Tag Archives: Bet

A Different Definition

I’ve been in Las Vegas for the last couple of days. And, yes, dudes, it has been fun.

Fortunately, it’s been the kind of fun I actually remember, rather than the kind of fun I need to piece together by looking at debit card receipts, fuzzy memories and horrified glances at the camera roll in my futurephone. (What? Surely I can steal from a couple of relatively funny movies and a horrifically bad third movie?) Although, this is probably a case of art imitating life because I know we’ve all had that sort of night at one point in our lives.

Rather than the fun, though, I thought I’d talk about the different definitions of class.

For instance, I’m pretty sure that here in Vegas, class is something from which you sip a drink.

See what I did there? Vegas doesn’t know what it is and, instead, mispronounces it as something else? Does having to explain a joke make it funnier? No, probably not. Well, lesson learned. Moving on.

I stayed in the Flamingo, which is supposed to be a pretty good hotel and casino. And it was. The Flamingo’s clean, relatively inexpensive and not bad at all. Still, here’s how they set up an in-hotel lingerie store.

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The entrance to the store is surrounded by the appearance of two widely spread female legs wearing garter belts.

Yeah, that’s Vegas class, dudes.

I’m not alone in thinking this is a bit beyond the pale, yeah?

I have to keep reminding myself that, as in all things, it could be worse. It could be worse.

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The Dawn Of A New Day

by Richard

Here it is, dudes. It’s the start of another brand-new year. Welcome to the end of the world. Welcome to 2012.

End of the world, you ask. Yes, I say. There’s some people who are taking seriously the end of the Mayan calendar. According to some, the Mayan calendar devised thousands of years ago, ends on Dec. 21, 2012. And, they argue, this means the entire world will come to an end.

That’s like saying I’m going to tear up a calendar and expect there to be no sunrise tomorrow. Just ludicrous.

Anyway.

Today’s going to be a rather strange New Year’s Day for me. Normally, the whole point of New Year’s Day is to recover from the hangover generated by the night before and watch a lot of college football bowl games. Unfortunately, today’s a Sunday, which means the National Football League has control of the airwaves. So, no college football for you today.

Which, while odd, is probably a good thing. I’ve got a yearly thing I do with a friend I’ve had since fourth grade where we bet on all the bowls. At the beginning of every bowl season, I just ask him where he wants me to send his check. I stink at picking bowl winners. I really do. And, yet, I still do it every year. Something wrong there.

Regardless, it’s time to welcome in the new year, however you want to do it. No matter how long it lasts, this year has got to be better than the one that preceded it.

End of the world? Bring it on, dude. Bring it on.

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Shouldering The Load

by Richard

I get it. By jimminy, I get it. I really, really do. You dudes can all stop now. Please.

Here is a typical conversation with a stranger, pick a stranger. Basically anyone who I bump into during the course of my day. Anywhere. Anytime. Anyone.

“Hey, what’d you do to your arm? Shoulder?”

Me: “Shoulder,” trying to move on because I know what’s coming.

Stranger: “Rotator cuff?”

Me: sighing, “Yeah, among other stuff. Had the biceps tendon reattached and had some of my clavicle bone shaved off.”

Stranger: “Wow.”

Me: “Yeah,” trying to leave, but knowing it won’t work.

Stranger: “You know, a (insert relationship here; friend, relative, acquaintance) of mine had that kind of thing. He said it was the most pain he’d/she’d ever gone through. I mean, it’s agony on wheels.”

Me: “So I’ve heard. I’m doing all right, though.”

Stranger: “You must not have started the physical therapy yet. Boy, that’s when the pain really kicks in. I mean, she/he told me she/he was crying like a baby every time she/he went to physical therapy. And it kept hurting all the time. For months. Said it was like having a knife jammed in there and then stirred around for good luck.”

Me: wincing in anticipation and starting to feel sympathy pains for my future self, “Um, yeah. Thanks for sharing.”

Stranger: “No, really. I mean, he/she had (insert some horrible, appallingly invasive surgery or medical procedure here) and he/she said that was nothing compared to getting his/her shoulder done and the rehab after.”

Me: feeling nauseous all over again, “Uh, yeah. Thanks for sharing. Again.”

Finally feeling my oats enough to be rude, that’s when I turn around and walk away. Very, very quickly. And normally bump my shoulder into something hard and unforgiving.

So, yes. I get it. I understand that it’s painful. I also know I don’t need to be reminded — constantly — of that fact. You’d think people would get the hint.

Unless — you don’t suppose? — it’s some sort of conspiracy, maybe. Maybe they are all out to get me. That must be it. I’m sure of it. You’re all trying to hurt me. I see it all so clearly now. I —

UPDATE: I’ve cut down on the meds a bit now and I think I should be all better. Just sort of ignore the previous. I know that’s what I’m trying to do.

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