Grumpy’s Vegas Journal Part II
Watch Out For Little Old Grannys With Purses
Anyone who has visited a Vegas casino can attest to the fact that little old ladies love to gamble. They are particularly attracted to “One Armed Bandits” in the penny to quarter-a-play range.
These old gals carry huge purses stuffed with money and they’ll sit for hours hoping to hit the big jackpot. Believe me; you don’t want to tangle with one of these gambling grannies. I know this because I had a run-in with one of these babes last week in Vegas.
Having just stepped down from the monorail, my wife and I were wandering through the maze that is Harrah’s, when my better half decided to make a pit-stop. Off to my left, I spied a humongous humidor with glass doors, displaying some rather fine cigars. I told my wife to reconnect with me there in about five minutes.
Now, this was a huge display case and being short of stature I took a half-step back in order to view the stogies on the uppermost shelf. I’m talking about a move of baby-step proportions here. Really, it was more like a lean-back.
That’s when I felt an almost imperceptible brushing of my backside. It felt as if I had been caressed by a skeleton; boney, cold to the touch and creepily unsettling. If this had been the dark of night I might have screamed like a little girl.
Instead, I heard these words directed at me in a voice as abrasive as Granny Clampett’s.
“Why don’t people here watch where they’re going, dammit. You darn near knocked me over. I could have broken my goddamned hip again.”
Turning around, I immediately saw the source of this tirade. At the moment, the old dame was poking the point of a cane in my face. This gambling granny was four-foot-ten, frail and wrinkled, and seemed to be older the Grandma Moses. Her apple-doll features went nearly unnoticed because of the inferno burning in the glare of her dark beady eyes. She was clutching a heavy handbag that, no doubt, was filled to the brim with coin. I’m quite sure this granny was prepared to wield that purse like a policeman’s sap.
Have you ever been hit in the face with a bag of nickels?
Unperturbed, I was not about to be assaulted by a smurf -sized octogenarian. I was prepared to meet this challenge head-on!
So, I looked the old babe in the eyes and with Simon Cowell veracity, said, “Maybe YOU should be looking where YOU’RE going, madam, because, in case you didn’t notice I’m a lot bigger than you!”
I puffed out my chest and rose to my full five feet, six inches! Take that you wicked witch of the North!
Well, the old gray mare’s face quickly turned from rouge-pink to crimson. Her satanic eyes cut me like a knife when she said, “Damn youngun’s don’t have any respect for the elderly”, and then as if to spew a vile-inflicted loogie in my direction, she added, “ASSHOLE!!!!”
As she waddled away, I knew in my heart that if push came to shove, I could have kicked her ass. Come on, her fish net stockings hung on her skinny legs like spider webs.
When my wife returned to my side she could tell by my screwed-up facial features and my harrumphing that I was upset about something. So, she asked me, and I kid you not, this is how she put it.
“Are you feeling constipated again, dear?”
Now where did that come from, my friends?
The Card Snappers of Las Vegas Blvd.
If you’ve ever walked Las Vegas Blvd. you’ve probably been accosted by one or more of the “Card Snappers”. These are the unfortunate, usually Mexican, distributors of small smutty cards that advertise any number of delights you might like to experience should you tire of the drinking and gambling. Airbrushed pictures of gorgeous, young females certainly add to the pizzazz of these Vegas calling cards.
These vendors hold one card in their hand and the snap or flick it against the other to make a sound. Occasionally they’ll lean forward and try to place one of these in your hand. The street is littered with these cards at night.
Later on my trip, whilst I was walking the streets alone, I was actually handed a ten page booklet, with profiles of a bevy of babes who seemed ready, willing and able to satisfy any of your most carnal cravings.
Which set me to wondering?
Are any of the statements listed on the cards and in the booklet true?
“I still have my cheerleader uniform!”
“I’m a nineteen year old college student with bills to pay.”
“Hi, my name is Wanda, I just turned 19 and I’m starting my life off with a bang!”
“Ex-cheerleader working my way through school. Farming just doesn’t cut it!”
“Blonde sweet and very discreet.”
And my favourite, with a shout out to AC/DC: “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.”
I began to wonder if there was a trading card market for these little pieces of card board.
“Hey, Bob, I’ll trade you one “Hose Bag Whore” for your “Likes to Get Wet” and you’re “Wishes Are Your Command!”.
Is it possible to collect the entire set of these cards?
Maybe they should number and date them. Imagine what a Number 1, 1945 “Call Girl Available” would fetch.
My brother-in-law, the cutting horse cowboy, collected a whole whack of these cards when he attended the Finals of the Rodeo a few years back. He stashed them away in his shaving kit, thinking he might find some use for them in the future.
As an Ontario Hydro Lineman he often is sent away on extended “mercy missions” to get the power grid up and running after a disaster. One such adventure took him to Florida during the year of all those terrible hurricanes.
The boys, of course, enjoyed a few cold ones after a hard days labour in the Florida sun. Turns out that one of the younger dudes in their crew overdid it a tad and when they returned to their barracks, collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Enter my brother-in-law.
He and his fellow crew members spent the next half hour stashing these Vegas Smut cards in a number of concealed places like; the young kid’s button down shirt pockets, the outback concealed parts of his luggage and in his dirty-clothes laundry bag.
Of course, their hope was that their young working buddy would be in a heap of trouble when he arrived home and his better-half unpacked his bag and washed his clothes.
Now that’s a Dirty Deed Done Dirt Cheap.
Well, as it turns out, the joke was on them because, upon their return, the young lad informed them that he took care of the laundry in the house, and he was ready to prove he wasn’t “whipped” by kicking their collective asses.
And, this, ladies and gentleman, is how the world now turns. Take it from me – your classic and classy Mr. Mom!
Hey, I’ll admit I stashed a few cards and the booklet away, merely as souvenirs of Vegas. My wife actually pointed out the cards on the ground so I wouldn’t miss them.
All in all, we expected Vegas to be far more raunchy and base. We were pleasantly surprised when it wasn’t. A shopkeeper actually called us “Las Vegas Virgins”.
Well, you can’t say that now, silly.
That’s why we’re planning heading back to Sin City as soon as we can. And hey, I only need five more cards to complete the set.
STAY TUNED FOR GRUMPY’S VEGAS JOURNAL #3 : “ My Best Ride in Vegas Didn’t Happen at the Stratosphere”.