccentric performers wearing nothing but star pasties and electrical tape on their nipples.
Then it hits me... wait, where’s the rooftop?! Where’s my boy, Jon Bon?! It’s a fucking ceiling screen?! Fucking Pav’s dad! Come to think of it, performing 365 days in a row is a tad tenacious. Regardless of this unfair blunderfuck, I want to get my Jovi on, yo!
Bon Jovi is belting out “Living on a prayerrrrr” above us, but I’m staring at men who are wearing jockstraps and shaking their freshly waxed asses at the eye level of 6-year-olds, that are watching on in terror and curiosity. Seriously, where are these children’s fucking parents!? Pav’s dad is a character and a half and is the epitome of the word “rotund,” like if he fell over, he would roll for miles. So, watching him waddling away and uncomfortably trying to ignore the naked, street performers that are in his face is comedic gold. It was the highlight of my trip. You are forgiven for the disappointing miscommunication, Pav’s dad.
We get to the last day of the tradeshow and me and DoubleDouble meet this girl, “Brooke,” working in a booth with her dad. She was from Brooklyn, New York and even though it was only 10am, I had a 12 Noon the entire time we were speaking from her accent on its own. I was pretending to listen, but couldn’t help but be massively distracted by my foreskin being pulled back and tearing up against my inner thigh and the skin-tight fabric of my dress pants. There I was, standing with my legs crossed as my penis bulged out of my thin, silver polyester pants, causing the zipper to slowly unzip. Dude, are you seriously trying to escape right now? Have you ever worn pants that were way too tight, and stood cross-legged, trying to hide an erection before?
Don’t answer that…
Why in the fuck did I listen to the guy at Tip Top Tailors who sold me this suit and wanted me to model the pants for him...? Uhhhhh. I, uh, forget about it.
Brooke had the body of an underdeveloped rugby-player and there was something strangely attractive about her. She comes out with us on our last night and at some point in the early morning, we all end up back at my hotel room. She brings me and DoubleDouble into the washroom and sits on top of the counter next to the sink. One of Pav’s creepy Russian employees, “Boris,” had followed us in. He was completely silent as he had his arms crossed and was blocking the door like a bodyguard.
(Liam) “So, you drag two cute dudes into the washroom, no offense, Boris… what do you wanna do about it?”
(Brooke) “Honestly? I would love nothing more than to get double-teamed by you two, but I have a boyfriend.”
(Liam) I turn to Boris: “Firstly, Boris, what are you even doing? Fucking beat it, dawg. Take that in any context you want, just get the hell outta here, my guy.” I open the door and with Boris looking like he might put a hit out on my family, he stubbornly walks out of the washroom.
“Secondly, I almost just oozed maple syrup from my moose cock…”
Brooke flashes me a confused look.
“Cali? Foreigners? Proposal? Ahhh, you had to be there I guess... Thirdly? Fourthly? I don’t condone cheating, but you’re the one cheating, not us. So, I’m exalting. Exempting? Whatever the fuck the word is, we’re fucking innocent here!”
I mean, SHE brought us into the washroom and then mentioned she wanted to have a threesome, but has a boyfriend. Doesn’t take a genius to say she clearly wants to fuck us both, but is looking for assurance that we won’t judge her. Fuck yeah, you’re good, pal. Who would I be to judge another human being for literally anything anyway?
My penis speaks up:
(Liam the 1st) “Dawg. Firstly, my apologies for tryna escape earlier, I was on the verge of rupturing like a fucking appendix and needed some air... Secondly, how many near misses have we had together now? Hear me out, playa. This washroom is the delicatessen, you and DoubleDouble are each a piece of toasted Rye and Brooke is the thicccc Pastrami in the middle. You and I both need this. Don’t fuck it up. RIIISING UP, BACK ON THE STREET. DID MY TIME, TOOK MY CHANCES. WENT THE DISTANCE, NOW I’M BACK ON MY FEEEET…”
We’re ready to go.
This is the following 15 seconds that transpire in the washroom:
0:01: (Brooke) “Okay Liam, let’s see what ya working wid. What ya got undah dem pants?”
