While in Vegas a few weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to get all hooked up at Tryst by a guy I went to college with that is now the VIP director…we have a table and bottles right next to the waterfall. its me, my buddy and 4 girls from nashville.
so we are having fun and around 230AM, my stomach starts grumblin, most likely from the full rack of ribs i ate for dinner around 9PM at a dive restaurant located in a casino which was attached via an overhang to a motel 8—Ellis Island, as it was named.
so im sitting at the table saying to myself “lock it up. lock it up. rule number 1 of a nightclub. you do not shit in a nightclub”
eventually i feel like im about to start sweating. i convince myself that i dont have enough time to go into the hotel lobby and that that is an equally bad decision because i may not be able to get back in.
so there i go, into the tryst mens room, to violate rule number 1.
luckily for me, the stalls at Tryst are their own little mini rooms, with a large wooden door with venitian blinds.
usually i am pretty quick on the pot, sometimes to the point of people not being able to tell if i number 1 or number 2’d.
well, a new number may be needed to added to the scale for what happened in stall #1 in the mens bathroom of the tryst nightclub located in the wynn hotel in the city of las vegas, nevada of the united states of america planet earth, solar system
there i sat, as I essentially recreated the dropping of the atomic bomb on nagaski.
Eventually, things began waft. and my nostrils lit on fire. i sat there contemplating my options. it was a foregone conclusion that I would be going home alone, because I would surely get vomit on my stomach considering my balls would be chilling at the gates of hell for the remainder of the evening.
i took a deep breath and eventually pulled myself together. i opened the door to the stall and staring back at me like a mugshot is the tiny mexican bathroom attendant, and he is accompanied by a pale and a mop. Literally, this pale was up to his knees. He could have cleaned up a double homicide and suicide crime season.
apparently the fumes had drifted thru the venetian blinds.
eventually the aroma of disaster hit his nostrils, he shook like a wet dog and whispered “EL DIABLO” while looking at the floor and shaking his head. i quickly washed up, and returned to my vip table, eventually making it home by 5am.
