by Tucker Max
Afterwards, back down at the tables:
Junior “What took you so long?”
Tucker “I got stuck in something. That girl is pretty hot.”
Junior “No shit. She’s incredible in bed.”
Tucker “I bet.”
By this time it was around 5pm on Friday. We had an awesome roll the night before, but this day luck was not with us, and I ended up losing like $500. Whatever, I had at least 12 drinks, so I clearly came out on top. Stupid Vegas, they don’t know anything.
The hemorrhaging stopped at 8pm, because my buddy SlingBlade was coming in on a flight. At the airport, I see him come out of baggage claim, and lean out the car window and yell:
Tucker “SLINGBLADE—THIS PLACE IS GREAT! WE DON’T EVEN HAVE A HOTEL ROOM! JUNIOR FUCKED SOME WHORE AND I WON LOTS OF MONEY! WOOOOOOO-HOOOOO!!!” SlingBlade “I am getting back on the plane.”
We ate dinner at the In-N-Out right off the Strip (yes, I am obsessive-compulsive), gambled and drank for a while, and then went to the big club inside of The Venetian. Junior and I rounded up two women, and of course because they had vaginas SlingBlade hated them and spent the whole time grousing about “whores” and “wanton filth.” At some point, the five of us noticed this hilarious scene on the dance floor:
A stunningly hot girl was casually dancing with one of her female friends, when this disgusting bald old man came up and started grinding her. Not just dancing next to her mind you; he was freaking her 6th grade negro style. It was ridiculous. She kept turning away, and he kept following, and we kept laughing at him. All of a sudden, SlingBlade walked over to the old man as he was trying to wheedle his way between the girls, pulled him aside, pointed to the exit and said:
“You sir are a failure in dancing and in life. Please move away from the hot girl.”
The expression on the hot girl’s face was amazing; it was the personification of true love. She was almost in tears laughing, and immediately draped herself all over SlingBlade and gave him a big kiss on his cheek. In fact, so many people were laughing that the old man actually did leave the club.
The night progresses, and things start going really well with my girl. Her hands are down my pants, her tongue is in my ear at the bar and she whispers to me:
Girl “Is it true nothing counts in Vegas?”
Tucker “It only counts if you live here.”
Girl “I am from Cincinnati.”
Tucker “It counts even less if it’s not in a bed.”
Girl “That is so hot. I’ve never done that.”
I immediately pull her into the bathroom hallway, where we start making out so intensely we could have been giving each other CPR. This club, instead of separate men’s and women’s bathrooms, has four unisex bathrooms. And the bathrooms have those really cool types of doors that are totally clear glass when unlocked, but frost up when you lock them.
Cool bathroom doors aside, I have to find a solution to my dilemma: I am drunk and horny with a drunk and horny girl who wants to fuck, but there are 20 people in front of me waiting to use the bathrooms. I decide that since I am clearly a more important person and have greater immediate need, I can cut the line. I just have to give everyone something in return.
A door opens and I rush toward it, pulling the girl with me. A douchebag guido tries to say something, but I stop him, “TRUST ME—I’ll make it worth your while.” Before he can protest I push her in and lock the door, and the clear glass immediately frosts up. She grabs me and plants a sloppy drunken kiss on me:
“Fuck me so hard I forget my name.”
You don’t have to tell me twice. I spin her around and bend her over the sink, rip her Victoria’s Secret panties as I pull them down her legs, and slam into her like Dale Earnhardt into the wall at Daytona. But as I thrust back and forth, my subconscious takes me out of the moment:
“Tucker, you have a promise to a guido to fulfill.” Stupid fucking subconscious. I look around and try to think of something.
The way the bathroom is set up, the toilet is on the back wall directly across from the door, and the sink is on the wall to the left, so as she is bent over the sink and I fuck her from behind, I am positioned between the toilet and the frosted glass door. Then it hits me: Right there, in front of my face, is the lock for the door. Hello, payback.
