crazy vegas adventures

[chicagoboy]

Originally Posted by pxmcc

As I reflect on what I'm writing, I've realized that my life is straight outta Pulp Fiction. Is that something to brag about? No, it means I'll probably die young.

Not young enough.

[pxmcc]

Originally Posted by chicagoboy

Not young enough.

You want me dead Chicago Boy? I thought you enjoyed fucking with me. And accusing me of a certain nefarious activity which I categorically deny. lol

[Carmelita DeLeón]

Vegas

[pxmcc]

Originally Posted by Carmelita DeLeón

Vegas

Would you like to go? I bet you're Lady Luck.

Keri who joined me on this last trip was also Lady Luck. I'm going to title one chapter Lady Luck, in her honor. She literally cleaned up in Vegas.

There was this scene in Sacks Fifth Avenue as we were leaving Vegas that reminded me of a scene from a movie.. Well you'll have to wait to hear. ha ha

[N.M.]

This has to be the gayest trash talk pre-fight I've ever heard (read) and of course wu had to be one of the "opponents"

pxmcc- you're quite a character you make me chuckle from time to time, that's not necessarily based on this thread but some of your other posts.
Don't get ban too soon this time!

[pxmcc]

Originally Posted by Natalia Mori

This has to be the gayest trash talk pre-fight I've ever heard (read) and of course wu had to be one of the "opponents"

pxmcc- you're quite a character you make me chuckle from time to time, that's not necessarily based on this thread but some of your other posts.
Don't get ban too soon this time!

Omg Natalia that's one of the nicest things I've heard, especially considering we haven't always been on the same page, to say the least. Some guys are going to throw rotten tomatoes at me, but I'm gonna cross the picket lines and become a Natalia fan. Forget anything mean I said to you/about you before. My bad!

Btw I have no interest in rumbling with WU. My point is simply that if he's gonna talk shit about me online, he should be willing to do it in person. If he does, I'm gonna shake his hand and buy him a beer, then he can trash me online as much as he likes. That's all I'm saying.

[pxmcc]

Natalia I forgot to tell you I got a real kick out of reading your reply to the "Negro Man" story. I fell outta my chair laughing, actually. I had withheld judgment until you had a chance to weigh in, cause it seemed a bit farfetched.

[Wakeup]

Is this the thread that has caused so much bellyache? Heh.

[Sistine Chapel]

Originally Posted by pxmcc

Omg Natalia that's one of the nicest things I've heard

^ after using OMG

Originally Posted by pxmcc

I'm gonna shake his hand and buy him a beer.

^ I have no doubts that's all you will do. Squab game obsolete.

[Slitlikr]

Originally Posted by Wakeup

Is this the thread that has caused so much bellyache? Heh.

Why do you insist on subjecting the membership to this steaming pile of manure again?

Jsmh.

[pxmcc]

^^Thx Slit! Fuck you too! ha ha.

Alright all you pathetic fucks, I'll Be Back.
"But not yet. Not yet." Maximus, from Gladiator.

You can take the blue pill or the red pill, or drink the fucking Koolade. I could give two fucks.

When I return, I resolve to use a word processor instead of my Droid. Wow!

The first chapter will be called, "Taylor Mayhem." The exciting part happened off the tables. Never stand between an ebony provider and her donation. Well you can, just be aware of the nature of the situation you are in. It can get kinda "interesting."

[pxmcc]

Originally Posted by Kammye

#dead

Just saw this. ha ha.

Dammit Kammye is this how you treat a good client? ha ha. I wonder how you treat your bad clients? Hate to find out...

I gave you 2 yesses? Wtf was I thinking? ha ha.

[Slitlikr]

Originally Posted by pxmcc

^^Thx Slit! Fuck you too! ha ha.

Alright all you pathetic fucks, I'll Be Back.
"But not yet. Not yet." Maximus, from Gladiator.

You can take the blue pill or the red pill, or drink the fucking Koolade. I could give two fucks.

When I return, I resolve to use a word processor instead of my Droid. Wow!

The first chapter will be called, "Taylor Mayhem." The exciting part happened off the tables. Never stand between an ebony provider and her donation. Well you can, just be aware of the nature of the situation you are in. It can get kinda "interesting."

I was referring to wu.

[pxmcc]

The story so far...




Craps, In the Beginning
How the hell does someone decide that it's a good idea to wager a bunch of hard earned money on a dice table? Good question, without a really good answer. Well my old man is convinced he has a "system" to beat Vegas. And I’m real close to perfecting my perpetual motion machine. Then he asks me to do the math to prove his system is a winner winner chicken dinner. Umm, there's this thing called expectation value, and if it aint positive, well let's just say, that aint positive. And no matter how frickin brilliant you are, you aren't going to "beat the system." But he's a frickin stubborn dumbass like all the McC's, and I could not get that simple concept into his thick skull. So, as the saying goes, if you can't beat 'em, join em. Sure, there must be a way to beat Vegas. Plus my super stud little bro tells me I gotta check this game out.

Lake Charles, and How They Hook You.
So I head to Lake Charles (Vegas to Houstonians) with about 700 in fun money to make my fortune. And I call my studly little bro, his name is Joseph but we both pronounce it Yoey, and say Yoey I got my 700$ rent check here in the casino (kidding-it was my mortgage payment-KIDDING!), how the heck can I get rich quick? And he explains optimal betting, a pass bet and 2 comes with full odds. And then he said something strange. "Watch the shooters." and I said, "When I watch the shooters, what am I watching for?" and he said, "Watch for shooters who are confident and who hit points. 2, 3, 4 points. Get a fix on each shooter on the table. Good shooter. Bad shooter. Random shooters. Crazy 7 shooter." my curiosity piqued: "What’s a crazy 7 shooter look like?" "Bombs away. Incoming! Everyone down! Mortars!" Shit, that sounds fun! "Find your shooters. Ride the gravy train of your best shooters. Avoid the choppy shooters. Ride the don'ts on your bad shooters and crazy 7 shooters." Alright. So all I have to do is watch my shooters and I’m gonna get rich. I asked him if good shooters have a certain look. He said “Ya, you know what they do in the ghetto for fun from age 3? They play dice. Lots of dice." Alright. I have my strategy. I just have to find someone who looks like he's been shooting dice since he was in diapers. Can’t exactly ask someone if he was wearing Pampers when he was first throwing the bones. Alright let's see what happens.

So I take my paltry 700 down to the tables with my girlfriend of the month who's at least half my age; good thing too. Laws in Louisiana are a little different. Its strictly Napoleonic code there, which means that the law is whatever the hell the cops deem it to be. Find a spot on the table and get busy watching the shooters. Little old lady kind of picks em n heaves em. 7 out line away. Nope. Nervous guy who has his car note on the table. Nope. Guy who does his best Nolan Ryan impersonation. He's that crazy 7 shooter Yoey was telling me about. Nope. Dice come to me. I don’t know how to shoot. I don’t want them. I pass em to Victoria. "Come on sweety. Show ‘em how its done." Make about 15$ on her. Dice keep moving. Eventually they arrive in the hands of Mr. Cool. Rubs his hands on the felt. Sets the dice. Throws. Whoa, backspin! The dice kind of graze the back wall and fall dead. Hard 6, a 3 3 roll. (Now the shooter wants a 6 before a 7, which is called making a point.) 2 rolls later, shooter rolls 33, hits his point the hard way. (Hard way is same #s on top. Easy 6 is any other two numbers that add to 6.) 1st point. Come out roll, hits 2 7s and a yo 11. (On come out rolls, 7 and 11 are winners.) People start clapping and yelling. Shooter rolls an 8, the new point. 3 rolls later, shooter hits a hard 8 (44). Shooter hits his 2nd point. People start cheering. (Craps tables are the easiest to find; they are always the loudest places in the casino.) I'm looking at this cool brother. not even breaking a sweat, just rhythm and beauty. I look over at him. But instead of a cool cat on the tables, I see this fucking infant in his fucking Pampers, saying, "No mommy, I don't wanna take a nap! Can't you see I’m busy shooting dice?" I’m like, holy fuck; this is the guy Yoey was talking about. That's him! I tell the dealer I wanna put all my money down behind the line. (that's called am odds bet.) how much do I need to put down on my line bet? he looks at my chips. "u got 700 there. if u put 33 down for your line bet, u can take max odds of 660 after he hits his point. your gonna basically be all in." I follow his instructions. 33$ on the line bet. shooter rolls a hard 8 (44). I look at my girlfriend. Sweetie? she's like, "It's your damn money, don’t ask me.” Well I’m a crazy fuck anyway, so I put 660 behind the line, hoping beyond hope he rolls a frickin 8 before a 7. In my mind, I’m thinking, win, lose, or draw, fuck it, I’m done after this roll, about to have a frickin heart attack. Shooter rolls a 4, a 9, a 6. where the hell is my damn 8? Getting a little nervous. I shout out, "44 shooter!" sonofabitch. the mo fo rolled a frickin 8. 62. I pick my girlfriend up off the floor and we kiss mid-flight. the dealer starts counting out the chips. 33$ for your line bet. odds bet $660 pays $792. I push all my chips in to color up. (coloring up is where you trade your small chips for larger chips to cash out.) Hit the cage with about 1500 of which about 800 is profit. We go hit the steakhouse. Yoey told me about comps; pit boss gave us 2 passes for the steakhouse. Free shit is always good.


