"That machine is cursed."
August 25th, 2006

And now, the exciting conclusion to the Vegas adventure. If you were fortunate enough to miss the first day's write-up, you might wanna kick back and read it first...not that it's really important to the story or anything.

Okay, Vegas. The Sahara Hotel. Room 2173. I still have $25 of winnings to my name. It's around four o'clock in the morning and I cannot get to sleep. Why? Scoot. That boy can snore. And I mean snore. When he and I took a trip to Brazil in 2000, our hotel introduced me to three things: (1) Scoot is deathly afraid of elevators, (2) bidets are AWESOME, and (3) Scoot is an extremely loud snorer. Due to the time difference, I was able to fire up my laptop and find The Creature (his ex-wife, wife still in 2000) online. I asked her about the boy's snoring. "Oh my God, I know!" was her initial response. Yeah. Lucky me. I was in for a week of this shit. Anyway, she said that he'll emphatically deny that he snores (this is still true to this day, mind you) but we both know it's the harsh reality. The only way to get him to stop temporarily is to shake the hell out of him and then quickly try to get back to sleep yourself before it starts all over. Armed with that knowledge, I still managed to get little to no sleep the rest of the trip.

So here I am in Vegas and Scoot's snoring...loudly. There's nothing on Earth more fun than lying awake in bed, trying to get to sleep, and listening to someone's breathing that you know is going to turn into a snore the second your eyes actually close. In the three hours that I did managed to actually sleep, I was awakened four times by the sounds of Paul Bunyon over there in his bed taking on an entire forest. Twice he was on his back, once he was facing towards my bed, the other completely away from me but with his snores reverberating off the wall. I couldn't win. I'd get out of bed, shake the hell out of him until he stopped, and then quickly try to get back to sleep. I remember one time where I heard the snoring subside, an odd pop sound come out of his throat, and then complete silence. "Oh good," I remember thinking to myself as I dozed off, "he's dead. Now I can sleep."

Finally giving up on sleep around eight o'clock in the morning, I played solitaire and Texas Hold 'em on my cell phone. I found a couple of people in IM at work and chatted with them, lamenting my lack of luck so far while out in Vegas. Eventually Scoot woke up and, true to form, denied that he snores. The next time, I'm going to film him on my phone to offer him proof. He'll, of course, claim that I somehow doctored it. Some things never change.

We get up and hit the MGM Grand's buffet right in-between them wrapping up breakfast and then serving lunch. I knew I needed a full stomach as I was not going to be leaving the tables until it was time to catch our flight at six o'clock that evening. I can honestly say that this was the one and only time that Scoot came to a table and left a winner as he didn't have to pay for his meal. See, Scoot? You CAN win at a table in Las Vegas.

Returning to yesterday's ground zero, I took my last $25 chip along with $20 in cash I had and set up camp at New York, New York once again. Before you knew it, I had turned it into $150 and was on my way to getting back into the thick of things. Lucy Liu's younger sister came and joined our table (not really, but dear God this woman was the spitting image of Ms. Liu), as well as a couple that was traveling with her. Lil' Lucy's laugh was precious and I kept cracking wise to hear her giggle. Scoot, fighting for his Vegas life in the first base spot, was very serious at this table and not saying a word. We managed to do okay until the "extremely Asian people" (you gotta love Scoot's descriptors) left us alone with...The Terminator.

The Terminator, as I came to call him, was a Mario Lopez-looking guy that had an extremely uncanny knack for hitting twenty-one nearly every time, always having twenty when Scoot and I had twenty, and would NEVER give me a face card when I doubled down. He was also one of the slowest blackjack dealers I've ever seen in my entire life. Left alone with The Terminator, it seemed that Scoot and I were nothing but a couple of Sarah Connors...and he was coming after us with a god damn vengeance. Not only did he wipe Scoot out, he was the first person to force me to go locate an ATM. I took out some dough, came back to the table, and continued getting chumped by The Terminator.

At this point, Scoot left and ventured off to drink (of course!). I weathered the storm just long enough until his replacement dealer came back...thank GOD. She was a much faster dealer than The Terminator which meant one of two things -- I was either going to lose a lot of money or gain a lot of money very, very quickly as I was the only person at the table. Fortunately for me, she was the complete opposite of The Terminator. The cards I'd been looking for all day suddenly came out of the shoe and my chip count rose. This dealer was truly a life saver. After she built me back up, The Terminator's break ended and he returned to the table. After watching him hit back-to-back-to-back 21s against me, I knew it was time to get the hell up and get the hell away from him while I still had money.

I rounded the corner and found a table that only had a couple of people on it and plopped my ass down. After a few minutes, I couldn't tell if this was going to be worth my while as I couldn't get a read on how well the others knew how to play the game. They were making smart plays when it came to doubling down but seemed to be playing scared when faced with having to make a tough decision...and, unfortunately, they were covering the third base spot. For those of you that do not know, third base is the final spot on the table before play turns back to the dealer. The entire fate of the table sometimes rests on the decisions that this person makes...so time and time again whether or not the table wins or loses is up to this person. This is the same kind of pressure that faces the anchor on a bowling team. Big shock, I usually prefer to sit in this spot as I'm not afraid to play the cards the way they should be played. Bring on that pressure!

About twenty minutes into play, I was able to make my call on the table...the guys had no idea what they were doing and I lost a sizable bet because of it. I got up and hit another table, which did me in pretty quickly. Another trip to the ATM was a'coming my way.

I bumped into Scoot and as I dipped into what I declared the last bit of money I was taking out from the ATM, he confessed that he'd seen the last of the money he had budgeted for his Vegas trip in a Top Dollar slot machine. Now, he could have left it at that and not said another word...but he uttered the one and only word that could have given me a guarantee that something great was about to happen to me:

"That machine is cursed."

Cursed. Coming from Scoot, this is one of the most beautiful, most hopeful words in the English language. Cursed. From the Middle English "curs" and "cursen," the word means to 99.999999% of the world's population something along the lines of "something stricken with evil, misfortune, or trouble." But to me, that word means straight up cash will soon be in my pocket.

With the word still hanging in the air, I turned to Scoot and with wide-eyes asked him to lead me to the machine that had been declared "cursed." A short walk later, I found myself standing across from the 25¢ Top Dollar machine that had sucked away Scoot's last dollar. Reaching into my pocket I procured a crisp $100 bill, slipped it in the machine, made myself comfortable, ordered "Scoot, The Cooler" to make himself scarce, and awaited the machine to credit me with 400 quarters. And here we go.

What I like about the Top Dollar machines is that they offer a bonus game if the "Top Dollar" icon comes up on the third wheel. See the pic to the right? Sorry, Ray Charles. But for those of you with sight, see the dollars at the top? Well, if you hit a "Top Dollar" icon (which you can see on the third wheel in the picture), you will get up to four deals of varying amounts. The various dollar bills would light up for each chance and you then had to decide if you wanted to accept it or see the next offer. So, looking at the image to the right, the first deal might light up a 50, a 20, and a 5 for a total of seventy-five coins. Do you take 75 quarters? That's $18.75 straight up American. Or...do you say "no thanks" and go for the next offer?

I'm a gambler. More often than not, I press my luck and see if I can't get the big one -- the 1,000. I've hit it twice in the past so it's not impossible. Well, once I got into my run to land the top dollar amount I wasn't catching deals worth a damn on the few times I was offered them. Perhaps Scoot's claim was correct for once. Perhaps this machine WAS cursed...as I've almost always been lucky on Top Dollar machines. Hmm.

Before I knew it, my 400 quarters had been busted down to just slightly above forty. Not a good sign. At least during the downslide I was entertained by the dulcet tones of the old women that were trying their luck on The Munsters slot machines behind me. They had been floating around me on the various machines looking for "the good one" before settling down on The Munsters. After taking a beating, I heard the woman directly behind me saying "this damn machine doesn't pay out ANYthing!" to her friend. She plunked in another bill and tried her luck once more before finally declaring what was my favorite line of the day.

"God damn those Munsters!"

That's right, folks, Fred Gwynne and crew can kiss this woman's ass. You hear that, Addams Family? You're next.

I turned around out of comical curiosity to see what this woman, who had just chastised one of my favorite shows as a child, looked like. She was easily in her seventies and dressed almost like Scoot, but in a feminine form (you know, flowery-patterned shirts and bad shoes). She waddled over to me and asked if my machine was paying out anything. I had to tell her that it wasn't and that I was about finished. Or was I?