I turn it open and the door immediately goes from frosted to clear. A few of the people in line turn to look at the door expecting it to open…but instead see me hammering away at this girl. I smile and lock it back.
No way. Did I just give all those people a shot of me having sex?
A few more thrusts, and I click it open again. The glass clears, but this time there are four people standing there. They all stare in shock. I give them a smile and a pump and lock it back again.
Unlock the door.
Eight people standing there. I start spanking her. They cheer loudly. HOLY SHIT! HOW COOL IS THIS!
Lock it back.
Unlock the door.
A dozen people standing there. I do the ‘look ma, no hands.’ They cheer rowdily. WHO’S THE MAN NOW?
Lock it back.
Unlock the door.
More than a dozen people standing there. I grab her hair and spank her like a rented mule. They cheer wildly. I AM A SUPERSTAR! THIS IS AWESOME!
Lock it back.
I start to wonder: what do I like more, the sex or audience? I don’t care. I should go into porn. After all, it’s not the size of the dick that’s important, it’s the size of the crowd that the dick attracts.
I unlock it and lock it back over and over, giving them some different variation of the show each time; pulling her hair, putting my finger in her ass, pushing her clothes off, throwing toilet paper on her. Everything I do gets me more cheers from more people there each time. God I love being on stage. The best part is that the girl doesn’t even notice; the only part that unfrosts is the door, and except for her ass she wasn’t in front of the door. She could have just been an ass sticking out of the wall for all the crowd could tell.
By the tenth time I unlocked the door, there were at least 30 people crowded around watching me fire my cock into this girl. I’m getting close to cumming, and I decide that for my big finish, I am going to shoot my load on the glass right as I unlock the door. I start pumping harder and harder, and right before I cum I pinch the bottom of my cock (to stop the cum from shooting before I am ready), turn towards the door and simultaneously splooge on it as I unlock the door, giving the crowd my best “O” face. WHAT A FINISH!
I didn’t see him at first because I was caught up in the effect of my orgasm, but he came into my vision pretty quickly.
Instead of 30 people shocked to see me shooting a five-roper on the door…there was a huge 6'5" black bouncer, arms crossed on his chest, with a 12-inch Maglite in his hand.
His eyes met mine, then he glanced down at the load shooting onto the door, and his eyes came back to mine. We shared a moment. A moment of complete and utter shock.
That shared moment ended quickly. I think the precise second it ended can be pinpointed to when he slammed his shoulder into the door, flinging it open and smashing it right into my face. Dick in my hand and pants still at my ankles, seeing stars, I stumble backwards…and land right in the toilet.
In case you were wondering, toilet water feels exceptionally cold against a bare ass.
The bouncer storms in, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
He had the Maglite half-raised, and I am convinced that had the girl not been there, he would have introduced it to my head in a violent and ferocious collision. Thankfully, she came to my rescue:
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”
I guess he hadn’t seen her in his rush to hurt me, because the bouncer jumped in shock. I took this opportunity to pull myself out of the toilet, and ass still wet, put my pants back on.
I tried to run, but I doubt Barry Sanders in his prime could have shook this guy. He was not only big and athletic, bu
t his tackle showed perfect form, even despite the fact that he nearly slipped on the girl’s torn panties laying on the floor. I would have complimented his flawless technique, but I had problems breathing through what felt like broken ribs and a collapsed lung.
He grabbed me by the shirt and basically dragged me across the dance floor. All I could do was muster a weak, “Help!” but thankfully SlingBlade and Junior saw me and came to my rescue. Well, they didn’t stop the bouncer from dragging me out of the bar, so it wasn’t really a rescue. It was more of a “We’ll just watch and hope they don’t beat Tucker any worse” type of rescue. I get kicked out of bars all the time, but this was the first time that I was actually thrown—physically thrown through the air—out of a place. And people say old school Vegas is dead.