Back to School. Math Class Is Now in Session.
So after winning a lousy 800 bucks on the dice tables, I thought, boy that was fun. And that, my friends, is how they get you. I want to return to a certain papa McC’s theory of beating Vegas. And I need to introduce you to some terms: Martingale and Anti-Martingale. Honestly, I don't know who the fuck Martingale was-some genius? some retard?-and why the hell was Mr. Antimartingale so opposed to Mr. Martingale? Maybe Martingale was the HOA president, and Antimartingale was the one that mailed him the dead fish. Smh. Well it turns out papa McC’s perpetual motion machine was a classic martingale scheme, (right up there with a Ponzi scheme IMHO). Let me demonstrate a classic martingale scheme. Let's say I sit down on a roulette table with a table minimum of 3$ and a table maximum of 1000$. I pick one of the bets that is as close as possible to a 50/50 bet. Let’s say red is my favorite color and I decide to bet on red. What if I bet 3$ on red. Black comes up. So what do I do? Well certainly red is due, right? Course. So I bet 6 on red. whoops another black. I’m 9$ in the hole. well shoot if I bet 12 on red, I’m still going to make a profit, right? Sure. So I bet 12 on red. Oops unlucky day. 00 green comes up. and I’m thinking well now red is a sure bet; it's clearly long overdue. I put 24 on red. Gotta hit now for sure. Nope, another black. Damn. I’m outta pocket 45$. Well shit I can't quit now. Where the f is my damn red? So I put 48 on red. My palms are getting sweaty. I’m getting kind of agitated. I look around nervously. The dealer spins the wheel. The ball bounces around and lands on RED! I’m overfrickin joyed. The dealer pays me my 48$, and I sit down to order a big fat margarita. I count my chips. I realize I have 3 more dollars than when I started my little "progression." Wow I almost had a heart attack and I made 3$! I’m rich! that, my friends, is a classic martingale progression. Sounds pretty dumb, especially for 3$!

Well what if I’m a baller stud and I say fuck it. I’ll show up with 5 grand and I will cover any damn bet I lose, and fuck the 3$. I’m going to use an aggressive Martingale so I don't stress for a lousy 3$ profit. I want to stress for a real win. so here's the sequence: 5, 12, 30, 80, 200, 500, 1000. And I’m going to give it a name, I’m going to call it Victoria's progression, in honor of my girlfriend at the time. And what if some hypothetical baller had the kahunas to actually do it, someone who clearly just doesn't give a fuck and gets a kick out of everything? How would that work out, I wonder?

Alright so our hypothetical gambler explains his "system" to his friend, let's call him Jack. and Jack says, "Dude that's fucking stupid! You're gonna win a little, and win a little, and then, you know what? you're gonna lose your shirt." and so our hypothetical gambler says, "Well Jack, if you're so smart, how would you roll?" and Jack says, "Ya I am fucking smart, and I will explain how it's done." And so he does.

And Jack says, "Alright listen up. I sit myself down on the same table as you. but you're over married to fucking red and you're not watching the board. You don't have a clue what's hot. Odds? High numbers? Black? I’m gonna bet with the board. I’m gonna put down 20$ down on the best 50/50 bet on the table. If I hit, my next bet ups to 25. If I hit again, I go up to 30. If I miss, I drop down to say 15. If I miss again, I drop down to like 8. that way I’m making money when I’m hot, and when I’m not, I’m not losing too much. unlike you, dumbass. You're gonna lose your shirt." Our gambler is not convinced.

What Jack explained is called the Anti-Martingale system. So who is right?

Vegas, Baby. The Fakest City on Earth.
So the following New Years, (crazy I was still dating the same gal), Victoria and I headed west, to the city of Sin. Cobbled together a respectable bankroll of about 3,500. Got a rec. for the El Cortez from papa McC, so that's where I went. Great hotel, great service, great frickin food; the tempura shrimp is to die for. Got in plenty of fucking, sightseeing for the gal. With my little piece of shit 3,500 bankroll, we got treated like royalty. Everything was comped, Porterhouse steak every night. They moved us into one of the newly renovated suites; the only thing we paid was tips: lotsa ones. Always had 40$ in ones. Left my bankroll as front money at the cage. Picked it up on the way to the tables, dropped it off on the way back. Had lots of small wins. 300, 200, 400, that kind of shit, mainly on dice, but we mixed in some roulette too. My girlfriend liked blackjack, so I’d give her a 100 bucks and told her to go have fun. She actually came back with a profit a couple of times. I was like, "Good job sweety!" and I’d kiss her like she just won the lottery.

I Learned How to Shoot
It happened one particular afternoon, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. I’m on a good table. Confident shooters, everyone in a groove. hi fives, yelling and screaming. Then something changed. 7 out, line away. 7 out, line away. 7 out, line away. Good shooters looking at the dice like they had a damn hex on em. I’m smh. smmfh. I stop betting. I just wait for the dice to get to me. I have no plan. I’m not a good shooter. Honestly, I don't know how to shoot. But I wait, and it comes. "You gonna shoot?" "Yup." "You need a line bet down." Deliberately, I put my min bet down, 5$. I start playing with the dice, turning them around, analyzing the numbers. I focus on the 7s. I think, "what if I set the 7s to the sides, and throw kind of soft, right down the middle of the table?" and that's what I did. threw a 6. take full odds. 50. 2 rolls. hit a 6. 1st point. pays 65. I remember what my little bro told me. pass n 2 comes, full odds, press the action on a hot shooter. I press my flat bet to 10$. throw a 4. 100 odds on the 4. 10$ to the come. Throw a 9. Take full odds, 100 on the 9. Another come bet for 10$. Throw a 6 and take full odds. 100 on the 6. Throw a 4. 2nd point. pays 210. People start clapping. Come out bet, press to my Pass Line bet to 15. "I want everything working on the come out." "Alright, everything working on the Come Out." (that means I really don't want to see a 7 even though a 7 is usually good on the come out.) hey put an On marker on my chips.

Throw a 9. pays 160. Bets start flying all over the table. I start blocking everything out. Perfect set. Perfect set, perfect throw. That's all that's going through my mind. I press my flat bets up to 20. 200 odds. I push to a pass and 3 comes. Hit another point. The pit boss gets on my case for rolling short. "Shooter, both dice to the back wall!" I sorta acknowledge him. I heard the dealers go easy on you if you tip em, so I start throwing tips at the dealers to shut em up. I keep rolling. I press my flat bets to 50. Full odds 500 each. The table is now going nuts. Hit another point. 4th in a row. it was an 8. paid 650 on the spot. The pit boss is getting really agitated. "Both dice to the back wall!" he bellows. I’m like, "I’m trying." Well I’m not really trying. what I’m really trying is to not 7 out. That's all I’m trying to do. Another point. I think it was a 10. Paid a 1000 on my 500 odds bet plus 50 flat. utter. fucking. mayhem. there are stacks of black chips all over the table. the pit boss stares me down. "the last time I’m gonna say it. both dice to the back wall." I got $ on every number on the table, all 500 odds bets. I take 2 reds, push em to the dealer. "I wanna press my 6." Pass him a black. "full odds." "100 odds on the 6. puts you at 60 flat, 600 odds on the 6." I push 2 more reds to him. "Press my 8." "Pressing the 8." I push a another black in. "Make my 8 odds look like 600.." "Bringing it to 600 odds on the 8." People all around the table start throwing blacks down. "300 place the 6, 300 place the 8." I look at the dice. you could hear a pin drop. I set 44 on top, 22 behind, 7s to the sides. throw. perfect throw. dealer calls it. "Hard 8!" I literally pick my girlfriend up and we do like 3 360's. dealer pays me 780 on my flat and odds bet on the 8. the dealers pay out what looked like 15k on that one roll. pit boss stands up and points at me: "Shooter you are disqualified! I told you for the last time, both dice to the back wall! Pass the dice!"

Well shit I got like 3k sitting out there on the table and I’m thinking I’m about to get fucked by some shitty shooter so I bark out, "All bets down." Well the pit boss explains, "You can take all your odds down but your flat bets are staying up." "All odds down." The dealer hands me about 3k of odds bets back, and I resign to wait to see all my flat bets creamed, and then something astonishing happens. somebody yells to the guy to my left:” Shooter, pass the dice!" and he does. And so does the next person. And the next. They're trying to get the dice back to me, the hot shooter on the table. I’m thinking in the back of my mind, if this works, is he even going to let me shoot? Well I never found out, because some dumbass grabbed the dice and rolls. "7 out, line away! Take the line, pay the don’ts!" Brilliant, fucking brilliant!

One word. Color. i push in stacks after stacks. rails and rails of red (5), green (25), black (100), plus the odd couple of purple (500). The obligatory count commences. 7,200, give or take a few. I'm getting ready to drop off pretty much the whole bankroll at the cage and leaving it as front money. and Victoria says, "why don't we play a little roulette?" i'm like, "you sure you want to play roulette? don't you wanna go sightseeing on the strip baby?" "nope, i want to play roulette." i'm a little uncomfortable. "well how long do you want to play for?" i'm looking for a tangible out. maybe we can sit down for 15 minutes and Victoria can get her little roulette fix. "let's just go with the flow." go with the flow. those words echo in eternity. "let's just go with the flow." Ha.

