It’s officially less than a month until Team Cool & Tough ventures into the desert for our annual long weekend of debauchery.

We manage to leave a little bit of ourselves–dignity, self respect, liver capacity, etc.–in Vegas every year, and the recuperation time is definitely a couple of days longer than it used to be, and it’s really only a matter of time before one of us gets canned from our day job for “complete and utter incompetence and incoherence” the week after our Vegas trip. But we keep going back. Why?

Because It’s Totally Worth It.

And I’m not talking about the whole “What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas” deal. That’s played out anyway. Because who’s kidding who? Guys who cheat on their wives and dial up hookers, cheat on their wives and dial up hookers whether they’re in Vegas or Minneapolis.

Instead, trips to Vegas are totally worth it because they are like a visit to some foreign bizarro world. Open containers are encouraged. Degenerates are the norm. Walking out of a casino and realizing it’s daylight is something you become accustomed to. You drink Vodka tonics at 9 AM and Bloody Mary’s at 6 PM without blinking an eye. Sequences of events that would end with tasers and handcuffs back home go down in Vegas without consequence. Shit gets weird.

And if you now find yourself wishing you had some examples of shit getting weird, it’s your lucky day, because Team C&T just happens to have a few.

Things to do in Vegas when you’re Cool & Tough

You can fall in a fountain.

A couple of years ago a small pack of four or five dudes were strolling through Paris at roughly four in the morning. T-Bone (who has a tendency to sway in and out of a blacked-outedness while drinking for extended periods of time) decided it was a good idea for him to do his best Gene Kelly impersonation. He danced a gig on the side of a Paris lobby fountain for roughly five seconds before his feet flew out from under him, causing him to completely bust his ass and fall in. Luckily for T-Bone the fountain was shallow so only fifty percent of his body was completely drenched, leaving the other half mildly soaked.

The rentacop manning the lobby of Paris gave T-Bone a high five on the way out.

You can get quotes from hookers. No commitment.

Steve Irony has turned negotiating with hookers into quite the hobby. And I’m not talking about simply walking up to a girl he thinks is a pro and asking, “How much?” I’m talking negotiation. Brass tacks. Sitting down with a prostitute and the conversation sounding a lot like this from his end: “OK, so if we leave out the (insert non-intercourse sexual act here) and go straight to (insert NSFW crude term for sex used by Steve Irony here) but we throw in a (insert something I have never heard of, but the hooker and Steve seem pretty eye to eye on here), how much cash are we talking? You friend at the Hard Rock quoted me (insert a figure that is much lower than what the girl at the Hard Rock actually quoted).”

He’s transformed getting free quotes from hookers into quite the art form really. Pitting girls against each other in price wars. Really testing their decency limits. Getting stats: height, weight, vertical. It’s more NFL combine than romance, but you have to hand it to the guy for his thoroughness.

And to his credit I’ve never once seen him actually finalize a transaction. Keywords: I’VE NEVER SEEN HIM.

You can get into a personal values debate with a drug dealer.

A few years back we were wandering down the strip around noon and fully embracing open container privileges. From around the corner of a shady liquor/memorabilia store, some cracked out dude who kind of looked like an even frailer Andrei Kirilenko mumbled, “Hey man, wanna score some coke, how bout some ex?” in JB’s direction.

JB instinctively responded, “No Thanks,” without paying the dealer much attention.

But then the dealer did something I’m sure he later regretted. He called JB a “pussy”.

It took JB a moment to digest that he had been called a P by a drug dealing Andrei Kirilenko look alike. But once he did, he lost it. JB is not the type of guy who’s going to let some strung out dealer make the mistake of calling him a pussy. There will be consequences.

From there, the confrontation is kind of blurry. There was a lot of “What did you call me?” “Do you know who I am?” “Do I look like the kind of guy who needs to take drugs to get laid?” “Don’t ever ask me that again,” “I’ve got shit to live for!” stuff from JB’s side before we started pulling him out of there. After he calmed down, we let JB know he clearly taught that dealer a lesson.

In retrospect, the dealer really didn’t hold up his end of the debate.
faithful strippers are not a myth

You can meet cab drivers who date hot, faithful strippers.

In Vegas, every other time you hop in a cab, your experience goes something like this:

1. The cabbie is a little too talkative and starts making everyone uncomfortable.

2. After he gives a very detailed account of the last time two people had sex in the back of his cab, he gives you and your friends VIP passes to a strip club.

3. The cabbie then informs you that he currently dates one of the headliners at said strip club, telling you something like: “She’s so effing hot. Huge tits. She really rakes it in. And I’m not the jealous type, so it’s cool. She wraps these guys around her finger, gets them to blow their wad on her, then comes home to me with more cash than you guys can imagine. It’s awesome…I’d take you guys in there personally, but she doesn’t like me dropping by because it takes her off her game, but man, she is soooo hot. Not a bad setup for me. Not bad. Not bad at all…”

4. You do your best to keep from laughing too obnoxiously at the “blow their wad” line.

5. You and your friends take the VIP passes and start asking a bunch of questions like, “What’s her name again?” “How much do you think it will cost to get things really friendly there?” “Do the strippers there dig guys with money? Because we’re filthy,” “What did you say her name was again?”

Side Note: Muslim drivers will not take you to a strip club in Vegas as it is against their beliefs. It’s really mind boggling. I mean, you do work in Las Vegas, right? It’s kind of like if a cocktail waitress refused to serve anything but virgin drinks.

You can meet chicks with deceptive figures.

On one of Team C&T’s first ventures into the desert, Booth and Proto were pretty sure they had achieved official pimp status when they started chatting up two cute blondes at a dingy, low limit casino (dollar craps was a recurring theme on our college budgets).

proto and booth get excitedAll four sat at the bar and Booth and Proto poured roughly ten bucks worth of drinks into each of these chicks (luckily it was dollar Beck’s night at Casino Royale). Things were looking promising. Booth and Proto were telling each other how money they were. Low fives were definitely exchanged.

And then one of the cute blondes excused herself to go to the restroom. This was the first time Booth and Proto had seen either of these girls in a non-seated position, and when this first one stood up they were more than a little surprised to see that her lower half (waist down) represented roughly three quarters of her entire body weight.

The first girl’s unfortunate condition led to Booth and Proto both calling dibs on chick number two, only to discover twenty minutes later that she suffered from Lower Body Elephantitis as well. They were a bit discouraged.

Luckily for all parties, Booth and Proto aren’t exactly turning down modeling contracts on a daily basis. After a minute of discussing their options, they decided not to discriminate.

None of us ever got a clear answer on whether the two chicks were sisters or just found comfort in the company of someone else with a massive lower body. One of life’s great mysteries I guess. (Another great mystery is why when JK busted into the room the next morning, Booth and Proto were sharing one queen bed and the two chicks were in the other. Weird.)

You can spin the roulette wheel on your birthday.

Not really. This is actually extremely frowned upon and may be one of the few things that will actually get you tasered. But T-Bone tries to pull this off at least once a trip, either claiming it’s his birthday or the birthday of some old Asian dude hanging out at the roulette wheel with him.

T-Bone is pretty sure he’ll eventually get this passed through Nevada legislation.

You can have you manhood challenged by packs of ladies.

Only in Vegas have I ever been called a “pussy” by a group of respectable looking ladies.

We learned early on that unlike any other city in America, when packs of chicks are running around Vegas, they expect to be hit on. And not just the skeezy ones who are asking for it, I’m talking girls that look like they were in that one really snotty sorority and only dated guys on the soccer team.

You see these chicks in a casino bar and if you and your friends aren’t dry humping them in a matter of seconds at least one or two bridesmaids will be sloppy enough to tell you how dickless you are.

Seriously, Vegas is awesome.

You can sleep on a bed of fries.

Vegas trips on a low budget can lead to a lot strange sleeping arrangements. The strangest I’ve personally seen was when an incoherent T-Bone poured his super-sized McDonald’s fries on the floor of our room at the Monte Carlo and proceeded to lay down on top of them and go to sleep.

No blanket. No pillow. No lady friend. Bed of Fries.

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