Page 27 of My Thursday Throwback

Chapter 10 – Letting Loose

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THE DAY STARTED WITHScott and Michael deciding to have a few bloody Mary’s as Scott’s potential brother-in-law washed downed his scrambled eggs over easy with crisp bacon. He didn’t want to talk about Pip or the conversation they’d had, and he definitely didn’t want to talk about his sister.

“I want to have some damned fun, Scott,” he said suddenly. “Let’s hit some strip clubs, get massages with a happy ending, and get drunk as hell.”

“I don’t get drunk,” Scott said.

“Today, you will. The sky is the limit. I want to gamble and just let loose,” Mike said with a smile.

“What do you mean by letting loose?” Scott asked and soon found out the hard way. Michael’s idea of fun and Scott’s were at opposite ends of the spectrum, however, the stress of fighting with Zelda outweighed his common sense. He too decided to get loose and have some fun.

Fun nearly got both Scott and Michael arrested for trying to free the lions at the MGM Grand. Around noon, they were kicked out of the all you can buffet at the Aladdin for sneaking in a street urchin’s show monkey and letting it nibble on the food. After letting the monkey run free, Michael thought it would be a good idea to stuff their pockets full of meatballs, hot wings, and mini sausages so they would have something to eat for later.

A woman called the police on Scott when he offered to share with her his mini sausage in his pocket around two in the afternoon. The police officer didn’t detain him when Mr. Berger actually produced a handful of mini sausages from his jacket pocket. Holding the citation, Scott blew his nose on it, yelling death to pigs and screaming ‘you can’t catch me copper,’ as he and Michael ran down the street.

By four o’clock, drunker than either wanted to admit, they happily wandered into a strip club and took seats at the bar, enjoying the acrobatic antics of a woman with breasts in two different sizes. It only took thirty minutes before someone began screaming at Scott, “Good Lord, man, put your clothes back on!”

Evidently, he’d became bored with the woman sporting the oddly shaped breasts and found her dancing to be less than satisfactory, deciding he had far more skills at working up the audience. Michael, encouraging his friend, pulled out a wad of singles, yelling he would make it rain as Scott gyrated suggestively on the stage. On his hands and knees, Scott sagged his back four times, swiveled his butt cheeks, and then made each hump move independently. Michael, impressed with his friend’s talents, began to shower him with loose $1 bills and a handful of quarters, shouting, “Work that ass you hairy, bucked toothed bastard!”

The raining of money and loose coins egged Scott on as he looked over his shoulders at the men at the end of the bar, shaking his money maker even harder.

A gentleman in thick glasses scowled, speaking to the man seated next to him, “Ewww! The women in this club have really gone downhill. I think that big hairy one has a penis!”

Three large black men from the back of the room came forward, trying with little luck to get Scott off the stage. He grabbed the oil the woman had been using to grease up her body, pouring it over himself slipping and sliding across the stage on his belly.

“He’s safe!” Michael yelled like an umpire as Scott slid head first into a beer-bellied man who almost caught him, but a greasy Scott slithered to the floor. The three security men which had been chasing him stopped in their tracks when Scott started to bark at them, followed by Michael who began beating on his chest as he barked as well.

Thrown out on the street, greasy, in his underwear, Scott held his clothing bundled in his arms as Michael feebly tried to help him dress. Armed with logic, Michael knew the best way to get the grease off Scott was for his friend to wash his body.

More security officers chased Scott out of the fountain at the Bellagio. “You can’t bathe here, sir,” the man said.

“He’s covered in stripper lube,” Michael offered, teetering to one side. The last twenty-five whiskey shots were starting to impact his balance.

“You two need to head back to your hotel before you get into a world of trouble,” the guard told him.

“Trouble is my middle mu-fuckin’ name,” Michael said, droopy-eyed, falling over onto the sidewalk. “Michael Trouble mu-fuckin’ Fitsssssimmonons! Wait! There a Z in there somewhere. Scottie! I lost my mu-fuckin’ Z!”

“Yeah! What he said! And I’m Scott mo-fuckin’ Ham-Berger!” he said pointing a dripping wet finger at the security officer as he sat down in the fountain, washing the lube from his arms. For good measure, he washed hit pits, reaching for his underwear to wash the naughty bits inside the shorts.

“Get your hand out of here,” the man told them. “Then get your drunk ass out of that fountain!”

“We’re leaving, not ‘cause we scared of you, but because I want to ride in a mother-ferkering gondola driven by a Where’s Waldo lookin’ sumbitch!”

“Weee!” Michael yelled, scrambling unevenly to his feet. “Gondola rides!”

Micheal helped Scott dry off with his jacket, then get dressed. The buttons on his shirt were uneven as well as the shirt being on inside out. Scott’s shoes were on the wrong feet which made him walk like a clown as they made their way over to the Venetian to ride the gondolas.

The Venetian Hotel also escorted them off the property after Michael determined he was no longer able to hold his water, standing in the gondola and peeing off the side of the boat. Peeing off the side of the boat was far better than Scott throwing up on the Gondola driver after getting a bout of motion sickness. The vomiting came with such force, it evacuated his bladder.

This was the final straw in their trouble making, bringing out the LVPD instead of hotel security. As they were about to be arrested, a small voice could be heard from the back of the crowd which had gathered to see what was happening. “Release them to me. I will get them back to their hotel,” she said.

Recognizing Samantha Martelli, the owner of the Burlesque Dolls, the officer released Scott and Michael to her care. Grimacing, he told Samantha, “Just make sure you take those two assholes somewhere to get sobered up,” he told her.

Michael, trying to pull down his pants to show the officer his actual asshole, was stopped by Samantha, whose driver ushered Michael towards the car.

“Where are you staying, Scottie?” She asked him.

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