Dancers. Islands. Yachts. Parts. Practice. Bathrooms. Some things are better private. Ehh… Numbers. Some things are not. One new addition to the better pile… Jets. Finally I can now confidently say: Private jets are the dancers of the air. Finally, says you. I know, says I. Giddy up! Assumption off. Jet on. Absolutely funking mighty. Planned on doing a blogaruu from up in the air. Unfortunately. Tad busy. Boozing. Dancing. On a plush private jet. On my way to Vegas. All on a Monday morning?!! Nay too shabby. Bloody Mary all the way! Literally. Go on the ape. Did manage to get a bit of mental bookaruu scribbling in, at least. Le sequel could start a bit like this… I’m on a jet. Private kind. En route to Vegas. Disneyland. Doused in acid. The land of whures. Heat. More whures. Monkeys. Mind wobbles. Crap fun. And depression. Wuu! Can’t wait. Vegas on…
Before Now There Was Then...
Jump back a few years. So the last and only time I’ve been to Vegas went pre-tty much like this: Myself and a buddy rented a car. Drove from San Fran. 10 hours. Only. It’ll be a laugh. Sure. Left San Fran at about 3 in the morning. To get there in time. For which? Make the most of it. Oh yeah. Sounds smart. And all that gibber. Drove on. Bored out. See a Joshua tree. Isn’t that amazing?! U2 and all that!!! 687 Joshuas and 15 pit stops later… Why did we drive again? Driving along. Admiring straight roads. Barren deserts. Empty petrol stations. Fun drive.
Yeah We Like To Party!! Eh, What Now?
Arrive in Vegas. Wrecked. Kip. Wake. Casino. Gamble on! Penny slots. In exchange for free booze. We’re so smart! Five white Russians! No? Two milky waters? Cheers. Let’s check out another casino. Let’s walk. Soak in Vegas. Let’s walk. In this heat. Soak it all in. Oh sweet Jesus. Some heat. Walking along. Down the strip. Two girls pull over in a white Escalade. ‘Hi guys, want to party?!!’ Sure we do! We’re Irish. In Vegas! That’s why we’re here. Sweet Jesus Vegas is unreal! I mean we were just walking along and these two girls actually stopped and chatted us up and they’re hot?! The American Dream!!! Girls look happy that we look so happy. And then tell us to meet them around the back of the petrol station. Oook. Kind of odd. Must be a party on over there. Around we go. So… What’s the jam with this party? Pardon me? How much ye cost? What do ye mean? Let’s party, wuu! What much? For a night of what? What’s that menu of services you’re listing off? Ehh, what what? No party? Ye whures? Ye whures!
We're Irish. So Where Could We Go?
Giddied up. Strolled on. Down the strip. Odd start. Plough on. Looking for a bar. Any one at all. Here we go. Only 50 bones for two drinks? Mighty. Spoke to a few girls at one bar. All whures. As in actual whures. Again. Walked on. Next place. More girls came up to us. We asked where was good to go… They said our hotel rooms. All whures. Once again. As in actual whures. Walked on. Let’s go to the Irish pub we saw on the drive in. Right down the bottom of the strip. Walked on. In hair dryer heat. Some heat. Get to the Irish pub. Of course we’d look for the closest Irish pub in a foreign land! Let’s all be Irish! LET’S PARTY!!! WE”RE IN VEGAS!! THIS IS AMAZING!! WHY ARE WE SHOUTING?!! There’s no one here. Wuu. Fun fun.
And so and so forth until 8 in the morning. Spent way too much. Couldn’t find a pub with people in it. Didn’t win anything gambling. Every girl we spoke to were actual whures. Except the last one. Who thought it was funny that I kept saying I knew she was, so I wasn’t interested. Funny funny. Until she figured out I was being serious. And threw some chips my way. In my defence, merely a victim of the environment. Woke up the next day. Horrendous. Funk. Balls. Worst monkeys ever. Dancing on my back. Buddy the same. Funk Vegas. Although we do look oddly well in the mirrors here after such a long night with little sleep. Goosed. And we have another day and night of this fun?! Sweet Jesus. No way. Let’s hide in the hotel. Not spend anywhere near what we blew last night. And get out of here. Hid in the hotel. Got lost in the hotel. Couldn’t find a way out of the hotel. Spent another bucket of cash. On oxygen. Seriously. And cartoons of ourselves. Hungover shopping. Apes. Gave up. Went to bed with our monkeys. Delighted all the way back to San Fran. Mighty 10 hours. Oh Jesus. Funk Vegas!
Hassle Off. Carrot On!
So. First. Last. Only. Until the offer of zipping to and fro on a private jet was dangled. The Man. Back in town. Back with a bang. Surprise birthday party in Vegas. My buddy Charlotta’s birthday. Had to work in Vegas for it. Let’s jump on the jet. Surprise her. Are you in? Am I what. The Man. The Jack. Chowder. Chocolate Face. Et I. All jumped on. Off we went. Giddy up. People do say that private jets are the only way to go to Vegas. Or anywhere. Travel in general. I beg to differ. Not the only way. Seeing as you could drive for 10 hours through the desert admiring leafless trees. They are without doubt, however, the most preferable way. No hassle. What. So. Ever. Ape free at the airport. No mile long queues. Hassle off. Simply… Drive to the airport. Onto the runway. Get out of the car. Next to the plane. Walk on board. Show your I.D. Sit down. Get handed a Bloody Mary. And you’re on your way to Vegas! Just. Like. That. Dancing!