Russian Roulette
So i cancel my trip to the cage and instead we amble over to the roulette table, 5 to 1000. i nestle in. i pull out my chips from the dice game. honestly, it looked ridiculous. no one on earth sits down at a roulette table at the El Cortez with over 7000 in chips. the bosses kind of murmur among themselves, like who the hell is this nutjob? we've never seen this much money on a roulette table, well practically ever.

and we sink into the rhythm of the game. I'm running a straight Martingale, Victoria's progression. well i never told her i named a roulette betting progression in her honor. she might have thought that was a little strange. i'm playing contra to the table: when reds are hitting, i'm betting black. when odds are hitting, i'm betting evens. things get pretty exciting. have some progressions that get as high as 500 before i finally hit. i should have noticed thunderclouds on the horizon.

but i'm trucking along, making 15 here, 30 there, 160 on the more exciting runs. well i'm watching the board and i notice a string of blacks. i figure red is overdue. i put 5 on red. 28 black comes up. 12$ on red. 34 black hits. 30 on red. green single 0 hits. 80 on red. green 00 hits. god i hate those fucking greens. are you kidding me? 200 red. 4 black hits. 500 on red. 00 again. fucking greens. you gotta be kidding me! 1000 on red. 6 black comes up. now i have a conundrum. i'm at the table limit. my bankroll is still able to back up my bets, but there isn't a 2000 bet on the table. i improvise. 1000 on red, 1000 on odd. black 16 comes up. i curse. now i have a double problem. i'm up against the table limit and my bankroll limit. i say, fuck it. all in. 1000 odd, 1000 red, 1000 high numbers (19-36). if i hit at least 2 out of 3 bets, i resolve to call it a day, count my losses, and regroup tomorrow. the dealer spins. i practically can't even watch. at least in dice, as a shooter, i have some say in my destiny. here, i am at the whim and caprice of the malevolent gods of fortune. and at this table, they have not been kind. time slowed down. the universe collapsed into this spinning orb. i grit my teeth, and await my fate. 00. again. oh, u gotta love those greens. u really gotta love those greens.

martingale should be shot.

well Victoria and i made it into springtime. when she went mia on spring break when i finally had time off work, that was the end of us.

but i was not deterred. lesson learned. never fight the table. i should have been betting greens the whole time! who knew? course, it was so simple.

Rory’s Adventure
So the 2nd night we're in the City of Sin, I text my nephew to help me decide if I should stay up or crash out. never heard back. got the full scoop from Rory the following day.

"so I’m hopping from one casino to the next looking for a good table. finally ended up at the MGM. got my favorite shooting spot, 2 right of stick. dropped my 1500 down to get some chips. table was a high roller table, 20$ min, 100k max flat, 3/4/5x odds.

it was a funny table. there was a huge black guy on the other side of the table with stacks of chips. must've had 500k easy there. next to him is this pimpin brother. black and white pinstripe suit, dressed to the nines.

table was ok, but a little choppy. guys would hit a point, then 7 out. when the dice came to me, I just put a min bet down to try to get a feel for the table. it felt right. I hit my first point on my 3rd roll. ended up hitting 2 more points before sevening out. the dice took a bad hop in the money, so I wasn't too upset. I was definitely in the groove.

next time dice came to me, I just focused on taking my time and throwing perfectly. was using a hardways set (a hardways set is where all the numbers are paired on the dice), 3s on top, 5s behind. I was setting hardways and hitting hardways. hit a hard 6 (33), hard 8 (44), plus a bunch of easy ways. I started out at table minimums with full odds, and after I started hitting numbers, the huge black guy on the other side of the table with the monster chip stack started making monster bets. he was doing like 10k flat bets with full odds (30,000 on 10 or 4, 40000 on the 5 or 9, and 50,000 on the 6 or 8). I tried not to pay attention to how much money he was throwing down there. I just focused on hitting my numbers. the pit boss was really cool. he let me take all the time in the world before shooting. didn't rush me at all. by the time I hit my 4th point, the table was going ballistic. the huge black guy started upping his flat bets to 100k, with full odds. I couldn't even look at his bets, because it would have distracted me so much. I just focused on setting right and throwing perfectly. it was almost mindless. I was totally in the zone.

I start my 5th roll. come out roll was a 6. I’m getting ready to get set, and the huge black guy motions to me. I’m like, wtf? he walks around the table over to me and sticks a 5000 chip on my odds bet and a 1000 chip on my flat bet. he says, 'now you're playing with some money.' I barely mumbled out,’ thank you sir.' so there I am with 6000 in front of me, and I’m trying to hit the 6. well I got down to business. set 33 on top and 55 behind. hit an easy 8 first, I think it was a 53. close. I think the big dude had like 120k on the 8, so he was stoked. I tried again. took forever to set. the throw. both dice traveled in unison. perfect throw. I look up. the dealer barks out:'6 the hard way.' 33. Jesus f'ing Christ. works for me! dealer counts out 7000, puts it next to my bets. I pick it up and put it in my rails. drop another 1000 down, took full odds. rolled for another half hour before finally sevening out. counted my chips. 35,000 frickin greenbacks. the black dude made probably a million bucks on that one roll."

so I’m listening to this, slack jawed. I look over at D. Her eyes are bugging outta her face. I interject:” So you colored up, right?"
"yup I colored up."
"and you got the hell outta there, right?"

and he gives me this funny look. I know there's more to this.

"so the dealer counts out my chips. it came to like 35,500, give or take. I thank everyone. been real nice doin bizness whicha. (sorry this is an inside joke between Rory and me.) I thank the huge black guy and ask him what his name is. he says 'Marcus. Marcus Washington. and I play football.' and I said 'thank you Marcus.' I throw the dealer a purple (500 chip) and wave to everyone as I cram the 35k into my pocket."

"what happened then?"

"so I’m walking towards the cage and I turn around and there's this dude running towards me. not threatening, I mean there was security everywhere, but like he's got something important to tell me. I realize it was the pimped out brother standing next to Marcus at the table. I stop and he comes up to me, wearing the most pimped out black n white pinstriped suit with some natty-ass matching shoes. and he says,"Hey bro, what's your name?" and Rory tells him his name. and this pimped out brother says,”Hey listen Rory, your the best shooter on the table. we really need your ass to keep shootin." and Rory says, "what's your name bro?" and this guy says his name is Deon. and Rory says,” listen Deon, I appreciate the compliment, but I just won almost 35,000, and I am done. retired. going home. calling it a day. but thanks for the compliment!"
and Deon is clearly getting flustered, because he can see Rory's having none of it. he's like,” I’m begging you." and my nephew just shakes his head.
so Deon is like,” I will do anything man if u just come back to the table and keep shooting."
my nephew is not impressed.
so Deon pleads,” tell you what Rory. if you come back to the table, I will give you the shoes off my feet, my 1000$ custom tailored alligator-skin Fellini shoes."
and my nephew looks at Deon and says,” all I have to do is come back and shoot and you are going to give me your alligator shoes?"
"that’s right," replies Deon earnestly.

Rory continues, while D and I listen, utterly transfixed, in the McDonald's food court.
"So here I am with 35,000 in chips in my pocket and a pimped out brother practically begging me to come back to the tables. I’m totally not impressed. then the dude offers me the shoes off his feet. literally. he takes off the most pimped out black and white alligator shoes I’ve ever seen and hands 'em to me. 'here you go.' and I thought well who the hell am I to rain on his parade? so we walk back to the table, him wearing only black socks on his feet, and me carrying his awesome pimp shoes. it was fucking crazy. when I get back to the table, the whole table erupts in cheers. I get my old spot back, 2 right of stick, and Deon moves back to his spot next to Marcus Washington, the former starting linebacker for the Redskins. I glance over at Marcus' chipstack. fucking ridiculous, I’d guess 2M."

I interject, " well I’m guessing you shot again, huh?"

"course. so dice come around to me."

I interrupt. my nephew knows what a crazy fuck I am, so I know he'll get my humor. "you went all in on the don't, right?"
he laughs. "almost. no I went all in on the do's."
D and I look at each other, with our jaws agape.
I reply, "oh my god, you are not kidding me, are you?"
he looks me straight in the eyes. "No."


So Rory has 36,000 in bets spread across 3 numbers, the 5, 6 and 8, and 100$ in his rails. He set the dice. Took forever. As quiet as inside a church. The throw. A good throw, but far from perfect. One of the dice got tangled up in the air. It tried its mightiest to clear the chipstacks at the far end of the table, like an F-18 trying to clear the deck for a perfect carrier landing. Instead, it came down nose first at an awkward pitch. Time slowed down. A fraction of a second became an eternity. The obscene stack of greens, leaning sideways, lurked below. As to that idiot who made that bet, the kindest thing I can say about him is if he had a brain, he'd be dangerous. The landing was not pretty. Greens flew everywhere. Rory could not bring himself to look. He ran a hand through his hair and waited for the call, resigned to his fate, whatever it might be.

"Seven out! Line away. Take the Line. Pay the Don'ts," the stickman barked peremptorily, unceremoniously.

I'm shaking my damn head. I look over at Denise. She's shaking her damn head. Then, out of the corner of my mouth, I barely crack a smile. "Well at least you got a decent pair of pimp shoes, huh?"

Rory nods and smiles wryly and points at the shoes. I got a full grin on my face now. But I don't like beating around the bush, so I come straight to the point. "So how much you got in your pockets right now?", fully expecting him to say nada a damn red cent.

"400 bucks," he offers without emotion.

"400 bucks? Hell you quadrupled up! That's a helluva accomplishment!"

"Nope. I lost my last 100. The 400 was all tips from other players."

