For those of you who didn't get a chance to read my last adventure of mishaps, poor judgement and underestimating one's capacity, check it out at https://www.vegasmessageboard.com/forums/showthread.php?89637-Adult-Video-Awards-AK-47-s-and-a-night-of-regret Moving on.... It had become apparent things between Numbers and his schmoopy had gotten serious, so we planned to have this poor man's bachelor party at the only place you can leave your self-dignity and worth behind, only to tell your family you 'played some cards'... Vegas, Baby! Fortunately for all my American friends, this is a domestic flight for you. Myself, living so close to the border, I drive to the ol' U.S. of A. before embarking on my journey of self-deprecation and destruction. I picked up my old pal JC, and brought along another comrade Pork Chop (for some unspoken nationality reasons) for our drive across the border. For some background, Numbers and JC being huge NASCAR fans had decided while in Vegas we should go check out a race. I had never been too into the show, but chalked it up as another experience. Me, JC and Pork Chop had our annual morning beer before our journey began, jumped in my car and headed down to the border. As we got in line, excitement building within, I tried to stay calm and cool. After all, we were doing nothing wrong... aside from morals and principals that had been grounded into us since childhood. We approached the kiosk and after a few questions were directed to pull over and go inside the 'House of Pain'. Great. I had hoped for some penetration on this trip... but with myself on the other end. Fortunately, they just wanted to run a background check on us and we were on our way. It still didn't stop me from hastily reminding JC and Pork Chop that these border guards had the authority to do things to them that would set them on a lifetime path of therapy and muscle relaxants. There was a rather large group of us flying down to Vegas for Numbers stag, and we all rendezvoused at a small diner in a smaller town. Even after our close experience of behind opened up like a Thanksgiving turkey at the border, we still beat everyone down there. We walked to a gas station and grabbed a six pack of beer (God bless America) and proceeded to wet our proverbial whistle in anticipation of our journey. After a solid breakfast and a few Mimosa's (Orange juice and champagne for all our Pabst Blue Ribbon fans out there) we began our trip to the airport. We all talked of various schemes and plans to shred Numbers self-worth on his bachelor party, giggling like 10 year olds at fart jokes. Airport security was a breeze.... and time to hit the bar. Rome wasn't built in a day, and I needed to slowly climatize my body to the vast amount of pollutants I planned on pouring into it the next three days. Me and my liver still aren't on speaking terms. I could go on and on about being threatened at the airport bar about cutting us off at 9:30am due to the constant barrage of jokes and verbal insults being thrown around when you get 10 guys away from their wives, girlfriends, jobs and responsibilities, but I'm sure you all can imagine the type of jerk-offs we were as you hoped you weren't going to be stuck in between us on the plane. After nearly missing our flight, we all pile on the plane and proceed to ingest more Jack Daniels, Budweiser and Vodka that is considered 'appropriate'. Much to the relief of everyone in earshot of us in the plane, we finally arrived in Vegas. I nearly wet myself looking at the fine picture of casino's, stripclubs and a city of broken dreams before me as we descended. Upon arriving in Vegas, we grab a limo and get the essentials- enough liquor to wipe out a small village in Haiti. If only we had a before and after picture. We all start pouring booze down our gullets, talking about plans and generally razzing Numbers. We pull up to Bally's, pour out like a bunch of misfits and check in. During which all this I'm convinced I lose my passport in the limo, have a nervous breakdown, and then discover it in my pocket 30 minutes later. Don't get me wrong, I love our neighbours down South, but I also enjoy free health care. We all check-in, clean ourselves up and hit the strip to get a feel for the town. After an hour or two of walking around, drooling at women and drinking some more, we head to Margaritaville for some refreshments and food. You can't build a house without a solid foundation. The place has a good vibe, I order Nacho's and and a few drinks, basking in the glory of the times to come. Unfortunately, a member of our crew spills his drink on the table, prompting a large crowd of grown men to start yelling to 'SHOOT THE BOOT!" For those of you who haven't heard of this, or have a university education, this mishap by our colleague prompts him to pour the rest of his drink into one of his comrade's shoes, and drink it. That's right... he has to drink out of a shoe, or 'shoot the boot'. You may cringe at the thought of this... best rest assured, it's just as disgusting as it sounds. I hold my beer with an iron grip, as I laugh at another man's misfortune. Camera flashes fly, other patrons point, and we all heckle at another human's misfortune. After leaving Margaritaville I'm sure to the staff's relief, we decide it's time to experience one of Vegas' fine attractions- a strip club. EXOTIC RHINO (with a side of mint) With us being in such a large group, the only logical decision was to rent a party bus to herd us to a place where college funds and paychecks go to die- a topless bar in Vegas. This particular establishment is one of our favorites. If the headline didn't give it away, you haven't lived. We pile in, order bottle service and set up shop like a bunch of pubescent 16 year olds across from the stage. Needless to say, the girls flock like the salmon of Capistrano. One of Numbers' older friends, fresh out of a long term relationship, proceeds to blow through his entire budget for the weekend in the 'VIP' room. I laugh. Rookie. I sample the girls, engaging in small talk and $20 lapdances as while continuing to refill my drink with the unimaginable amount of liquor in front of me. JC gets up to his old tricks, like a kid in a candy store. After thoroughly enjoying ourselves we depart from Heaven on Earth, reeking of perfume and self degradation. Man, I love this town. As we arrive back on the strip, many in our platoon have blown through a large chunk of their budgets with nothing but fond memories and raging hormones to part with. After hitting the Strip for some more drinks and cards, we generally slide off, one solider at a time leaving the ranks. It's the first night in Vegas, and we've got a big day ahead of us. After hitting the tables for awhile, I stumble back to my abode to sleep off the first day.