miasma of clums and fuckery: part 3 in an anti-climatic tragedy in Las Vegas

Ya, "anti-climatic" as in no peak of action or excitement or passion in the heavy, hanging hours we spent frustrated, sweaty (upon the sunrise and while trying to pimp suit and stuff!) and crashing down from a buoyant intoxication that felt like we were circling the drain of doom. I felt like I was in... any scene from "Apocalypse Now", no, every scene- yes, "...the horror, the horror". I write "every scene", but not the scene in the "REDUX" version when the boys on the boat get to hook-up with the girls from Playboy. Sure looked like fun even in fake Vietnam and even with Marlon Brando's sweat membranes in threatening proximity. Anyway, back to my Vietnam (you just caught me exaggerating...or is that my hyperbolic bend?), yes, our sexy foursome walking around as close to aimless as you could get. So after the ladies figured out for themselves (it has to be that way sometimes) that there was no club to "rock" at this hour (now roundly past five "fucking" a.m.), the ashen quartet head back to Caesars' Palace for some craps and one roulette bet (for Mandy Angelface, 23 black). The gambling did not go as well as we had planned. Of course it didn't with the black magic that was going on around us, the evil stew that my buddy and I flavored with our excited hearts, our youthful spirit to embrace this quick adventure- ya, we sacrificed, but again I do believe our territory of experience, albeit how miserably gained, was made more complex by this engagement, this entanglement with weird fleshy sorcerers, the one strangely out of her mind with self-absorption and the other, pretty cool, until she allowed the crazy one to tame her cool. Like the BORG in Star Trek, resistance to the crazy ass one's influence was futile. The cool one was integrated into the cold fold and now everyone is , well, pissed. We are sure the crazy one was upset because we gave the cool one so much attention after awhile...because she was cool, what does she expect? Whatever. A trip with dope potential totalled. The trip home was the anti-climatic fizzle of an anti-climatic story. Now we know, at least...to plan better and leave stupid bitches at home where they are happy. It feels good to be able to move beyond this shocking failure...a deep and fresh breath for the Cult of Los Angeles. It's always new here...these fecund streets...Fuck Las Vegas.