It's 3 in the afternoon. I had texted Rory around midnight the previous night to see what I should do. "What the hell time did you go bust?"

"Around 3 am."

"When did you leave the frickin tables?"

"Ten minutes ago."

I'm amazed. Rory and I are both action players. We want the dice. We want our own table. We're both fine with a crowd watching and every frickin pit boss in joint shitting bricks while we're in a zone. But neither of us is gonna sit at a table and watch after we went bust. So I know there's more to the story.

"Who in the fuck was making your line bets?"

"Marcus. Ya he said he would keep making my line bets until I couldn't raise my arm anymore. I made him around 8 million."

"Holy smokes!", I exclaimed. "Damn I really wish you woulda texted me back!" I look over at Denise, then back to Rory. "Ya Denise and I were arguing again, so I couldn't even get some smoking hot black booty as my consolation prize."

Rory flashes me a smirk, while Denise rolls her eyes and gives me this what the fuck ever look. I wink at her. "Just because you're a bitch doesn't make your booty any less of a masterpiece." She cracks a smile and shakes her damn head.



I'm just in shock. "So you go bust at the MGM after going up by 36,000 and retired Redskins Pro-bowler Marcus Washington is making your line bets? Insanity. Total frickin insanity."

Rory nodded his head and laughed. "Yes it was, all that and more."

I'm still shaking my damn head. "You shoulda texted me back. If I was there, it woulda been a tug of war. Future Navy Seal (him) and general purpose crazy mo fo (me) versus the pimp (Deon) and the Monster (Marcus). They would not have stood a chance." (Footnote in the interest of full disclosure. My versus pimp record is not too good; I stand 0-1 as of this writing, by unanimous decision on the judges' score cards. But there was neither a KO nor a tap out, in my defense.)

Rory's grin stretched ear to ear, while Denise is laughing. I'm describing the 4 man tug-o-war in the middle of the casino floor at the MGM, two wiry honkies, one pimp in his pinstripe black and white suit with matching shoes and an NFL linebacker with millions in chips falling out of his pockets all over the casino floor. While we're wrestling, I query Deon: "What in the hell is a Navy Seal gonna do with your damn igga pimp shoes? He's shows up for black ops wearing those shoes, he's gonna be the laughing stock of his whole Seal Team!"

The Pimp Shoes, Roger The Bum, and the Gods of Fortune
So that night, I said aight, we're taking your damn igga pimp shoes with us to the casinos, and I'll be damned if those igga pimp shoes don't bring us fortune. Rory agreed. The shoes were too small for his feet, so he asked me to try 'em on. I told him I'd be honored. They fit well, and when I looked in the full length mirror, I saw an igga pimp staring back at me. "Shoes are proper," I told Rory and Denise. Denise was like, "If you wear those shoes, I'm not going to act like I know you." I reply, "Fine. Stay in the hotel. Isn't that why you came to Vegas, after all?"

Even though the shoes fit, I figured that walking on the strip and shooting dice for hours in these igga pimp shoes might damn near do my feet in. So told Rory I was gonna bring my comfy sneaks for a backup. At the appointed hour, after a steak and shrimp meal at the MGM Grand courtesy of Rory's comps, we prepared to embark. "You ready to rock-n-roll?", I queried Rory. "Yup, good to go." "Aight, let's go seek our fortune." We bid Denise a warm goodbye, and headed out to find our fortune, igga pimp shoes proudly adorning my feet.


So Rory and I headed out to try our luck at the dice tables, with me wearing his hard-earned pimp shoes. And it wasn't but 10 to 15 minutes after walking on the Strip before my feet started to hurt. So I asked Rory to hold up a minute while I changed into my comfy sneaks, and after that I carried the pimp shoes in my hand.

We passed a bum on the street. All of a sudden Rory stops me, and he's got this weird look on his face. I look right at him, some gears turn in my brain, and I bust out in a ridiculous grin. I speak first, but I'm laughing so hard I can barely get the words out: "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He's like, "No way." I nod my head. "Yup, let's do it."

We turn around and start heading back the way we came. When we get back to the homeless guy, I extend my hand. I said, "My name is px, this is my nephew Rory, and we noticed that your shoes are a little old."

And he extends his grimy hand and says, "My name is Roger, and you're right about that, my shoes have seen better days."

And I said, "Well Roger this is your lucky day, because you are about to get a pair of $1,000 Fellini alligator skin (pimp-<hmm might have left that out>) shoes. You have no idea what my nephew had to go through to get these shoes."

And tears start streaming down Roger's face. He gives Rory and me big hugs, and out of the blue, starts quoting Scripture. The Sermon on the Mount, with the full Beatitudes. Then he moves on to the 23rd Psalm: "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil: for though art with me..." Well I don't what it is about the 23rd Psalm, but something about Roger the Bum reciting the 23rd Psalm on the Las Vegas Strip in the City of Sin, with tears running down his cheeks after receiving the igga pimp shoes, that got to be a little much for me, and I had to bid him a fond farewell before becoming an emotional basket case myself. As we walked away, Rory and I hi-fived each other.

That night, the gods of fortune did indeed smile on us. We shot the fuck out of the casinos. I tripled up, 1500 to 4500, and Rory quadrupled up, 400 to 1600. He never made it back to 36,000, but after that night of dice, he was +100 for the trip. Not bad, considering he had lost his last $100 on the dice tables the night before, and it was only the kindness of the other players that accounted for his $400 bankroll. As to my personal opinion? Ya, the shoes brought us good fortune. It was definitely the shoes.

As we were walking back to the hotel as the sun was coming up, Rory asked me if I played Texas Hold 'Em. I said nope, only dice. He asked me if I would play Hold Em. I said nope, that I would probably blow my dice winnings on Hold Em. He replied: "I tell you what. I'm gonna give you a 60$ bankroll from my dice winnings and all you gotta do is sit down and play." "Well heck, if you're gonna give me free money to play Hold 'Em, you got a deal." Then I added, "Have you ever heard the concept of playing Hold 'Em as a team?" He said no. So as we made our way up the elevators to our room, I explained the concept of team Hold 'Em. When we got back to the room, Denise was just getting up while we were drawing the blinds, like a couple of vampires.


Team Texas Hold ‘Em
So the next day we formulate a plan. Rory would sit down first on one side of the table, and I would grab a spot on the other side of the table a couple minutes later. I came down about 15 minutes after him. There were a lot of players there. I got my chips and tried to get a read on the table.

When it comes to gambling styles, everyone has their own style. You have your very conservative, conservative, moderate, moderately aggressive, aggressive, very aggressive, and finally kamikaze. My style leans toward kamikaze.

I had a hand that was pretty decent. Pocket queens. A guy who raised aggressively before the flop was probably planning on taking down the pot before the flop. Nope. I'm all in. Before the flop. He folded. Everyone folded. I took down the pot. Ok so now I know I'm the craziest guy at the table. Good to know. Built up a decent little chip stack from that.

Two hands later, I'm dealt 9,2. Garbage cards. I manage to make it to the flop without spending too much. No one is showing much early strength. The flop comes: queen, 9,8. I pair my 9s. I'm worried about the over card queen. Decide to test the waters. Lead with an early big bet. Everyone folds or calls. No one raises. So either no one has the queen, or someone is laying a trap. I follow my instincts that my 9s are good. The turn comes a 5. Big sigh of relief. At least not another over card. Bet comes to me. I push my entire chipstack in. "All in." Fold. Fold. Fold. Rory is already out of the hand. The guy next to him turns over his cards, without watching my reaction. He's got a 7,6 unsuited. I keep smiling, like egging him on, but I know I'm fucked big time. Dude's got a straight already, and I'm hopelessly behind in the hand. Rory springs into action. He turns to the guy on his left and says, "He's got you beat. He's got the jack 10 straight. Look at him, he looks like the cat that ate the canary! You should fold." I keep smiling, like egging him on to call. After like 5 agonizing minutes (for both of us, actually), he mucks his cards. I could not frickin believe it. The last player left at the table besides me says, "I call." I was stoked because somehow I knew I had him beat. I stand up and flip my 9s. He flips his cards. He's got the 8s. I tell him that he's got nuts of steel to call with 2 overcards on the board. He said after the guy with the straight folded, he had to play it out! I was like ya me too, seeing as I'm already all in. We both stand up and wait for the river. I'm thinking no 8, no 4 (his 2nd card is a 4.) Came up ace. The chip stack that came my way was just obscene. I called no action and counted my chips. 420 bucks. Seven times upped. I throw the dealer a 10, get up, stuff my pockets, wish everyone good luck, and headed to the cage. Rory told me later that after I left, one of the other players asked, "Who the hell was that guy?" Rory replied with a straight face,” I think I saw him in the World Series of Poker." Lmfao.

I owed Rory big time. I bought him a 5 lb. bag of ghost chili peppers. He's addicted too.

I had told him that team Hold 'Em was fun, and he was dubious. Now he's a believer!

The Great Race
The only other cool thing that happened on that trip among my crazy Vegas adventures was The Great Race. (Was that not the greatest movie ever?) So Denise is telling us about her great track and field exploits in high school, TX 5A. She won district this, and placed in state that, etc. etc. Well she's built like a cheetah, so I had no reason to doubt her tales of conquest. And Rory is telling us some of the crazy shit he did to get ready for hell week: ran an ultra marathon (125 miles), did an Iron man Triathlon, 26.2 mile obstacle course, etc. etc.

So after hearing these tales of epic athleticism by these 2 fitness freaks, the wheels start turning in my mind. "How bout we find out who really is the greatest athlete warrior?" They both nod their heads in agreement. So after wandering through one hotel after another, at about 2 in the morning, we stumble across the perfect venue. It's a downward moving escalator, an upward moving escalator, and some stairs at the Bellagio. There's no one around, so it's perfect for the showdown. Ebony track star vs. ivory Navy Seal. I bet Denise 1$ that she would lose, because I am partial to my tribe and Denise and I spent more time arguing than anything else, including booty worship. Lol.

I design the course. Stage 1 is down a flight of stairs. Stage 2 is up an escalator going backwards (opposite to the direction of the escalator.) Stage 3 is down an escalator going backwards. Runners are on board. I'm judge and jury. The runners take their positions on the starting blocks. I await them at the finish.

"On your marks. Get set. Go!" I fire the starting gun. They both take off flying. Rory is descending like 5 steps at a time. He looked like a mountain goat coming down a steep mountainside. Denise was flying too, but was only taking 3 steps at a time. Rory had a small lead coming round the turn. As he ascended the backwards moving escalator, Denise was only an arms length back. They were both killing themselves going up this escalator. Rory was only taking 2 steps at a time, and Denise only 1.

As they round the turn into stage 3, now Rory is leading by a good 6 feet. He starts Stage 3 the upwards moving escalator taking 3 steps at a time, while Denise can only take 2. In a desperate attempt to close the gap, Denise takes a huge leap down, loses her footing, and collapses on the escalator, which is now moving her away from the finish line. Rory crosses the finish line and I high five him, then we both point at and laugh at Denise, who by now is at the top of the escalator. In the ultimate act of surrender, she gives up and walks down the stairs. I congratulate her on her last place finish and demand my booty. (No not that kind of booty. Lol.)

Next morning, the paper's lead: Ivory Navy Seal Destroys Ebony Track Star in Obstacle Course at the Bellagio!

Stay tuned for the next chapter, Taylor's Mayhem...

[Trey]

Originally Posted by pxmcc

The story so far...




Craps, In the Beginning
How the hell does someone decide that it's a good idea to wager a bunch of hard earned money on a dice table? Good question, without a really good answer. Well my old man is convinced he has a "system" to beat Vegas. And I’m real close to perfecting my perpetual motion machine. Then he asks me to do the math to prove his system is a winner winner chicken dinner. Umm, there's this thing called expectation value, and if it aint positive, well let's just say, that aint positive. And no matter how frickin brilliant you are, you aren't going to "beat the system." But he's a frickin stubborn dumbass like all the McC's, and I could not get that simple concept into his thick skull. So, as the saying goes, if you can't beat 'em, join em. Sure, there must be a way to beat Vegas. Plus my super stud little bro tells me I gotta check this game out.

Lake Charles, and How They Hook You.
So I head to Lake Charles (Vegas to Houstonians) with about 700 in fun money to make my fortune. And I call my studly little bro, his name is Joseph but we both pronounce it Yoey, and say Yoey I got my 700$ rent check here in the casino (kidding-it was my mortgage payment-KIDDING!), how the heck can I get rich quick? And he explains optimal betting, a pass bet and 2 comes with full odds. And then he said something strange. "Watch the shooters." and I said, "When I watch the shooters, what am I watching for?" and he said, "Watch for shooters who are confident and who hit points. 2, 3, 4 points. Get a fix on each shooter on the table. Good shooter. Bad shooter. Random shooters. Crazy 7 shooter." my curiosity piqued: "What’s a crazy 7 shooter look like?" "Bombs away. Incoming! Everyone down! Mortars!" Shit, that sounds fun! "Find your shooters. Ride the gravy train of your best shooters. Avoid the choppy shooters. Ride the don'ts on your bad shooters and crazy 7 shooters." Alright. So all I have to do is watch my shooters and I’m gonna get rich. I asked him if good shooters have a certain look. He said “Ya, you know what they do in the ghetto for fun from age 3? They play dice. Lots of dice." Alright. I have my strategy. I just have to find someone who looks like he's been shooting dice since he was in diapers. Can’t exactly ask someone if he was wearing Pampers when he was first throwing the bones. Alright let's see what happens.

So I take my paltry 700 down to the tables with my girlfriend of the month who's at least half my age; good thing too. Laws in Louisiana are a little different. Its strictly Napoleonic code there, which means that the law is whatever the hell the cops deem it to be. Find a spot on the table and get busy watching the shooters. Little old lady kind of picks em n heaves em. 7 out line away. Nope. Nervous guy who has his car note on the table. Nope. Guy who does his best Nolan Ryan impersonation. He's that crazy 7 shooter Yoey was telling me about. Nope. Dice come to me. I don’t know how to shoot. I don’t want them. I pass em to Victoria. "Come on sweety. Show ‘em how its done." Make about 15$ on her. Dice keep moving. Eventually they arrive in the hands of Mr. Cool. Rubs his hands on the felt. Sets the dice. Throws. Whoa, backspin! The dice kind of graze the back wall and fall dead. Hard 6, a 3 3 roll. (Now the shooter wants a 6 before a 7, which is called making a point.) 2 rolls later, shooter rolls 33, hits his point the hard way. (Hard way is same #s on top. Easy 6 is any other two numbers that add to 6.) 1st point. Come out roll, hits 2 7s and a yo 11. (On come out rolls, 7 and 11 are winners.) People start clapping and yelling. Shooter rolls an 8, the new point. 3 rolls later, shooter hits a hard 8 (44). Shooter hits his 2nd point. People start cheering. (Craps tables are the easiest to find; they are always the loudest places in the casino.) I'm looking at this cool brother. not even breaking a sweat, just rhythm and beauty. I look over at him. But instead of a cool cat on the tables, I see this fucking infant in his fucking Pampers, saying, "No mommy, I don't wanna take a nap! Can't you see I’m busy shooting dice?" I’m like, holy fuck; this is the guy Yoey was talking about. That's him! I tell the dealer I wanna put all my money down behind the line. (that's called am odds bet.) how much do I need to put down on my line bet? he looks at my chips. "u got 700 there. if u put 33 down for your line bet, u can take max odds of 660 after he hits his point. your gonna basically be all in." I follow his instructions. 33$ on the line bet. shooter rolls a hard 8 (44). I look at my girlfriend. Sweetie? she's like, "It's your damn money, don’t ask me.” Well I’m a crazy fuck anyway, so I put 660 behind the line, hoping beyond hope he rolls a frickin 8 before a 7. In my mind, I’m thinking, win, lose, or draw, fuck it, I’m done after this roll, about to have a frickin heart attack. Shooter rolls a 4, a 9, a 6. where the hell is my damn 8? Getting a little nervous. I shout out, "44 shooter!" sonofabitch. the mo fo rolled a frickin 8. 62. I pick my girlfriend up off the floor and we kiss mid-flight. the dealer starts counting out the chips. 33$ for your line bet. odds bet $660 pays $792. I push all my chips in to color up. (coloring up is where you trade your small chips for larger chips to cash out.) Hit the cage with about 1500 of which about 800 is profit. We go hit the steakhouse. Yoey told me about comps; pit boss gave us 2 passes for the steakhouse. Free shit is always good.


Back to School. Math Class Is Now in Session.
So after winning a lousy 800 bucks on the dice tables, I thought, boy that was fun. And that, my friends, is how they get you. I want to return to a certain papa McC’s theory of beating Vegas. And I need to introduce you to some terms: Martingale and Anti-Martingale. Honestly, I don't know who the fuck Martingale was-some genius? some retard?-and why the hell was Mr. Antimartingale so opposed to Mr. Martingale? Maybe Martingale was the HOA president, and Antimartingale was the one that mailed him the dead fish. Smh. Well it turns out papa McC’s perpetual motion machine was a classic martingale scheme, (right up there with a Ponzi scheme IMHO). Let me demonstrate a classic martingale scheme. Let's say I sit down on a roulette table with a table minimum of 3$ and a table maximum of 1000$. I pick one of the bets that is as close as possible to a 50/50 bet. Let’s say red is my favorite color and I decide to bet on red. What if I bet 3$ on red. Black comes up. So what do I do? Well certainly red is due, right? Course. So I bet 6 on red. whoops another black. I’m 9$ in the hole. well shoot if I bet 12 on red, I’m still going to make a profit, right? Sure. So I bet 12 on red. Oops unlucky day. 00 green comes up. and I’m thinking well now red is a sure bet; it's clearly long overdue. I put 24 on red. Gotta hit now for sure. Nope, another black. Damn. I’m outta pocket 45$. Well shit I can't quit now. Where the f is my damn red? So I put 48 on red. My palms are getting sweaty. I’m getting kind of agitated. I look around nervously. The dealer spins the wheel. The ball bounces around and lands on RED! I’m overfrickin joyed. The dealer pays me my 48$, and I sit down to order a big fat margarita. I count my chips. I realize I have 3 more dollars than when I started my little "progression." Wow I almost had a heart attack and I made 3$! I’m rich! that, my friends, is a classic martingale progression. Sounds pretty dumb, especially for 3$!

Well what if I’m a baller stud and I say fuck it. I’ll show up with 5 grand and I will cover any damn bet I lose, and fuck the 3$. I’m going to use an aggressive Martingale so I don't stress for a lousy 3$ profit. I want to stress for a real win. so here's the sequence: 5, 12, 30, 80, 200, 500, 1000. And I’m going to give it a name, I’m going to call it Victoria's progression, in honor of my girlfriend at the time. And what if some hypothetical baller had the kahunas to actually do it, someone who clearly just doesn't give a fuck and gets a kick out of everything? How would that work out, I wonder?

Alright so our hypothetical gambler explains his "system" to his friend, let's call him Jack. and Jack says, "Dude that's fucking stupid! You're gonna win a little, and win a little, and then, you know what? you're gonna lose your shirt." and so our hypothetical gambler says, "Well Jack, if you're so smart, how would you roll?" and Jack says, "Ya I am fucking smart, and I will explain how it's done." And so he does.

And Jack says, "Alright listen up. I sit myself down on the same table as you. but you're over married to fucking red and you're not watching the board. You don't have a clue what's hot. Odds? High numbers? Black? I’m gonna bet with the board. I’m gonna put down 20$ down on the best 50/50 bet on the table. If I hit, my next bet ups to 25. If I hit again, I go up to 30. If I miss, I drop down to say 15. If I miss again, I drop down to like 8. that way I’m making money when I’m hot, and when I’m not, I’m not losing too much. unlike you, dumbass. You're gonna lose your shirt." Our gambler is not convinced.

What Jack explained is called the Anti-Martingale system. So who is right?

Vegas, Baby. The Fakest City on Earth.
So the following New Years, (crazy I was still dating the same gal), Victoria and I headed west, to the city of Sin. Cobbled together a respectable bankroll of about 3,500. Got a rec. for the El Cortez from papa McC, so that's where I went. Great hotel, great service, great frickin food; the tempura shrimp is to die for. Got in plenty of fucking, sightseeing for the gal. With my little piece of shit 3,500 bankroll, we got treated like royalty. Everything was comped, Porterhouse steak every night. They moved us into one of the newly renovated suites; the only thing we paid was tips: lotsa ones. Always had 40$ in ones. Left my bankroll as front money at the cage. Picked it up on the way to the tables, dropped it off on the way back. Had lots of small wins. 300, 200, 400, that kind of shit, mainly on dice, but we mixed in some roulette too. My girlfriend liked blackjack, so I’d give her a 100 bucks and told her to go have fun. She actually came back with a profit a couple of times. I was like, "Good job sweety!" and I’d kiss her like she just won the lottery.

I Learned How to Shoot
It happened one particular afternoon, like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. I’m on a good table. Confident shooters, everyone in a groove. hi fives, yelling and screaming. Then something changed. 7 out, line away. 7 out, line away. 7 out, line away. Good shooters looking at the dice like they had a damn hex on em. I’m smh. smmfh. I stop betting. I just wait for the dice to get to me. I have no plan. I’m not a good shooter. Honestly, I don't know how to shoot. But I wait, and it comes. "You gonna shoot?" "Yup." "You need a line bet down." Deliberately, I put my min bet down, 5$. I start playing with the dice, turning them around, analyzing the numbers. I focus on the 7s. I think, "what if I set the 7s to the sides, and throw kind of soft, right down the middle of the table?" and that's what I did. threw a 6. take full odds. 50. 2 rolls. hit a 6. 1st point. pays 65. I remember what my little bro told me. pass n 2 comes, full odds, press the action on a hot shooter. I press my flat bet to 10$. throw a 4. 100 odds on the 4. 10$ to the come. Throw a 9. Take full odds, 100 on the 9. Another come bet for 10$. Throw a 6 and take full odds. 100 on the 6. Throw a 4. 2nd point. pays 210. People start clapping. Come out bet, press to my Pass Line bet to 15. "I want everything working on the come out." "Alright, everything working on the Come Out." (that means I really don't want to see a 7 even though a 7 is usually good on the come out.) hey put an On marker on my chips.

Throw a 9. pays 160. Bets start flying all over the table. I start blocking everything out. Perfect set. Perfect set, perfect throw. That's all that's going through my mind. I press my flat bets up to 20. 200 odds. I push to a pass and 3 comes. Hit another point. The pit boss gets on my case for rolling short. "Shooter, both dice to the back wall!" I sorta acknowledge him. I heard the dealers go easy on you if you tip em, so I start throwing tips at the dealers to shut em up. I keep rolling. I press my flat bets to 50. Full odds 500 each. The table is now going nuts. Hit another point. 4th in a row. it was an 8. paid 650 on the spot. The pit boss is getting really agitated. "Both dice to the back wall!" he bellows. I’m like, "I’m trying." Well I’m not really trying. what I’m really trying is to not 7 out. That's all I’m trying to do. Another point. I think it was a 10. Paid a 1000 on my 500 odds bet plus 50 flat. utter. fucking. mayhem. there are stacks of black chips all over the table. the pit boss stares me down. "the last time I’m gonna say it. both dice to the back wall." I got $ on every number on the table, all 500 odds bets. I take 2 reds, push em to the dealer. "I wanna press my 6." Pass him a black. "full odds." "100 odds on the 6. puts you at 60 flat, 600 odds on the 6." I push 2 more reds to him. "Press my 8." "Pressing the 8." I push a another black in. "Make my 8 odds look like 600.." "Bringing it to 600 odds on the 8." People all around the table start throwing blacks down. "300 place the 6, 300 place the 8." I look at the dice. you could hear a pin drop. I set 44 on top, 22 behind, 7s to the sides. throw. perfect throw. dealer calls it. "Hard 8!" I literally pick my girlfriend up and we do like 3 360's. dealer pays me 780 on my flat and odds bet on the 8. the dealers pay out what looked like 15k on that one roll. pit boss stands up and points at me: "Shooter you are disqualified! I told you for the last time, both dice to the back wall! Pass the dice!"

Well shit I got like 3k sitting out there on the table and I’m thinking I’m about to get fucked by some shitty shooter so I bark out, "All bets down." Well the pit boss explains, "You can take all your odds down but your flat bets are staying up." "All odds down." The dealer hands me about 3k of odds bets back, and I resign to wait to see all my flat bets creamed, and then something astonishing happens. somebody yells to the guy to my left:” Shooter, pass the dice!" and he does. And so does the next person. And the next. They're trying to get the dice back to me, the hot shooter on the table. I’m thinking in the back of my mind, if this works, is he even going to let me shoot? Well I never found out, because some dumbass grabbed the dice and rolls. "7 out, line away! Take the line, pay the don’ts!" Brilliant, fucking brilliant!

One word. Color. i push in stacks after stacks. rails and rails of red (5), green (25), black (100), plus the odd couple of purple (500). The obligatory count commences. 7,200, give or take a few. I'm getting ready to drop off pretty much the whole bankroll at the cage and leaving it as front money. and Victoria says, "why don't we play a little roulette?" i'm like, "you sure you want to play roulette? don't you wanna go sightseeing on the strip baby?" "nope, i want to play roulette." i'm a little uncomfortable. "well how long do you want to play for?" i'm looking for a tangible out. maybe we can sit down for 15 minutes and Victoria can get her little roulette fix. "let's just go with the flow." go with the flow. those words echo in eternity. "let's just go with the flow." Ha.

Russian Roulette
So i cancel my trip to the cage and instead we amble over to the roulette table, 5 to 1000. i nestle in. i pull out my chips from the dice game. honestly, it looked ridiculous. no one on earth sits down at a roulette table at the El Cortez with over 7000 in chips. the bosses kind of murmur among themselves, like who the hell is this nutjob? we've never seen this much money on a roulette table, well practically ever.

and we sink into the rhythm of the game. I'm running a straight Martingale, Victoria's progression. well i never told her i named a roulette betting progression in her honor. she might have thought that was a little strange. i'm playing contra to the table: when reds are hitting, i'm betting black. when odds are hitting, i'm betting evens. things get pretty exciting. have some progressions that get as high as 500 before i finally hit. i should have noticed thunderclouds on the horizon.

but i'm trucking along, making 15 here, 30 there, 160 on the more exciting runs. well i'm watching the board and i notice a string of blacks. i figure red is overdue. i put 5 on red. 28 black comes up. 12$ on red. 34 black hits. 30 on red. green single 0 hits. 80 on red. green 00 hits. god i hate those fucking greens. are you kidding me? 200 red. 4 black hits. 500 on red. 00 again. fucking greens. you gotta be kidding me! 1000 on red. 6 black comes up. now i have a conundrum. i'm at the table limit. my bankroll is still able to back up my bets, but there isn't a 2000 bet on the table. i improvise. 1000 on red, 1000 on odd. black 16 comes up. i curse. now i have a double problem. i'm up against the table limit and my bankroll limit. i say, fuck it. all in. 1000 odd, 1000 red, 1000 high numbers (19-36). if i hit at least 2 out of 3 bets, i resolve to call it a day, count my losses, and regroup tomorrow. the dealer spins. i practically can't even watch. at least in dice, as a shooter, i have some say in my destiny. here, i am at the whim and caprice of the malevolent gods of fortune. and at this table, they have not been kind. time slowed down. the universe collapsed into this spinning orb. i grit my teeth, and await my fate. 00. again. oh, u gotta love those greens. u really gotta love those greens.

martingale should be shot.

well Victoria and i made it into springtime. when she went mia on spring break when i finally had time off work, that was the end of us.

but i was not deterred. lesson learned. never fight the table. i should have been betting greens the whole time! who knew? course, it was so simple.