At this point, I was pressing the button with the finger upon which I wear my father's wedding ring. I figured I could use all the luck I could muster to survive my final few quarters in the machine that had already been labeled "cursed." Bingo. I caught a couple of bar payouts and was flirting with being back over 100 quarters. Go, Ken, go. A few spins later and I hit a Top Dollar that offered me another 100 quarters, which I promptly took. Another bar payout. And another. And another. And then a Top Dollar that pushed me back up over 300 quarters. "Kick ass," I thought to myself. "If I can get back up to 400 quarters, I might as well just cash out and save my money."

This was not going to be the case...luckily for me.

I kept my eyes focused on the third wheel, not caring what else appeared on the first two wheels. A double diamond -- the slot machine's "wild card" -- came up in the third spot and the machine went nuts. I had no idea what was going on. I glanced at the second wheel and there was another double diamond. "Oh, cool, I'm getting four times whatever I just won!" And then I saw the first wheel -- a third double diamond.

I had hit the jackpot. That's the picture at the very top of this entry.

I glanced down to see what the hell that paid and it was 2,500 quarters. $625. I was back. Scoot was right, the machine had been officially "cursed." I picked up my cell phone and merely uttered the word "jackpot" when Scoot answered the phone. He assumed that I had just won a large amount and asked me how much I had won. "Jackpot!" He flew over.

Now since this machine was old school, I couldn't just press a button and have a ticket print out with my winnings on it for easy redemption at the cashier's desk. Oh no, I had to press the button and have the attendant on duty come by to pay me in bills. She gave me $700 something in straight up cash and I made a bee line to the blackjack tables.

Forty-five minutes later and I've already made another $150 catching aces and face cards. I had a good chance to have a grand in my pocket when I leave Vegas...until a man who looked like Grady from "Sanford and Son" sat down and screwed up the table. He didn't know how to play and was making very, very dumb calls (he'd hit a 15 against the dealer's four and on the next hand, not hit a 13 against the dealer's ten) which inevitably cost the table dearly. I found myself replaying the woman's "God damn those Munsters" in my head but adding "And fuck those 'Sanford & Son' bit players, too!"

Scoot pointed out that we better get going so I placed the one and only irrational bet I'd made the entire time we were there and went against my regular betting pattern. I slapped $50 down, got chumped, and headed over to the cashier's desk to exchange my chips. It was nice to have my current bankroll pushing the boundaries of my money clip once again.

Feeling pretty cocky at this point I stupidly went over and chucked $100 into a dollar version of "Top Dollar", figuring that I might be able to catch something incredible on it. No dice. Had this machine granted me a jackpot I would have walked out with $2,500...but the machine wasn't "cursed" and just ate up a portion of my winnings. After that, we snagged our bags and headed to the airport.

Final tally? I had won $100 while Scoot had lost an amount that you'll have to read his blog to discover. Whoopty doo. Thank God for cursed machines, though, or I would have been leaving Las Vegas a loser.

My two day trip to Vegas adds yet another chapter in the Legends of Ken and Scoot, this time giving us even more inside jokes that we can share with one another and our friends. For instance, I know that if we ever see a woman in a mechanized cart, we know to haul ass; anyone of foreign origin is "extremely" that ethnicity ("extremely Asian," "extremely African," "extremely Finnish," etc.); and if Scoot declares that something is "cursed" you best do your damndest to get as close to said object as possible for great things are going to happen.

Needless to say, I'm already planning my return trip as is Scoot. My boy made this bold declaration in an email on Thursday: "Next time I'm out there I will be coming back up. Very up." Now, Scoot did not declare if that meant that he'd be up in money...it could be that he may returned stoned, heavier due to frequent buffet trips, or even amped up on caffeine. Only time will tell.

Perhaps our next trip will feature some additional recruits -- whaddya say, fellas? Gunderson has never been to Vegas so we damn sure have to take him with us. I'd love to kidnap Roller and force him to enjoy some time away from work. Domann, Codding, and Tesar should make the trip as well. Parre would be fun to rope into the trip as well. Who knows...maybe one of the abovementioned chumps could break the bank while we're out there.

Viva Las Vegas!