the Most Roman

“Holy Shit,” I exclaimed. Shook my head & blinked & plumb befuddle stumbled as two armed goons shook me loose from their one on-each-elbow grip.

“It’s daytime!!’

I blinked again.

A freshly disembarked bus-load of Japanese tourists milled excitedly on the sidewalk in front of Circus Circus.

Very drunk. Can’t even blink straight.,.

I glanced sidelong at my two partners in crime. A sunbeam reflected like a jewel-flash from Seacrow’s freshly shaved head. Julius grinned wildly & rolled his tongue from his mouth as if to not just kiss but salaciously make out with the morning sky.

“I fucking LOVE this town!” I howled – which town? I had no clue — as six casino security personnel pressed us roughly from the premises for reasons I temporarily couldn’t recall.

That’s when it’s awesome.

It was awesome & splendidly then some; quite literally The Time of our young lives. I wanted badly to celebrate it and, in retrospect, my want was perfectly right.

“We’ll have three Wild Turkeys in to-go glasses.” I informed the closest goon, “With ice & Pronto.”

Duh-no we WON’T!!” Seacrow laughed & slurred & shook his finger like one would to correct a child’s silliness. “Turkey flew coop & go by-bye!!

I laughed uncontrollably. By why? I strained to remember… Quarters, dimes & a cool couple $1’s – seven cash dollars total – scraped up, the night before, from our laundry bags & car floor. Right. We cashed these into nickels. Dispatched a cocktail girl for our first round of Wild Turkey on ice & parked at the nickel slots — many, many hours & multiple bottles of liquor ago.

We won & lost some but on balance our luck held amazingly. When the nickels ran low we were ready: we had a Plan. Instead of pumping coins in one after another we fed the machines with the deliberate patience of ‘gamblers’ who won’t be denied their divine Right to complimentary whiskey.

When they ran critically short we scooped our remaining nickels out of the slot-machine loot bins and – with much celebratory high-5 fanfare & exaggerated cling-clang – threw the coins back in by hand.

Like: “Sweet be-jeezus we won AGAIN! Can ya believe it? More whiskey for the Low Rollers W’Hee!!”

And when the Circus Circus ran out of Wild Turkey we just smiled & waved to the ubiquitous security cameras & downgraded to Jim Beam without complaining.

The cameras glared back menacingly. But it was too late. The House was already beat.

“Hey — are you guys actually gambling,” A cocktail girl – our second, on account of the A.M. shift change – asked finally, “Or are you just here to drink free?”

“We’re gambling for free drinks,” Julius winked at her matter-of-factly, “And winning! May we have three more please?”

“Yes! Please!!” Seacrow pleaded politely. “Shit – we’ll tip you our next Jackpot if you bring us 2 drinks apiece!”

She glanced nervously over both shoulders. “They’re not gonna like this…”

Nevertheless the girl was back in a flash. We slurped this round speedily, though, astutely sensing through the booze-fog that Trouble would soon follow.

And in fact it did. There were the six aformentioned security goons.

And their Trouble was Julius.

Grateful Dead bassist Phil Lesh described his band’s seismic early 90’s popularity surge as the ‘Mega Dead Era;’ a time when their once-secret travelling circus was colonized by new fans in thousands-fold droves.

“If you don’t know what to do,” the band famously advised their young legions, “Ask an older DeadHead!”

Julius was the Kid those older DeadHeads warned you about.

He put Mega in the Mega Dead Era; the Life, as it were, of the Biggest Party ever to hit Planet Earth — right when that party went Huge.

Like a Corvette convertible found parked on a country road after midnight, keys in the ignition, Julius begs from his friends the Question: Why buy the Ticket – why bother – when we can takes the Ride For Free?

“Add a six-pack of Reno’s best Hookers to that whiskey order!” Julius chimed, with Hell’s Bells certainty, into the early morning goon-ruckus on the Circus Circus front sidewalk. “Two each for my friends. YES. No. Make it seven – I get 3 cause I’m the Most Roman! Plus a round of low rent blow-jobs for the Goon Squad…my treat!”

Julius turned and tapped a Japanese tourist on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he begged with supreme dignity, ‘Can you spare a thousand dollar?”

Whole thousand dollar?” The tourist asked, stunned but bested by curiosity. ‘Why you need thousand dollar??”

“The ladies the ladies!!”

“Ooh, for whole thousand?” The tourist gulped, “That sound like goood Yankey My Wankey!”

+$!

Advertisements

5 Responses to “the Most Roman”


  1. 1 xela December 6, 2006 at 5:11 am

    Even though I know this story it’s always good for a chuckle. Sweet story on my dirty thirty!

  2. 2 Mike E December 6, 2006 at 6:07 am

    & a jolly frikkin dirty 30 to yaz…

  3. 3 pippi December 6, 2006 at 1:55 pm

    *roaring thunderous laughter*
    you filled my heart with something good today!

  4. 4 Mike E December 6, 2006 at 6:23 pm

    Pippi:

    It fills my heart with Something Good to help you get your laughs On…

    … got any old friends who might dig this kind of thing?

  5. 5 Julius July 11, 2012 at 12:16 am

    I was born on a green light daddio!!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s





%d bloggers like this: