So, I come up the escalator on my way to the Club Tower at Tropicana and lo and behold, guess who's passing by at the top of the landing when I come up. Yep, it's Gallagher . . . . and he's dressed in Gallagher mode with a stupid striped shirt and bowler hat and looking old as death (because he is). Now, anyone that knows me knows I HATE Gallagher (I have another story from about 9 years ago that perhaps I'll share sometime) and I have a bit of history. But, I was caught off guard and for some reason my properly functioning badass ego was on break (I just came from a slot tourney) and instead I went into polite dork mode. "Hi, Gallagher." He grumpily gives half a nod and partly acknowledges my existence. Then I said, "I've seen your show many times. I didn't realize you had a residency gig at the Trop. Well, just wanted to say 'hi' and have a good show" The rotten bastard didn't so much as give me a greeting or a thank you for my support. He just says gruffly, "Okay" and turns away. I walked on ahead. Now I was pissed at myself. I had a chance to diss Gallagher again and I blew it. A bit further down the hallway I see a girl that I'd talked to in the elevator an hour earlier and had a brief "How's it going" chit chat. Then I proceeded for the elevator. By this time Gallagher had now just caught up with me (still ignoring me, of course). We get to the elevator bank and I push the button and one opens. We both get in. He looks like crap. Politely I say, "You look tired, Brother." He finally speaks - "I have a 7 o clock show. I don't want to peak early." He says this in the tone that is hard for me to describe, but I guess it's like when you're pointing out something obvious to a 5 year old and you're pissed that you have to explain that the pan is hot because it was on the stove or something. Anyway, the door opened and I finally snapped out of it and answered back as he was stepping out. "It's way too late for that, Buddy." I saw his neck tense up slightly as if he wasn't sure what I said or if I meant it the way he was processing it. So I popped my head out and said clearly. "That's right. You heard me, Old Man!" He didn't turn around but I could see his pace quicken and his veins starting to boil and, damn, did it feel good!!!! UP YOURS, GALLAGHER!!! The score is now officially Chester: 2 Gallagher: ZERO. Be sure to invite me to your funeral so I can take a big steamy dump on your coffin. Oh, also, this happened . . .