1. Saturday, July 17, 2004

    lets just call him a friend of the family, 

    stillo invited me to caesars this weekend, and since i knew a suite was involved, i happily, accepted.

    stillo, as you may have heard, is a high roller, a programmer, and a very talented card counter.

    the arrangement is, if he gambles for two hours a day, everything is comped including food drink and a suite. and by gamble, we’re talking $100 a hand. which in blackjack can rack up quickly. especially for my man who has never met a double down he didnt like.

    they also had a deal where if he gambled, im sorry i meant, played for three hours a day he’d get two suites.

    stillo, you see, thinks its “gay” if two men shared the same gigantico suite.

    fine with me, my own free suite in my favorite vegas hotel?

    shit.

    but as you know there are no free lunches. everything has a tradeoff. and even though im the luckiest man in the world, even i dont get to stay in vegas for free (i did have to provide for my (southwest) airline ticket, ($100 r/t)), eating their food, drinking their booze, and hanging out at the pool toplessly using their wifi laptops so i could blog to you, without having to pay some price.

    stillo, lets say, isnt the most attractive young man.

    neither of us are, to be completely honest, but somehow ive been able to catch a few breaks from time to time.

    not so for our little friend.

    so when he comes to vegas and stays at caesars its always interesting that there is a super attractive young woman

    or two

    at his arm drinking and laughing and gambling with him as he smokes his thin cigars and wins and wins, losing back enough to not appear greedy.

    the problem is he wants a witness.

    which, apparently is where i come in.

    he wants someone to know that somewhere in the world he can pull the chicks.

    and im all, dude, no offense, but theyre obviously hookers.

    and hes all, nuh huh, i dont pay them anything.

    im all duh, it’s uncle julius.

    he’s all, who?

    im all, dude, caesars, same guy who paid for this drink,

    there was a knock at the door

    and those steaks.

    who’s calling us steaks, the one in pink said, twirling long fake ponytails on either side of her silver wig.

    stillo knows i cant do hookers, for a variety of reasons from the bible to my overly safe sex practices, one that does not include whores.

    but they were hot, so we went down to the club.

    and we hung out and drank and talked and when the girls got up to dance stillo and i tried to plan our exit strategy.

    you take em, im going to bed.

    no no tony, theyre not hookers, betty really likes me. lets hang out some more. this is vegas!

    i was all, broham, if i get drunk im going to have sex with a hooker and i dont want that. little tone doesnt want that, and any future tony doesnt want that. ive had my fun, im hitting the hay

    and he frowned a frown that only a man who could find displeasure in being alone with two very hot very drunk and very sexy young ladies possibly of the night. and somehow i found myself in stillos suite in the front area, on a leather couch, stirring my rum punch while he popped open some more comped dom.

    dude, im going to bed. what am i doing here?

    tone, i dont know what to do either, but let me ask you, you dont want to be part of what’s about to come out of that bathroom?

    my head said no, but my mouth wasnt.

    we sat there staring at the bathroom door. two extremely good looking girls. all natural from what we could tell. dressed like hos but smart somehow. and normal. i was starting to believe that they just got off on being around action. and stillos gambling addiction slash card counting was action to these two sorta normal

    oh my lord

    they both came out in leather.

    mine was dressed in a pink leather little bo peep outfit with baby blue taffetta hoop skirt. stillo’s was in black leather. completely except for two eyeholes. a zipper where her mouth should be.

    im out, i esp-ed

    stillo was ex xbi.

    come on dude, he esp-ed back.

    the drunken girls were trying to roleplay but kept breaking into laughter and stumbling in their ridiculously high heels.

    bo peep dropped her champaign flute and cracked up laying on the thick rug innocently flashing us.

    look, tony, its not like im asking you to do it with us. lets just party more.

    what does that even mean? i thought.

    and stillo said, hey why dont you girls make out, ive never seen that before.

    and the girls listened, and then laughed. and little bo peep bounced up and crawled over to my leather girl.

    unzipped her mouth

    looked over at us

    and then kissed her.

    albino brain chiggers + flagrant + brown equals terrorism