Any opportunity I have to free my penis from the cockblocking confines of my trousers, I jump on. So, without so much as a bat of a pubic hair and in one fluid motion, my pants, boxers, socks, and shoes are off me.
0:07: I am already harder than quantum mechanics when I smell it. The most repulsive odor I have ever had the misfortune of smelling. Uh-oh…it can’t be. No, no.
*Twirls Index Finger* - I‘m taking a Coach’s Challenge.
Upon review, it’s my feet that smell like a 5-cheese dipped, decaying tooth, in a mid-July Brooklyn dumpster. Brooke smells it too, because the look on her face would have frightened a monster rising from a cosmic swamp.
0:13: Brooke and DoubleDouble make haste out of the washroom.
0:15: I’m horny. I sit on the toilet to take a dump. I am yelling, “was it something I smelled?!” I am wearing nothing but a dress shirt and embarrassment. My face is lying in the palms of my hands.
(Liam the 1st) “Mother. Fucker. We just got de—FEET…” – I quickly interrupt, “dude, just don’t. Not now…”
Over the years, I have been cock-blocked by countless amounts of jealous men, jealous women, alcoholism, cocaine, environment, Mother Nature… Hell, the entire spectrum of human emotion has been a factor on several occasions. But my own feet? That was a fucking first. Oh, the smelly irony.
The next morning was the last of the tradeshow and we check out of our hotel. Pav’s dad had bought, well borrowed, four 60-inch flatscreen TV’s to advertise the mills and had them hung up around our booth. So, at the end of the day, I volunteer to help him return them, because it was far less work than deconstructing our booth. I hadn’t so much as lifted a single finger to turn on a TV the entire show, so picking them up nearly breaks my entire feeble body. We get to the store and as we’re in line, I am looking at Pav’s dad and laughing. You could see guilt setting in and he is sweating like he’s crossing the Ukrainian border. He hands the receipt to the teenage cashier as it rips and sticks to Pav‘s dads clammy hand. He tells the stoner cashier that he wants to return the TVs, to which the cashier simply says “okay” and begins ringing them through. This kid works every other Sunday because his mom wants him out of the house, he could not give a fuck less as to why these TVs were being returned. But Pav’s dad who isn’t listening and lost in a world of guilt-stained paranoia, begins volunteering information as sweat flies off his forehead and onto the conveyor belt:
“Uhhh. TV too small. Need bigger. I buy later.”
“Uhhh. The quality…no good!”
“Uhhh. They not, not, not vork?”
After a few excuses, it was almost as if he was a reprehensible child trying to convince his parents that the lamp he broke was already broken...
The cashier was staring at him in discomfort and just wanted to get this transaction over with. The tension between them was so unnecessarily thick, you would need a chainsaw to cut through it. I’m not about to ruin this beautiful moment and just stand there brightly smiling, not saying a single word. We leave the store, and Pav’s dad turns to me while he wipes away his guilt-sweat and says, “that vaaaaas cloooose.” I love every fucking second of this.
Our flight wasn’t until late that night, so Pav’s dad checks us into a Motel 6 to hang out in the pool until our flight. As we were walking past the front desk and down the corridor to the pool area, I half-expected to see a dead body floating in the water and caution tape encircling the blood-stained concrete around the pool. It had that kind of vibe. But instead, palm trees and lounge chairs were surrounding the entire area and it was actually pretty sick. It had a 70’s feel and looked like the set of a 90’s Quentin Tarantino movie. As the boy’s swam, I investigated the motel, looking for human trafficking rings, meth labs, and cockroaches so big that they could be mistaken for skeevy human beings. I was bitterly disappointed as I find nothing of the sort. What a fucking rip-off!
We fly out of the marriage capital of the USA that night and you could nearly see the free-floating bacteria hovering above the bright lights. I don’t think I left the shower for a week. I’ve never been to a place so perfectly portrayed in the movies as Las Vegas. It’s simultaneously the best and worst place on earth. If you’ve been, I’m preaching to the choir. If you haven’t, my dearest condolences.
Remember, what happens in Vegas...!
Your pal, Liam Mickey Lars xxx.
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