VEGAS RAMBLINGS

It’s been over a month since my return and, with what could easily show the transparencies in my shambolic writing style (although my fingers remain crossed for something brisk, fun and entertaining), I hereby present to you my…

-- VEGAS RAMBLINGS --

the biggest cheer of the year…

… goes to Sir Phil Hellmuth of Brattiness. On exiting the Main Event, the dude on the mic officially announced his departure, surely knowing full well the response it would provoke.

In what became a moment that would unite a whole room of poker enthusiasts, play ceased, onlookers put down their drinks and the totty stopped gyrating their boobage to join in with a chorus of cheers and applause.

For the first time at the Rio, there was a real party atmosphere, and Hellmuth was the unwitting cause. A justified celebration of a right plonker!

room with a view

You really should venture up to the Voodoo Lounge in the Rio. It’s so high up that you feel as if you’re being taken to heaven, but the view is spectacular. The bar is poncy, but it’s just so relaxing up there on the balcony that you really won’t care.

bamboozled by a kazi

Okay, I’m no Einstein, but I never thought I’d be outwitted by a toilet. In fact, I was more than outwitted, I was tied up in knots and hung out to dry.

I can manage a sensor flush, but when it flushes randomly, it’s quite perplexing.

According to my reliable source, the WSOP loo is meant to detect the pressure of your tush when you sit down and then flush when you rise.

Not so, as my intricate testing and analysis found out. Fully clothed, I gave the seat my fullest heaviness, before faking a toilet wipe and moving towards the door… yet no flush!

And then, on a second test, the toilet flushed as I feigned the wiping of my bottom.

the mind boggles…

yummy yummy ive got food in my tummy

Coming from the land of ‘beans on toast’ and ‘fish and chips’, I always knew that the food over there would provide more than a slight improvement on my Brummie cuisine.

After spending time in Monte Carlo where I had to queue up for ages to purchase a viciously overpriced and poorly cooked burger, eating in Vegas was a delight. Everything is oversized, (I couldn’t finish a hotdog the one day), instantly accessible, and served with a smile – compare that to the lack-lustre service at Grosvenor Bolton during the Poker 6 and you really begin to appreciate the American’s level of professionalism.

The food service in the Orleans is worthy of a mention too. I ordered some Lemon chicken and within several minutes they were rattling my door. What I received was way over the top, but much appreciated; big plate of chicken, bowl of rice, two bowls of lemon sauce, a selection of savoury dips, salt and pepper, a bowl of what looked like Twiglets, a bottle of Tabasco sauce and a bottle of soy sauce. Aye carumba!

a quiet night in…

… Seamless. Yes, if the boys (who shall remain nameless - bung me later, Aaron) weren’t going out on the razz, they’d be spending their time and money in the local totty nest.

Seamless was so close to our hotel that one of Aaron’s buddies claimed that he was woken up one time by the flashing neon lights protruding from the building. And like a sheppard walking towards the star, he was in babylon heaven within minutes.

At one point I accidentally stumbled in after searching for the local chapel. But once inside, it would have been rude not to meet and greet the neighbours. In fact, we all seemed to get on splendidly, so much so that they charged me for their hospitality.

The talent in there was top notch. Whilst our home-grown strip clubs are rather dreadful creations in which the customer is treated like scum unless they don diamond shoes and the dancers are brought in off the streets, Seamless treated everyone the same and was full to the brim with incredibly beautiful women. A pleasant surprise indeed.

Although I decided not to return due to giving all my money to a pair of breasts, the others (nothing to do with Lost) became valued season ticket holders.

the invasion

Okay, it’s official, Full Tilt have landed their spaceship and are set to take over the World. Stepping off the flying saucer are an endless (and that is only just an exaggeration) list of stars; Seidel, Lederer, Ivey, Bloch, Matusow, Lindgren, Jesus, blah bah blah. It’s not fair! They’re beginning to dominate poker.

To their credit, their marketing strategies are top banana. Those hockey jerseys stick out like a sore thumb and they’ve got the right people wearing them. Everyone!

Speaking of Full Tilt and their members, Barney Boatman broke my heart recently when he informed me that Vicky Coren was famous for playing the hand 7-4 a good while before it got a mention on blonde. Crikey, I guess we’ll have to change to 9-3 of diamonds after all, ‘7-4, it’s a Coren thing’ doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.

God only knows (ahem) what Brian Wilson will say.

a routine test for the guns

Whilst I sat next to Audley Harrison and updated on Lennox Lewis, the guns stood up to the challenge and clearly intimidated both boxers in terms of size and bicepial (new word?) content. Both took one look, chucked their chips in with rubbish and scarpered.

As long as they know where they stand.

top of the tits

(5) Creeping in at number five are the lasses from Crazy Poker – the thinking man’s totty.

(4) In at number four are the Playboy Bunnies. They don’t look like geniuses, but I wouldn’t be talking politics with them. And look at those tails!

(3) Sitting in a respectable third place are the Bodog girls. Perched on a raised floor, Bodog would film you pillow fighting two half dressed floozies on a bed. They would then email you the evidence and let you take the pillow home as a souvenir. Seeing Tom from Antes Up smelling his pillow like a man possessed is a sight that will haunt me for years.

(2) Just pushed out of the top spot are the Milwaukee Beer Girls. They looked suspiciously young, but were cute, petite and scantily clad. What more can you ask for?

(1) Straight in at number one are the Doylesroom girls. Slightly classier than the rest of the tittie mob – oh I do love a cowgirl. Yeeeeehaaaaa!

bottom of the tits

The Sun Poker girls could have woken a small child from a coma and the lack of boobage was most dissatisfying. Eek!

to be continued…