Old mans and bold plans

The longer you live in vegas, the less in touch you are with reality. Its almost like an inverse prison where you are free to do so many normally unacceptable activities that you become institutionalized to your debauchery. You also become numb to the bright lights, the big bets, and the fake tits. Once you’ve been here over a year you’ve been in every casino, played every poker hand, and partied at every bar. When me and my roommate Scalley were discussing which poker room to abuse last night, I threw out the idea of hitting the Monte Carlo. Its one of those hotels that clearly exists and is likely very nice but you would have no reason to venture towards. Wonderful location, lavish interior, and a backer with limitless pockets, this place still doesnt seem to have a true hook that seperates it from the pack. So I was suprised when I first heard Scalley say that he had never set foot inside, but the more I thought about it, why the fuck would you set foot inside?
I had been there by accident one time at the tail end of a dissappointing story. Basically, my buddy Carr and I picked up two semi-stable Canadian tourists at the Voodoo lounge and were looking to take the party back to his apartment. Anytime we went to buy the chicks drinks or they went to the bathroom, Carr would grab me forcefully by the arm and repeat the phrase, “This must happen.” He would then go back to his half passed out state, before snapping back to life Christopher Walken style and reiterating “This must happen.” Initially we told the girls that we were going to the hottest after hours spot in vegas, the desert club, not giving the full information that Carr lived in the Desert Club Apartments. I had to physically restrain Carr from driving home even though all four of us were well beyond sober, and eventually convinced him to get in a taxicab rather than retrive his vehicle from the valet. The lively cab ride included my chick saying that she did stain glass windows for a living, and Carr immediately slurring “Thats amazing, thats exactly what Ed does.” We spent the next fifteen minutes discussing the 10 times scale hamburger window I had erected in a Richmond McDonalds, with special detail given to the search for the perfect glass to represent the pickle. When the cab stopped in front of the apartment the girls were unphased by the turn of events and the four of us marched right up the stairs to Carrs door, at which point he turned and said “The funny thing is, that I do not have the keys to my apartment.” It was then that we realized that his housekey was still with the valet, we had no vehicle, and the taxi had long sinced left. It was about 3 in the morning and we had to walk about 2 miles from his building to the Monte Carlo, after which the blistered females wanted no part of us barging into the room where the rest of their friends were staying. On our way out, an enraged Carr was unable to comprehend how that which must happen did not and he responded by flipping over every chair at unoccupied table games until a security guard recommended that he not do it anymore. Even then, I had to physically restrain him from tipping them each and every time we passed. It was the only time I had been to the Monte Carlo before last night.
Once I came to terms with the idea of Scalley having never set foot in a strip casino, we knew we had to go and were at the entrance to the elusive resort destination by about nine PM. We curved our way through the maze of slots to the Poker room which was actually fairly nice. There was open seating at 4-8 and we each took our spots at seperate tables with me cashing in for 120. The first hand I saw was something like king four suited that I played strong with king coming on the flop, but some old fuck showed pocket aces at the end. I dropped about twenty four bucks in the process and gained immediate disrespect from the table when I didnt show. After folding a couple hands on the flop, I heard the old piece of shit in the nine seat lean over to the ten and say “I only checked cause I assumed the four seat would raise for me”, talking shit about me like I wouldnt understand their secret old man code. Right about there is where I realized it was fucking war.
I got 45 of diamonds under the gun and called as it went around and was raised by another party. I again called and there were about 6 of us in to the flop. It came jack of diamonds, six of diamonds, seven of spades, giving me a flush draw and an open ended straight draw. I checked, hoping someone would raise, but instead I got a free card on the turn which was the four of clubs. This time I bet out and got reraised. Two callers and I went right back over the top to make it 24. That thinned the field to three, and when the four of spades came on the river, I was pretty sure it was a done deal. First position checked, I bet out and both paid me off. There was signifigant grumbling from the old men and I figured it would only piss them off more if I defended the play. “Open ended with a flush draw on the flop boys, Im sure you would have folded though. Come play with me again next time.”
The next hand I was in, I had jack ten off suit and called in late position. The flop came queen nine three and it got bet out strong by the decaying guy under the gun. I called as did two others, and the turn came jack. I again just called, but when the river came kind and I got checked into, I bet it and got paid off. Old man river flipped two queens and muttered, “you were drawing to no outs.” I responded “Actually I was drawing to eight outs, hey look theres one. See that king on the river that gave me your hundred dollar pot, that was one of my outs, no?” He just rearranged his stack, steaming. I hit another draw shortly after and he started bitching at the dealer, “These rivers have been absolutely terrible, what are you doing to me?” I quickly shot back, “Dont listen to that crybaby, you have been doing an incredible job. The river is liquid gold with you at the helm.” I threw the dealer an extra dollar tip, and continued “you keep doing what you’re doing and dont worry about a thing”. He tried to defend himself to the veteran of the war of 1812 by pointing to the automatic shuffler and saying “Its got nothing to do with me, this guy tells me who gets what cards.” I corrected him, “Well, technically, you are the one that cuts the cards, so everything is up to you, and if I do say so you’re doing a bang up job”. He laughed a little as I flipped him another buck.
There was some back and forth from there with me tightening up signifigantly, until there was a kill pot and I was dealt pocket tens. I made it nine preflop and got called blind by the kill button that was intent on playing his rush along with one other caller. Flop came Q-8-2 with two hearts, and I bet it strong, getting a reraise from the kill button and a fold from the other participant. I called him down cause he only had 12 chips left and had him all in on the turn where he showed 8-2, the river blanked and we were set to play another kill pot. This time I was dealt pocket sevens, so again I raised and again I got called blind by the kill button. Flop came 6-6-4, so I bet it strong and the button just called. Turn came king, I checked and he bet, followed by the ace on the river with the same ordeal. He flipped Q-6 offsuit and again dragged a big pot. I had given back all my winnings and was now on the button with jack five offsuit. I figured what the hell and just called with the kill button raising blind basically out of tradition. People were sick of getting pushed around by the two of us so we had like 7 callers for 9 bucks a piece. Flop came 3-5-9 with two diamonds and it got bet out first position with four callers including myself. Turn came ten, another bet and four calls. River came four, no diamond and again first position bet. The next two guys folded and I figured with the money in the pot and the possibility of him betting a flush draw, I better call. The guy behind me said “If you can call, I cant” and folded. First position flipped over king duece of diamonds, king high, and I proudly displayed my pair of fives jack kicker to win the 150 dollar pot. You can not imagine the complaining at the table. The guy at the end had folded a nine and someone else had gotten rid of ace five. Shit was fucking dominant dude.
I continued to play for another hour or so, but gave a little money back. I ended up cashing out 209 on my 120 for a profit of 89 bucks and going home to get some much needed sleep. Scalley saw no such beginners luck on his inagural visit to the Monte Carlo, but I think we both recognized that it was not a good place to bang heads with tourists. For the most part it was the type of cumdrudgens that are only fun in that they are easy to antagonize. No real money will be won there and I doubt that I return anytime soon. That said, even old man winter himself couldnt stop Eddie Money’s hot streak and I daresay that there isnt a low limit table in vegas that can handle my force.

Old mans and bold plans

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