As my friends and I have now been in the wondrous five-day workweek a few months, we concluded a Vegas excursion was essential to our sanity and continued existence. This past weekend embraced the vitality and debauchery that is Vegas. Our first night in Sin City: Friday. 14 girls: LAX Nightclub. The night’s inebriated depravity concluded with four girls misplaced, one of whom texted another friend notifying us she was in the pool at the Luxor. Casinos, aka labyrinths, exist to confuse poor souls (sober or drunk) such as myself. After drifting aimlessly for ten minutes, the friend who had received the text as well as myself approached a security guard.
Me: “Hi Sir. Hypothetically, if I were to go in the pool, which direction would that be?”
Guard: “The pool’s been closed since 1am.”
Me: “Hmm. Well, hypothetically, if I were to go in the pool tomorrow, which direction would it be in?”
Guard: “Are you staying here?”
Guard: “Who’s in the pool?”
Me: “One of my friends.”
Security Guard marched off, another guard, me, and friend in tow. We careened through eternal vibrant slot machines, people, and betting tables. Upon piercing the pool area, we glimpsed vomit by one of the pools and a pair of heels and purse by one of the hot tubs. We loomed over the water. Boozy was fully clothed, fully immersed against the hot tub’s side. This was an effort at concealing herself from us. Seconds later her face emerged, water surging down her expression. She informed us the water felt so good. We informed her she needed to depart from the heat. Boozy slothfully materialized from the water. Security Guard presented her the warmth of two towels. Boozy lurched into the casino, saturated short black dress clinging, heels in hand, body trickling water. Friend escorted Boozy through the Luxor back to New York New York.
Boozy later vindicated her reasoning: Drunk Logic advised her to remove heels and slither in the hot tub entirely dressed. Drunk Logic reasoned if Boozy submerged herself fully in the clear water of the hot tub, those approaching wouldn’t glimpse her. The culprit: Drunk Logic. Clearly!
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