Quick note--I can finally get back to blogging on a more regular basis. You see, I just got back from a last-minute trip to Vegas last week—and being in Vegas so soon after the previous trip greatly diminished my available blogging time. The trip was last minute because I had to squeeze it in before a very important work assignment I have for the next week. As it happens, I had to be back in Southern California to dog sit for my friends Woody & Luv Malts (those are names they use when they post comments here). These are the two friends who helped convince me to start this blog, as I explained here. And that’s what I’m currently doing. They have three adorable Maltese dogs that need to be taken care of while they take a trip to celebrate Luv’s birthday. They only recently added the third one this year, and they are a handful.
Actually, long time readers have already read a story about one of the dogs, Linus. You can go here and see a picture of Linus with a comely Rio cocktail waitress. And also read about how he got to second base with said comely waitress. Please note, unlike other dogs referenced on this blog, they are not playing poker. My attempts to teach them have so far been unsuccessful. They understand the game alright, but are physically incapable of looking at their hole cards without flashing them to their opponents.
It was not an accident that I mentioned getting to second base. Because this story features the woman (one of Ginger's friends) who got to second base (via the motor-boat) with a extremely large breasted friend of hers, right in the middle of the Red Rock poker room in front of god, dozens of poker players, and your humble correspondent. You can find the story of that mammarable night here, and you might want to re familiarize yourself with that tale before reading this one.
Because, as I mentioned at the end of the first part of this story, the now intoxicated Ginger and I had indeed discussed the motor-boating show I had witnessed a couple of nights earlier, and Ginger had confirmed that the motor-boatER was indeed a friend of hers. And I also thought—mistakenly, as it turned out—that she was friend with the motor-boatEE as well. So when Ginger suddenly leaned over to me and told me she had just gotten a text from the friend of hers I had seen at the Red Rock, it definitely pricked my interest.
And then she showed me the text. According to Ginger’s phone, it came from someone named “Linda.” As I didn’t know the names of either of the woman involved in the motor-boating demonstration, I assumed Linda was one of the participants. In fact, I actually assumed that Linda was the gal with the enormous rack who had been “molested” by the female poker player sitting at Ginger’s table two nights earlier. I should point that “Linda” is the actual name I saw on Ginger’s phone, but it turned out that Ginger had assigned the wrong name to the texter. I now know for a fact that the person who sent that text was not named Linda, Ginger had just misidentified her in her phone. So that’s why I’m using the actual name I saw on Ginger’s phone. But since I know the texter’s real name, I know that it is not “Linda” and I now need a name for the person who sent Ginger that text, I might as well call her “Linda”, right? That shouldn’t be too confusing, should it?
Before I get to what the text said, let me explain that I was wrong about who this “Linda” was. As I said, I thought Linda was the short girl with the humongous rack that was on the receiving end of her friend’s face two nights before. This was based on the previous conversation I had just had with Ginger. But it turned out I had misunderstood Ginger. I guess due to the fact that we were whispering back and forth and it was hard to hear, and also possibly because Ginger was long past “feeling no pain”, all the time I thought Ginger and I were talking about the motor-boatEE, we were really talking about the motor-boatER (ie, the poker player, the gal who did not have an obscenely gigantic set of ta-ta’s).
Anyway, thinking that she was showing me a text from the girl with breasts that could each earn their own individual zip-code, I dutifully read said text. The gist of it was that Linda was again playing poker at the Red Rock and playing at the same table with her were two of Ginger’s friends. By friends, she meant two co-workers—fellow dealers at BSC. These were two dealers from the day shift (like Isabel) but of course I know them as well. And Linda was suggesting that Ginger come over to the Red Rock, join her and Ginger’s colleagues, and they’d all do shots together while playing poker.
Ginger thought it would be a great idea for Isabel and her to go over to the Red Rock and join their co-workers. And Linda. And play poker while stinking drunk. And do more shots with all her friends.
Because Ginger hadn’t done enough shots already.
Ginger wanted to text back to Linda that they were on their way. There was just one problem. Ginger knew she was in no condition to drive, and certainly didn’t think Isabel was either. Earlier, I had asked her how she was getting home, realizing that she was in no condition to drive. She assured me that she had someone working in a nearby casino that had the right schedule to drop her off at home, so that was not a problem. But now she wanted to go to Red Rock instead of home, and knew she was in no shape to get there on her own, (and her “ride” wouldn’t get off work for some time).
“We should all go to Red Rock. Linda is there, our friends are there. But I can’t drive. Robert, do you have a car? You have a car, right? Can you take us to Red Rock?”
As has been well documented on this blog, yes, I have a car when I’m in Vegas. But it was now approaching midnite, if not past it. And I was tired and petty much close to wanting to call it a night. But yes, I had a car. And just as important, I was totally sober.