Even though the seat of my pants was still soaked from my wet ass, we went to another casino and drank at the center bar for an hour or so, just to decompress and digest the events that just happened. SlingBlade has the intestinal fortitude of a premature newborn, and he was not handling the combination of alcohol, In-N-Out and stress very well, so we decided to go to a diner-type place in the casino to get him some coffee.
It was about 4am Saturday at this point, and this place already had its breakfast buffet out. Junior and I immediately got plates and sat down. Greasy eggs and pork fat spilling over the edges of the plates. When the smell caught SlingBlade, he winced and turned grey. I thought I was being funny at the time:
“That’s not a good smell if you’re feeling queasy. Well, whatever you do, don’t think about greasy, fatty barbecue sandwiches with gobs of melting butter on top. And a full ashtray dumped on it.”
SlingBlade immediately leaned over and vomited all over the booth.
Tucker “OH SHIT!”
Junior “WHY DID YOU SAY THAT!”
Tucker “I DON’T KNOW!”
Still reeling from falling in a toilet and getting my ass kicked by a bouncer, I just sat there. It was Junior who saved this day. He immediately jumped into action:
“Get up SlingBlade, get up. Alright, Tucker, hold him up. Just stay here, I’ll be right back.”
He ran off to the front of the restaurant and got the manager. She was a well-dressed woman, probably in her late thirties, who looked unhappy that, at her age, she was still pulling late shifts in a Vegas restaurant.
Manager “Hi. What can I do for you?”
Junior “Yeah, we were just seated, and, well, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble for this, it’s not a big deal at all, but it appears that someone left something in our booth, and nobody cleaned it up before we were seated.”
He pointed to the booth SlingBlade had been sitting in.
Manager “What is that… Oh my Lord! I am SO sorry. Oh my! Is that vomit? Please, oh, I am so sorry. I can’t believe this. Please go to the front, we’ll get you a new table and take care of everything right away. I am so sorry. JULIO, GET OVER HERE!”
SlingBlade and I went to the front of the restaurant, SlingBlade still holding his stomach in agony. They quickly seated us at another booth in a separate part of the restaurant. SlingBlade wasn’t looking much better.
Tucker “Can you hold it together? Are you going to be alright?”
SlingBlade nodded. I was ordering him some coffee as the manager and Junior came over to our new table.
Manager “Please let me apologize again for that. I am really sorry, that has never happened before. Let me buy your meal, whatever you want. Again, I am really sorry.”
Junior “That’s really nice, but honestly, it’s not necessary. Really. It’s not a big deal.”
Manager “No, please, I want to, I feel so bad about…”
I heard it before I saw it, but the noise was enough. By the time I actually looked at him, SlingBlade only had a small dribble of vomit coming out of his mouth, but there was chunky liquid was all over the carpet…right next to the manager’s shoes.
She stood completely still, in total shock, except for her head which tilted downwards to see the damage. When SlingBlade started retching again, she jumped out of the way of his second wave of vomit. She waited for him to stop regurgitating before she spoke:
“I think all of you should leave now.”
Junior and I were still wired from all the Red Bull we drank at the club, so we decided to gamble. SlingBlade was done, but the casino we were at didn’t have any rooms either, so we had to travel all the way down the strip to Circus-Circus to find a room. Once we had the key we sent him up to the room, and started in on more blackjack. This was about 5am on Saturday morning.
Junior left the table at 10am. I kept playing and drinking vodka Red Bulls until I looked up and it was 3pm (still Saturday). SlingBlade and Junior had come back down to the table:
SlingBlade “Jesus Christ. How are you still awake? Are you on coke?” Tucker “NoDude,RedBullIsAmazingStuff,PlusIThinkTheyReallyDoPump OxygenIntoTheseCasinos.VegasIsGreatILoveItHere!DoYouThinkIShould SplitTheseTensAgainstAnEight? BookSaysNo,ButImOnARoll! HITME! HITME!COMEONPICTURE!”
SlingBlade “Should I just call Gamblers Anonymous now, or wait till you pass out?”