Rory’s Adventure
So the 2nd night we're in the City of Sin, I text my nephew to help me decide if I should stay up or crash out. never heard back. got the full scoop from Rory the following day.

"so I’m hopping from one casino to the next looking for a good table. finally ended up at the MGM. got my favorite shooting spot, 2 right of stick. dropped my 1500 down to get some chips. table was a high roller table, 20$ min, 100k max flat, 3/4/5x odds.

it was a funny table. there was a huge black guy on the other side of the table with stacks of chips. must've had 500k easy there. next to him is this pimpin brother. black and white pinstripe suit, dressed to the nines.

table was ok, but a little choppy. guys would hit a point, then 7 out. when the dice came to me, I just put a min bet down to try to get a feel for the table. it felt right. I hit my first point on my 3rd roll. ended up hitting 2 more points before sevening out. the dice took a bad hop in the money, so I wasn't too upset. I was definitely in the groove.

next time dice came to me, I just focused on taking my time and throwing perfectly. was using a hardways set (a hardways set is where all the numbers are paired on the dice), 3s on top, 5s behind. I was setting hardways and hitting hardways. hit a hard 6 (33), hard 8 (44), plus a bunch of easy ways. I started out at table minimums with full odds, and after I started hitting numbers, the huge black guy on the other side of the table with the monster chip stack started making monster bets. he was doing like 10k flat bets with full odds (30,000 on 10 or 4, 40000 on the 5 or 9, and 50,000 on the 6 or 8). I tried not to pay attention to how much money he was throwing down there. I just focused on hitting my numbers. the pit boss was really cool. he let me take all the time in the world before shooting. didn't rush me at all. by the time I hit my 4th point, the table was going ballistic. the huge black guy started upping his flat bets to 100k, with full odds. I couldn't even look at his bets, because it would have distracted me so much. I just focused on setting right and throwing perfectly. it was almost mindless. I was totally in the zone.

I start my 5th roll. come out roll was a 6. I’m getting ready to get set, and the huge black guy motions to me. I’m like, wtf? he walks around the table over to me and sticks a 5000 chip on my odds bet and a 1000 chip on my flat bet. he says, 'now you're playing with some money.' I barely mumbled out,’ thank you sir.' so there I am with 6000 in front of me, and I’m trying to hit the 6. well I got down to business. set 33 on top and 55 behind. hit an easy 8 first, I think it was a 53. close. I think the big dude had like 120k on the 8, so he was stoked. I tried again. took forever to set. the throw. both dice traveled in unison. perfect throw. I look up. the dealer barks out:'6 the hard way.' 33. Jesus f'ing Christ. works for me! dealer counts out 7000, puts it next to my bets. I pick it up and put it in my rails. drop another 1000 down, took full odds. rolled for another half hour before finally sevening out. counted my chips. 35,000 frickin greenbacks. the black dude made probably a million bucks on that one roll."

so I’m listening to this, slack jawed. I look over at D. Her eyes are bugging outta her face. I interject:” So you colored up, right?"
"yup I colored up."
"and you got the hell outta there, right?"

and he gives me this funny look. I know there's more to this.

"so the dealer counts out my chips. it came to like 35,500, give or take. I thank everyone. been real nice doin bizness whicha. (sorry this is an inside joke between Rory and me.) I thank the huge black guy and ask him what his name is. he says 'Marcus. Marcus Washington. and I play football.' and I said 'thank you Marcus.' I throw the dealer a purple (500 chip) and wave to everyone as I cram the 35k into my pocket."

"what happened then?"

"so I’m walking towards the cage and I turn around and there's this dude running towards me. not threatening, I mean there was security everywhere, but like he's got something important to tell me. I realize it was the pimped out brother standing next to Marcus at the table. I stop and he comes up to me, wearing the most pimped out black n white pinstriped suit with some natty-ass matching shoes. and he says,"Hey bro, what's your name?" and Rory tells him his name. and this pimped out brother says,”Hey listen Rory, your the best shooter on the table. we really need your ass to keep shootin." and Rory says, "what's your name bro?" and this guy says his name is Deon. and Rory says,” listen Deon, I appreciate the compliment, but I just won almost 35,000, and I am done. retired. going home. calling it a day. but thanks for the compliment!"
and Deon is clearly getting flustered, because he can see Rory's having none of it. he's like,” I’m begging you." and my nephew just shakes his head.
so Deon is like,” I will do anything man if u just come back to the table and keep shooting."
my nephew is not impressed.
so Deon pleads,” tell you what Rory. if you come back to the table, I will give you the shoes off my feet, my 1000$ custom tailored alligator-skin Fellini shoes."
and my nephew looks at Deon and says,” all I have to do is come back and shoot and you are going to give me your alligator shoes?"
"that’s right," replies Deon earnestly.

Rory continues, while D and I listen, utterly transfixed, in the McDonald's food court.
"So here I am with 35,000 in chips in my pocket and a pimped out brother practically begging me to come back to the tables. I’m totally not impressed. then the dude offers me the shoes off his feet. literally. he takes off the most pimped out black and white alligator shoes I’ve ever seen and hands 'em to me. 'here you go.' and I thought well who the hell am I to rain on his parade? so we walk back to the table, him wearing only black socks on his feet, and me carrying his awesome pimp shoes. it was fucking crazy. when I get back to the table, the whole table erupts in cheers. I get my old spot back, 2 right of stick, and Deon moves back to his spot next to Marcus Washington, the former starting linebacker for the Redskins. I glance over at Marcus' chipstack. fucking ridiculous, I’d guess 2M."

I interject, " well I’m guessing you shot again, huh?"

"course. so dice come around to me."

I interrupt. my nephew knows what a crazy fuck I am, so I know he'll get my humor. "you went all in on the don't, right?"
he laughs. "almost. no I went all in on the do's."
D and I look at each other, with our jaws agape.
I reply, "oh my god, you are not kidding me, are you?"
he looks me straight in the eyes. "No."


So Rory has 36,000 in bets spread across 3 numbers, the 5, 6 and 8, and 100$ in his rails. He set the dice. Took forever. As quiet as inside a church. The throw. A good throw, but far from perfect. One of the dice got tangled up in the air. It tried its mightiest to clear the chipstacks at the far end of the table, like an F-18 trying to clear the deck for a perfect carrier landing. Instead, it came down nose first at an awkward pitch. Time slowed down. A fraction of a second became an eternity. The obscene stack of greens, leaning sideways, lurked below. As to that idiot who made that bet, the kindest thing I can say about him is if he had a brain, he'd be dangerous. The landing was not pretty. Greens flew everywhere. Rory could not bring himself to look. He ran a hand through his hair and waited for the call, resigned to his fate, whatever it might be.

"Seven out! Line away. Take the Line. Pay the Don'ts," the stickman barked peremptorily, unceremoniously.

I'm shaking my damn head. I look over at Denise. She's shaking her damn head. Then, out of the corner of my mouth, I barely crack a smile. "Well at least you got a decent pair of pimp shoes, huh?"

Rory nods and smiles wryly and points at the shoes. I got a full grin on my face now. But I don't like beating around the bush, so I come straight to the point. "So how much you got in your pockets right now?", fully expecting him to say nada a damn red cent.

"400 bucks," he offers without emotion.

"400 bucks? Hell you quadrupled up! That's a helluva accomplishment!"

"Nope. I lost my last 100. The 400 was all tips from other players."

It's 3 in the afternoon. I had texted Rory around midnight the previous night to see what I should do. "What the hell time did you go bust?"

"Around 3 am."

"When did you leave the frickin tables?"

"Ten minutes ago."

I'm amazed. Rory and I are both action players. We want the dice. We want our own table. We're both fine with a crowd watching and every frickin pit boss in joint shitting bricks while we're in a zone. But neither of us is gonna sit at a table and watch after we went bust. So I know there's more to the story.

"Who in the fuck was making your line bets?"

"Marcus. Ya he said he would keep making my line bets until I couldn't raise my arm anymore. I made him around 8 million."

"Holy smokes!", I exclaimed. "Damn I really wish you woulda texted me back!" I look over at Denise, then back to Rory. "Ya Denise and I were arguing again, so I couldn't even get some smoking hot black booty as my consolation prize."

Rory flashes me a smirk, while Denise rolls her eyes and gives me this what the fuck ever look. I wink at her. "Just because you're a bitch doesn't make your booty any less of a masterpiece." She cracks a smile and shakes her damn head.



I'm just in shock. "So you go bust at the MGM after going up by 36,000 and retired Redskins Pro-bowler Marcus Washington is making your line bets? Insanity. Total frickin insanity."

Rory nodded his head and laughed. "Yes it was, all that and more."

I'm still shaking my damn head. "You shoulda texted me back. If I was there, it woulda been a tug of war. Future Navy Seal (him) and general purpose crazy mo fo (me) versus the pimp (Deon) and the Monster (Marcus). They would not have stood a chance." (Footnote in the interest of full disclosure. My versus pimp record is not too good; I stand 0-1 as of this writing, by unanimous decision on the judges' score cards. But there was neither a KO nor a tap out, in my defense.)

Rory's grin stretched ear to ear, while Denise is laughing. I'm describing the 4 man tug-o-war in the middle of the casino floor at the MGM, two wiry honkies, one pimp in his pinstripe black and white suit with matching shoes and an NFL linebacker with millions in chips falling out of his pockets all over the casino floor. While we're wrestling, I query Deon: "What in the hell is a Navy Seal gonna do with your damn igga pimp shoes? He's shows up for black ops wearing those shoes, he's gonna be the laughing stock of his whole Seal Team!"