At first I said I wasn’t really interested in driving all the way out to Red Rock from the Strip, only to have to drive back to the Strip to get to my hotel at that hour. And truth be told, I had played enough poker for the day. And besides, how would Ginger get home from Red Rock, having left her car at BSC? Would I be responsible for taking her home, too?
No. Linda, or someone at Red Rock, could get her home. I could leave at any time, once I got her there. Then she said something else.
“Come on, it’ll be fun. And I’ll introduce you to Linda. You know, the one with the large breasts.”
So now I have an inebriated woman offering to introduce me to a woman with large breasts.
OK, now, remember, I was thinking Linda, the texter, was the gal with the world’s biggest chest. And I’m not embarrassed to admit that the idea of getting a closer look at her record-breaking juggs had a certain appeal to me. I mean, yeah, I knew they were fake. And yes, as I have indicated on this very blog, I don’t really like fake breasts, much preferring “original factory equipment” to “after-market.” But these were so out of the ordinary, so extreme in size and scope, so breathtaking in their sheer enormity, I thought they merited a second look. So yeah, I really was curious to see them again, up close (or as close as I could get to them) just to confirm that my eyes or my memory weren’t failing me. Besides, I knew my readers would want a more up close and person report on them, because I know that’s what you come here for. So this was more for my readers than my own personal amusement, I assure you.
So, I told Ginger I would take her to Red Rock.
Now Ginger had to convince Isabel, who was reluctant. She had plans in the morning and was ready to call it a night. But Ginger was nothing if not insistent. Ginger told Isabel that I would take them, since she was in no shape to drive either. I’m sure at one point Isabel knew who I was but by now that information had been drowned out by alcohol. Ginger insisted that I was a good guy and could be trusted to get them to Red Rock safely.
So Isabel agreed—or so Ginger thought. Ginger texted back to Linda that we were coming and to order shots for us to have as soon as we got there. Ginger then proceeded to invite the two boys Isabel had been flirting with to join us at Red Rock. I think she also invited everyone else she ran into while cashing out. Then, after talking some more with Isabel, she told me that Isabel was going to drive herself over to Red Rock, because she lives close to it and didn’t want to leave her car at BSC. I didn’t think this was a very good idea—she was at least as wasted as Ginger—but by the time I heard of this change of plans, Isabel had already headed to the Employee parking lot. So there was nothing I could do about it. So Ginger and I headed to my car. This was a long walk. I call it “Big Strip Casino” because it is friggin’ big. It is a long, long walk to the parking lot. Ginger was not only in no condition to drive, she wasn’t in much condition to walk either. She kept asking me where my car was, although I repeatedly told her. And she kept veering into me. Or veering into other obstacles that we encountered. It was actually a struggle escorting her to my car.
Of course, all along the way to my car, Ginger had the last drink they had served her in hand and was drinking it while we were walking to my car. When we got to the car, I informed her that she couldn’t take the drink with her, there was no way I was having an open container of liquor in my car while driving. So she chugged the last of her drink and threw away the glass just before getting into my car.
Now somehow, along the way, she began to fear that Isabel would not be joining us at Red Rock, but instead would be driving straight home. This displeased Ginger no end. She tried to call Isabel but didn’t get through. She began texting her.
When we got to my car and started heading to the Red Rock, Ginger again called Isabel and alternated between pleading for her to join us at Red Rock (“we’re practically there, we’re there in 5 minutes”) and screaming at her for not wanting to join us. And I do mean screaming. The voicemail messages I heard Ginger leaving Isabel were nothing short of toxic. “You have to join us, you mother***er. You c**ksucker.” On the drive over there, I think I heard those two expletives said (screamed, really) more times than I had the past two years combined. It was somewhat amusing. I must admit I did find it interesting for a woman to call another woman a “c**cksucker.” I don’t think a man would likely call a woman that, because, to a guy, that’s not a bad thing for a woman to be.
It’s possible that some of these invectives were spoken directly to Isabel and not just left on her voicemail. At least it appeared that she was getting some feedback. But try as she might, she could not get Isabel to join us at Red Rock. I can report, thankfully, that it is my understanding that Isabel made it home safe and sound despite her condition.
When she wasn’t leaving obscene messages for Isabel, Ginger was calling both Tom and Prudence and telling them of our plans and asking them to join us at Red Rock. Although these messages were generally nice in tone, they both finished with lines something to the effect of, “Well, you’re not answering your phone, so f**k you.”
This was a side of Ginger I don’t see when she is dealing, I can tell you that.
We talked briefly about the kid that was sitting between her and me, who she did say was hitting on her, asking her all sorts of questions about her relationship status. I finally said to her, “I guess he thinks you’re a cougar.” She said she was no cougar.
