WanderingDan’s Weblog

Vegas…Paintball…Biochemically Altering Substances
August 12, 2013, 8:13 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Las Vegas. The place where you should expect to see anything. The place where you can see practically everything. I am not at all shocked by the spectacle before me as I casually wander around the strip alone at four in the morning. The major role of police at this hour is getting completely inebriated partiers into cabs or their resorts. A staggering trio of men in front of me, bottle in hand, are howling at the moon. In fact, I’d say half the people around me are staggering. Twice a block I’m petitioned for a free ride to a strip club, but it won’t be for another couple hours street hookers start glomming on to me in their best attempt to market their trade, with lines like: “which way is your room, why don’t we just go there?”, “ohhhh, you are cuuuute, and I love your eyes” (said while stroking my cheek”, “hey honey, which way you going, can I walk with you?”. I left the rest of the gang at Coyote Ugly around two. Everyone in the club was getting drunker and drunker, and since I was starting to come back down to a normal state (more on this in a bit), couldn’t handle the energy anymore. In fact, let me rewind a bit and just start from the beginning.

The three of us (myself, Donovan, and Westley) pull in to The Quad early evening, check in, and wait in one of our two rooms for Billy and Michelle. It’s Friday night. Crashing through the door comes Billy, showering like confetti a stack of quintessentially Vegas call-girl cards all over the room, announcing the party has officially begun. Starting with Donovan’s presentation of unique energy drinks he picked up in Europe, most notably ‘Black Power’, we start the pre-game, not to any dizzying state, but sufficient enough to put on a show for balcony onlookers at the neighboring resort: suggestive dancing, towel-flossing, and ofcourse the full moon…then we hit the strip. After strolling around and taking in the plethora of visual pleasantries the party city has to offer, putting the ubiquitous call-girl cards on random cars or slipping them into peoples purses, we end up at Paris, and dance the night away, in a fashion ordinary to us, but from the looks and comments of others, not so ordinary. Many people thought Donovan, Wes and I were a gay trio…maybe because when Wes gets drunk he grinds on everyone…actually…on anything. Others thought we were a professional dance troupe, so we gave each other the names of: double-D, Billy-mac-daddy, and the Viking. I don’t know why Wes didn’t get a name. He must have been at the bar grinding on Michelle or hating on white people’s dancing; when I reminded him he was white, he replied “only technically”. That was more or less our first night.

Saturday was an escalation. We had a very chilled out morning, recovering with our gallon jugs of water and watching Talladega Nights on the room’s cable channel. Right before we are ready to go hit the indoor paintball, Club Splat, I pop the first of my gifted pills. Rewind…before coming out here, a loving and generous soul gave me a few powder-filled gel-caps, which assuredly would make my Vegas weekend amazing. Never one to turn down new experiences, I gladly accepted the mix of both known and unknown bio-chemically altering substances. After arriving to Club Splat, sign waivers…Donovan signed adding ‘poop’ to his surname, and I signed ‘Cornholio’…we laugh our way through the safety video, gear up, and start playing. Starting with a couple games of two on two, we then play against a group of five guys from California who are here for one of their bachelor’s party. Before we learned their names, we just called them the ‘Yakuza’. Really cool group, we played most of the rest of the afternoon with them, four on four and a game called ‘zombies’. By the second game, I start feeling super-energized, beyond a normal adrenaline rush, and realize, it’s kicking in. Wow, I feel good! My strategy of play changes from cautious to reckless, diving over barriers, sprinting charges, crazy leaps and rolls…usually ending with me just getting pelted right away. After a dozen such kamikaze runs, I get tired of being one of the first ones out of the game, every game. An hour later, I’m rolling hard, and voraciously thirsty…can’t get enough water! Can’t stop talking. Can’t stop moving. Can’t stop, period. An hour later, I take a second dose. We continue to play, always checking out our battle wounds at the end of each game. After nearly four hours our box of ammo is almost out, and so is our energy. We give the remaining bits of our ammo to a couple kids who just arrived, save six paint-balls each for Donovan and I to do a western style duel. I give Tyler, the guy who has been officiating our games, my camera. Billy calls out our five step pace, then Michelle calls the command to turn and fire. I can’t remember if I forgot to take the safety off when she calls fire. Apparently I did, because rounds were flying both ways. In the process of unloading I take a hit high on my right arm, and then notice Donovan stagger back slightly, and even through the face mask see him go slightly bug-eyed. Neck shot. A little freaked out, I head over to make sure he’s alright…he is, and definitely wins the ‘battle wound of the day’ award.

We make it back to the resort, shed our paint-soaked clothes, and everyone showers and rests up for the night…except me. I can’t sit still. I simultaneously iron everyone’s clothes for the night, while facebook chatting, planning a future empire of grandeur, draft notes, amongst other things. Sweat is pouring down my arm…and my god, I can’t stop drinking water. Must have easily put down a gallon and a half since one o’clock this afternoon. We slowly get ready to party again. The rest of the group pre-games pretty hard, but since I’m already tripping major balls, only have a little…actually I take the last dose of my gift. We put on another show for the neighbors, then head out into the night, this time destined for Coyote Ugly, where Billy flirted some free passes from the bartender Friday afternoon. The place is manic, and although perhaps typical Vegas debauchery, not so typical for us. We dance, they drink, we get man-handled by the stage dancers…and that now brings us back to the present. Enjoying the relative calmness of the strip, I am content to wander and people-watch in these warm hours of pre-dawn, as an amazing tidal-wave Vegas weekend slowly comes to a close.Image







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