The Pimp Shoes, Roger The Bum, and the Gods of Fortune
So that night, I said aight, we're taking your damn igga pimp shoes with us to the casinos, and I'll be damned if those igga pimp shoes don't bring us fortune. Rory agreed. The shoes were too small for his feet, so he asked me to try 'em on. I told him I'd be honored. They fit well, and when I looked in the full length mirror, I saw an igga pimp staring back at me. "Shoes are proper," I told Rory and Denise. Denise was like, "If you wear those shoes, I'm not going to act like I know you." I reply, "Fine. Stay in the hotel. Isn't that why you came to Vegas, after all?"

Even though the shoes fit, I figured that walking on the strip and shooting dice for hours in these igga pimp shoes might damn near do my feet in. So told Rory I was gonna bring my comfy sneaks for a backup. At the appointed hour, after a steak and shrimp meal at the MGM Grand courtesy of Rory's comps, we prepared to embark. "You ready to rock-n-roll?", I queried Rory. "Yup, good to go." "Aight, let's go seek our fortune." We bid Denise a warm goodbye, and headed out to find our fortune, igga pimp shoes proudly adorning my feet.


So Rory and I headed out to try our luck at the dice tables, with me wearing his hard-earned pimp shoes. And it wasn't but 10 to 15 minutes after walking on the Strip before my feet started to hurt. So I asked Rory to hold up a minute while I changed into my comfy sneaks, and after that I carried the pimp shoes in my hand.

We passed a bum on the street. All of a sudden Rory stops me, and he's got this weird look on his face. I look right at him, some gears turn in my brain, and I bust out in a ridiculous grin. I speak first, but I'm laughing so hard I can barely get the words out: "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He's like, "No way." I nod my head. "Yup, let's do it."

We turn around and start heading back the way we came. When we get back to the homeless guy, I extend my hand. I said, "My name is px, this is my nephew Rory, and we noticed that your shoes are a little old."

And he extends his grimy hand and says, "My name is Roger, and you're right about that, my shoes have seen better days."

And I said, "Well Roger this is your lucky day, because you are about to get a pair of $1,000 Fellini alligator skin (pimp-<hmm might have left that out>) shoes. You have no idea what my nephew had to go through to get these shoes."

And tears start streaming down Roger's face. He gives Rory and me big hugs, and out of the blue, starts quoting Scripture. The Sermon on the Mount, with the full Beatitudes. Then he moves on to the 23rd Psalm: "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil: for though art with me..." Well I don't what it is about the 23rd Psalm, but something about Roger the Bum reciting the 23rd Psalm on the Las Vegas Strip in the City of Sin, with tears running down his cheeks after receiving the igga pimp shoes, that got to be a little much for me, and I had to bid him a fond farewell before becoming an emotional basket case myself. As we walked away, Rory and I hi-fived each other.

That night, the gods of fortune did indeed smile on us. We shot the fuck out of the casinos. I tripled up, 1500 to 4500, and Rory quadrupled up, 400 to 1600. He never made it back to 36,000, but after that night of dice, he was +100 for the trip. Not bad, considering he had lost his last $100 on the dice tables the night before, and it was only the kindness of the other players that accounted for his $400 bankroll. As to my personal opinion? Ya, the shoes brought us good fortune. It was definitely the shoes.

As we were walking back to the hotel as the sun was coming up, Rory asked me if I played Texas Hold 'Em. I said nope, only dice. He asked me if I would play Hold Em. I said nope, that I would probably blow my dice winnings on Hold Em. He replied: "I tell you what. I'm gonna give you a 60$ bankroll from my dice winnings and all you gotta do is sit down and play." "Well heck, if you're gonna give me free money to play Hold 'Em, you got a deal." Then I added, "Have you ever heard the concept of playing Hold 'Em as a team?" He said no. So as we made our way up the elevators to our room, I explained the concept of team Hold 'Em. When we got back to the room, Denise was just getting up while we were drawing the blinds, like a couple of vampires.


Team Texas Hold ‘Em
So the next day we formulate a plan. Rory would sit down first on one side of the table, and I would grab a spot on the other side of the table a couple minutes later. I came down about 15 minutes after him. There were a lot of players there. I got my chips and tried to get a read on the table.

When it comes to gambling styles, everyone has their own style. You have your very conservative, conservative, moderate, moderately aggressive, aggressive, very aggressive, and finally kamikaze. My style leans toward kamikaze.

I had a hand that was pretty decent. Pocket queens. A guy who raised aggressively before the flop was probably planning on taking down the pot before the flop. Nope. I'm all in. Before the flop. He folded. Everyone folded. I took down the pot. Ok so now I know I'm the craziest guy at the table. Good to know. Built up a decent little chip stack from that.

Two hands later, I'm dealt 9,2. Garbage cards. I manage to make it to the flop without spending too much. No one is showing much early strength. The flop comes: queen, 9,8. I pair my 9s. I'm worried about the over card queen. Decide to test the waters. Lead with an early big bet. Everyone folds or calls. No one raises. So either no one has the queen, or someone is laying a trap. I follow my instincts that my 9s are good. The turn comes a 5. Big sigh of relief. At least not another over card. Bet comes to me. I push my entire chipstack in. "All in." Fold. Fold. Fold. Rory is already out of the hand. The guy next to him turns over his cards, without watching my reaction. He's got a 7,6 unsuited. I keep smiling, like egging him on, but I know I'm fucked big time. Dude's got a straight already, and I'm hopelessly behind in the hand. Rory springs into action. He turns to the guy on his left and says, "He's got you beat. He's got the jack 10 straight. Look at him, he looks like the cat that ate the canary! You should fold." I keep smiling, like egging him on to call. After like 5 agonizing minutes (for both of us, actually), he mucks his cards. I could not frickin believe it. The last player left at the table besides me says, "I call." I was stoked because somehow I knew I had him beat. I stand up and flip my 9s. He flips his cards. He's got the 8s. I tell him that he's got nuts of steel to call with 2 overcards on the board. He said after the guy with the straight folded, he had to play it out! I was like ya me too, seeing as I'm already all in. We both stand up and wait for the river. I'm thinking no 8, no 4 (his 2nd card is a 4.) Came up ace. The chip stack that came my way was just obscene. I called no action and counted my chips. 420 bucks. Seven times upped. I throw the dealer a 10, get up, stuff my pockets, wish everyone good luck, and headed to the cage. Rory told me later that after I left, one of the other players asked, "Who the hell was that guy?" Rory replied with a straight face,” I think I saw him in the World Series of Poker." Lmfao.

I owed Rory big time. I bought him a 5 lb. bag of ghost chili peppers. He's addicted too.

I had told him that team Hold 'Em was fun, and he was dubious. Now he's a believer!

The Great Race
The only other cool thing that happened on that trip among my crazy Vegas adventures was The Great Race. (Was that not the greatest movie ever?) So Denise is telling us about her great track and field exploits in high school, TX 5A. She won district this, and placed in state that, etc. etc. Well she's built like a cheetah, so I had no reason to doubt her tales of conquest. And Rory is telling us some of the crazy shit he did to get ready for hell week: ran an ultra marathon (125 miles), did an Iron man Triathlon, 26.2 mile obstacle course, etc. etc.

So after hearing these tales of epic athleticism by these 2 fitness freaks, the wheels start turning in my mind. "How bout we find out who really is the greatest athlete warrior?" They both nod their heads in agreement. So after wandering through one hotel after another, at about 2 in the morning, we stumble across the perfect venue. It's a downward moving escalator, an upward moving escalator, and some stairs at the Bellagio. There's no one around, so it's perfect for the showdown. Ebony track star vs. ivory Navy Seal. I bet Denise 1$ that she would lose, because I am partial to my tribe and Denise and I spent more time arguing than anything else, including booty worship. Lol.

I design the course. Stage 1 is down a flight of stairs. Stage 2 is up an escalator going backwards (opposite to the direction of the escalator.) Stage 3 is down an escalator going backwards. Runners are on board. I'm judge and jury. The runners take their positions on the starting blocks. I await them at the finish.

"On your marks. Get set. Go!" I fire the starting gun. They both take off flying. Rory is descending like 5 steps at a time. He looked like a mountain goat coming down a steep mountainside. Denise was flying too, but was only taking 3 steps at a time. Rory had a small lead coming round the turn. As he ascended the backwards moving escalator, Denise was only an arms length back. They were both killing themselves going up this escalator. Rory was only taking 2 steps at a time, and Denise only 1.

As they round the turn into stage 3, now Rory is leading by a good 6 feet. He starts Stage 3 the upwards moving escalator taking 3 steps at a time, while Denise can only take 2. In a desperate attempt to close the gap, Denise takes a huge leap down, loses her footing, and collapses on the escalator, which is now moving her away from the finish line. Rory crosses the finish line and I high five him, then we both point at and laugh at Denise, who by now is at the top of the escalator. In the ultimate act of surrender, she gives up and walks down the stairs. I congratulate her on her last place finish and demand my booty. (No not that kind of booty. Lol.)

Next morning, the paper's lead: Ivory Navy Seal Destroys Ebony Track Star in Obstacle Course at the Bellagio!

Stay tuned for the next chapter, Taylor's Mayhem...

Wow didn't read a word just wanted to quote it to add to the stupidity. You will have to make a cliff's notes for me.