So, we made it to Red Rock and as we were walking to the poker room, she made one last attempt to convince Isabel to join us before giving up. A few minutes later, we came upon the table where Linda was with Ginger’s two BSC colleagues. It was only then I learned that Linda was not motor-boatEE I had seen two days earlier, but in fact, the motor-boatER. Which means she was also the person who had more-or-less insulted me for “only” winning a few bucks on that night.
I also learned then that Ginger had misidentified Linda on her phone and learned her real name. And when I was introduced to her, I further realized that, to my surprise, Linda actually had fairly large breasts herself. I had not noticed that two nights earlier. I don’t know if that’s because she wasn’t wearing anything to show off her assets, or, more likely, after one look at her giant-titted friend, any other woman you saw for awhile would look under-endowed. I could have seen Dolly Parton that evening and confused her with Keira Knightley.
Further, as best as I could tell, with Ginger’s hazy state, all the conversations we had had about her friend were about Linda the poker player—not the girl with the ridiculously large rack. And now I knew that Ginger’s friend Linda—with just a large chest, not an obscenely oversized chest—did indeed have implants anyway. Which was interesting, if not useful, information to have. And since she was wearing a low cut top, I have to say, yeah, they were pretty large breasts, and she had gotten her moneys worth, if paid-for breasts are your cup of tea.
And the sad fact was I was never going to see the epic tits I had seen motor-boated two nights earlier that night. They were nowhere to be found, and as best as I could tell, Ginger had no idea who that gal was. But when she introduced me to Linda, the poker player, she did say to her, “Robert was anxious to meet you.” Umm….not really. But whatever.
Both Ginger and I were able to join the table where Linda and Ginger’s two co-workers were playing. They both said hello to me by name, and asked if I had indeed provided the transportation to Red Rock, since one look at Ginger convinced them she was in position to drive. I assured them I had done just that.
Linda didn’t appear to be drinking—perhaps she had already had her limit by now—but she had indeed ordered shots for Ginger, Isabel and me. Since Isabel wasn’t there and I wasn’t drinking, that meant three more shots for Ginger right off the bat.
So I dunno if it was the extra drinks or the fact that she was no longer at her place of employ, but Ginger became a little more out of control than she was at BSC. She was even louder, and more profane. Almost every other word out of her mouth was an obscenity, and said loud enough for most of the tables to hear. But everyone at Red Rock seemed to know her, and all they did was warn her to quiet down, they never threatened to ask her to leave or even cut her off. But she started raising every hand, splashing chips in front of her.
The first person she annoyed with this display was, oddly enough, Linda. They sat together only briefly, and then Linda asked for a seat change. She later asked for a table change tho she never did change tables. She told Ginger to quiet down and just play poker. At one point, I heard her say to Ginger, “How about if I just take you to a strip club and buy you a lap dance?” I am inclined to think she was not kidding, although it might have been a joke.
Ginger moved directly to my left, which wasn’t really a great idea for me since she was raising to $15 or $20 pretty much every hand. But I put up with it. At one point she looked at me and asked, “How did I get here? Did you drive me?” I said of course I had driven her there. “You don’t remember me driving me here?” She said, “No, of course I do. You drove me here. I remember.” But really, she did not.
There was a guy on Ginger’s left who was not amused by Ginger’s play or her volume. Since this is a locals place, most players know each other at least a little bit. Linda told Ginger that the annoyed player to her left was named “Dick.” I’m using his real name because otherwise the story doesn’t work, and also because I’m not 100% sure his name really is “Dick” or if Linda was calling him that because she thinks he’s a dick. And if she thought he was a dick, she’d be right.
The guy was making it very clear he was unhappy with Ginger. I believe in an attempt to apologize, Ginger asked him if his name was indeed “Dick.” He didn’t respond. She asked a couple of times and he was way too annoyed with her to respond. From across the table, Linda confirmed, rightly or not, that his name was Dick. Finally, after hearing his name—if indeed it was his name—bandied about at least half a dozen times, he responded. “You ladies sure like saying ‘dick.’ So take the dick out of your mouths—you’re obviously used to having dicks in there—and just play. Take the dicks out of your mouths and play.”
That kind of put a stop to some of the chatter and put an uneasy silence at the table for awhile. But not for long. But Ginger had no further interaction with Dick that night.
Meanwhile, although the details are unimportant, it turned out that every time I got into a pot with Linda, I won. So much so that a day or so later, Ginger told me that Linda asked she never bring me back to Red Rock again. Unfortunately, I didn’t really win enough money from her to justify this reaction.
Finally, some time after 3 in the morning, I decided to take off. I confirmed with Linda that she would take Ginger home. Linda appeared to be stone cold sober as far as I could tell. I figured I had just enough energy left to make it back to my hotel, so I took off.
And there you have the most recent story from the files of Rob’s Taxi Service.