Fun All The Way!
Another thing about private jets compared to normal ones (harping on, I know, I’ll wrap her up)… Flying is actually fun. Usually it’s just necessary. Get from A to B. Private wise, you almost want to stay up there. Some laugh in the air. Put on your own music. Booze on. Plush everywhere. Smiles bouncing off the walls. I’d fly places just to fly, if I owned my own jet. Fun on. Not the best thing aboot them though. Coming up. Anyways, land in Vegas. Hop off. Limo waiting. Wuu duu. Service with a smile! Zipped over to the Hard Rock Hotel. Up to the rooms. Mighty. Forgot how good the rooms are in Vegas. Also forgot how well the mirrors make one look. Unreal at making a haggard tired ape look well. Seriously. Well done to Vegas on that one. Although. At the end of the day. Mirrors are merely lying whures. Fickle ape!
Wuu. Yay. Eh. Actually...
All gathered to surprise Charlotta. Shh. Hide. Here she comes… Hip hop hooray! Happy Ernie and Bert day! Wuu duu!!! Presents time and then off to the pool we all go. A group of Larrys. Happy as. Bouncing along. Pool looks unreal. Look at this. Look at that. We’re in Vegas! Looks unreal. Look at everyone. Everyone looks amazing! Scant women. Block men. Look look LOOK! Actually. Look. Eh. Vegas is kind of cheap as funk looking. Those girls all look like strippers now I take a second glance. Not hot strippers. Slightly too many tubs of butter type. All these dudes are blocks. Pumped to the brim with steroids. With slabs of meat as their heads. Never seen Jersey Shore but apparently that’s what they all look like. But where was I… Oh yeah… Yay, we’re in Vegas. Party town. Sin me city. Yay!
Pool. Charged an arm and five legs for a cabana. In return for bottles of water. Also known in Vegas as booze. Chilling by the pool. Which was a good hoot. Mighty spot to people watch. Tunes pumping. Muscles flexing. Thongs snapping. Pecs jiggling. Bellies wobbling. Good old hoot. Odd collection of people in Vegas. White dudes thinking they’re homeboys. Asian dudes convinced they’re rappers. Black dudes cracking onto all the white women. Fun times at Hard Rock High! Except maybe the syrupy water. Thick with something. Riddled with sin. If you’ve ever danced on the wrong side of the fence. Picked up an ahem disease. Fun. And then need to hide your promiscuous ways from a significant other. Just say you were in Vegas and blame it on the hotel pool. Probably closer to being true than not. You can almost see things floating and swimming around. Swimming in cess. Delightful.
Being at the pool embodied Vegas really. Wuu we’re in Vegas! Wuu Vegas is crap. This is fun! But it’s crap. Really crap. But fun?! Crap. Fun?! Crap fun!!! That night headed off to the Mandalay Hotel. Got lost. On my own. Somehow. Completely. Casinos are mazes. People working there won’t even point you in the right direction. Some joke. Just send you to the blackjack tables. Ended up at a roulette table. Won a few bob. Happy days.
Off to the bar. People actually at this bar. Dance floor. Dancing. Some dude in a beard kept telling me ‘You gots the moves!’ Nay. Just a dancer. With a ‘Where’s Timmy the Rabbit’ move. I’ll teach ye some day. Few girls came over. Chatted briefly. Turned out they were all… Whures! How shocking. As in actual whures. Funny enough. Chowder came dancing. Went to give me a high five. Without me knowing. Down low. And smash goes my glass. Vodka on the dance floor. Eh, time to bounce I do believe. Cab back to Hard Rock. Jump out. Two girls spark up a conversation ‘Hey there… ‘ How’s it going… Not too bad… Hang on… Are ye whures? ‘Why, how dare yo… Yes we are’. Leave me be women! Sleep on. Vegas off!
Swoop In. Swoop Out.
Wake up. Limo swoops by. Straight to the jet. Straight on. All smiles. Time to leave. No luggage lost. Vegas. Good hoot for a night. Although. Monkeys? Where are ye?! Looked around the jet. Scoured. Figured out. Just like a yacht. Monkeys don’t seem to be allowed on to private jets. Monkey free fun! Happy days. Which to me was the best part of the lot. Bloody Mary… Why thank you! Fun trip back to L-Hey. Admiring clouds. Talking gibber. Dancing through the air. Fun as funk. Private jets. Preferable way. All in all. Not too shabby for a Monday!
Some things stay in Vegas. Obviously. Like the monkeys. That donkey. And Pam the Midget. And I would tell you what happened when I got back to my apartment which made the day even more nuts but I’ve rambled and spun off on far too many tangents for far too long, so it shall have to wait until for the next book. Until then, song on!
To read about private jets the day I have to flight with Vueling is kind of mean. I’ll imagine that the watered coffee they’ll serve me is a Bloody Mary.
I’ve blurry memories of Vegas. White lions and lobsters at 4am mixed with Elvis and cowboys. Crazy city.
Sounds like you had mighty memories yourself. White lions. Lobsters. Elvis. Cowboys. Little more you could ask for! Except maybe the jet part. Wuu duu.
Pam the midget! Had me crying with laughter mate, I’d gone!!
Until the next adventure…sure it won’t be long!!
Ha, Pam on boss! High five from the Chowder! Down low. Mighty work.
Eh Eh Eh, gotta love those private jets! 🙂 This was a good one, and actually getting better and better. Sleep on, Vegas OFF!
Sleep on is right. Quality on too!