Junior “What’s wrong with your eyes? They are shaking.”
Tucker “ImHungry, LetsGoToInNOutAndThenGoToAStripClub! DoubleDoublesOnMe!!”
We left the casino in Junior’s car, and as soon as I sat down in the backseat I hit a wall. I passed out in the car and they just left me there. I woke up at 8pm, five hours later, still in the car, in some parking lot I didn’t recognize. Whatever; this is Vegas, it’s time to rally.
I look around and see Bellagio signs. I know why we are here. Yesterday—at least I think it was yesterday—we had been playing blackjack at the Bellagio in the early evening while we waited for SlingBlade to fly in. Junior, who has an amazing radar for big-titted girls with low self-esteem, was drawn as if by a tractor beam to the center casino bar. It was crawling with his exact type of women. Seriously, it looked like a Playboy shoot or something. He tried to pick up some of the girls but was continually and unceremoniously shot down. I found him and SlingBlade at the bar. Both were sipping drinks but not talking to any of the women.
Tucker “So what’s up Junior? I’ve never seen you give up on pussy before, especially not pussy that looks like this.”
Junior just shook his head as SlingBlade broke out laughing, “I can’t believe you two idiots didn’t recognize this yesterday. THEY ARE ALL PROSTITUTES! You don’t hit on them, you negotiate price!”
That was the bad news. The good news was that Junior and SlingBlade had not wasted their time. Even though Junior may not be able to pick up working prostitutes, he did get a Bellagio cocktail waitress to agree to come to dinner with us, and to bring two of her friends who went to UNLV with her. They met us at the bar and took us to this amazing local Thai place. Making small talk, the girls asked us what we do. I considered telling them the truth, but hey, this is Vegas. You can be anything you want here:
Tucker “We are in a band.”
Girl 1 “No way really? Anything I’ve ever heard of?”
Tucker “I don’t know—do you listen to Christian rap?”
Girl 2 “I love Christian rap!”
Tucker “Well, I am Big Baby Jesus, and [pointing to Junior] this is The Beat Boxin’ Prophet, and he [pointing to SlingBlade] is DJ Orthodoxy. Together, we call ourselves Tha Last Suppa.”
I wish I could have recorded the look on SlingBlade’s face. There isn’t a word strong enough for the look he gave me; “contempt” doesn’t cut it, and “hatred” isn’t rich enough. I fully expected the girls to laugh and ask us what we really did…and that is what I get for underestimating the stupidity of UNLV students.
Girl 2 “OH MY GOD! I totally think I have heard of you guys!”
Girl 1 “Were you on the radio today? I think I heard you!”
Now, I want to pause here and point something out. People always email me asking how it is I get into the ridiculous situations I seem to constantly find
myself in. Well people, this is a how I do it: Where most anyone else would stop the joke here, I just dropped it into fifth gear and zoomed past the speed limit.
Tucker “Yeah! I can’t believe you heard us. We aren’t that big yet, but we’re getting there. I’m glad that you two are fans.”
Girl 3 “I’m a fan too!”
Tucker “Of course you are.”
SlingBlade “And here I was thinking that Larry Johnson was the stupidest person to ever go to UNLV.”
Junior played along great, but SlingBlade was not happy. Not only did he not like being “DJ Orthodoxy,” but he could not stand the idiot girl he was talking to.
Girl 3 “So where are you from?”
SlingBlade “I don’t care.”
Girl 3 “Did you say ‘here?’ Like Vegas? Me too!”
SlingBlade “Yeah here. I’m from right here.”
Girl 3 “This neighborhood?”
SlingBlade “No, this Thai restaurant. I was lost in a rather high stakes game of Omaha Hold’em by my degenerate gambler father, but luckily escaped from the glue factory and lived as a street urchin until this nice Thai family adopted me. I lived out the rest of my childhood scampering amongst the chair legs, bussing tables for a cot and eating floor scraps for subsistence. This is like a homecoming party for me.”