An honorary Las Vegan

"If you aim to leave Las Vegas with a small fortune, arrive there with a large fortune"  Bum on the street in Vegas who didn't follow his own advice

The Dodge Caravan - also known as the Slam Van

And so it was that Sanchez and his crew of immoral delinquents cruised into Las Vegas hoping to find ourselves a small fortune or a future wife. Due to mistake at the car hire, they were not looking like losers in some lame Ferrari, rather they were pumping beats and selling treats (to little kids) in a mini van. As the throngs of bystanders gaped at this sleek and sexy ride, the lads lived it up in the van that seemed to have only one working speaker. Unfortunately for one person, it was located at the back of the van, directly next to the head of the backseat passenger. As lads we are required by law to blast the music as loud as humanly possible at all times, regardless of how many directions need to be passed on the driver, hence whoever sat in that backseat was not going to have fun. Unless they loved this song.

Even as the city lights blinded him, Sanchez couldn't believe the amount of beautiful women, clearly word of his arrival had spread. His pants were bulging... due to his cash-filled wallet. The hotel room was nice and neat but there was one issue. Hmmm 2 double beds, 5 guys. It took Sanchez a few minutes to do the maths and by the time it dawned on him, it was too late. The others had shotgunned the beds. Sanchez was sleeping on the ground that night. Always the optimist, Sanchez knew there was one way to make this night less painful, vodka. And lots of it. With the 1.75L of vodka that was purchased in LA, Sanchez set about correcting his current sober state. As his first drink hit his lips, the whole night switched to fast forward.

Calvin Harris was first one the list. Very expensive and very alcoholic drinks were next. Then came one of the most disappointing moments in Sanchez's life. Possibly more disappointing than losing his grade 3 spelling bee when he forgot the 'o' in 'count'. During the night, the lads had got split up. So Sanchez was doing the rounds with a solitary lad for assistance in distracting women while Sanchez administered the roofie to their drink. This was risky, one 'distractor', as they are known in the biz, is a dangerous game to play but Sanchez had no choice. After failing a few times due to his distractors terrible choice of distraction and once because Sanchez accidentally drank the roofied drink, Sanchez needed another avenue to the ladies. It didn't take long before Sanchez found an empty table topped with bottles of vodka. Pointing this out to his companion, Sanchez approached stealthily. He looked left, he looked right, and then he went for it. Sanchez tucked it under his left arm and snuck out the side door into the pool area filled with gardens. Having just finished the roofied drink, Sanchez didn't need a hit of straight vodka straight away so he stashed the bottle of vodka in the garden. Everything in the plan was falling into place, there was only one thing left to do.

"Hey girls" Sanchez smiled at two particularly attractive women, "Are you having a good night?"

"Blah blah blah yes we are, blah blah blah" they replied.

"Ok sshhhh, if you come with us, we are about to make your night even better" Sanchez said as he gave a wink.

It was probably the roofie talking but Sanchez really didn't think this sounded seedy at all. He was especially certain of it when they actually came with them. Sanchez led them out to the garden to fetch the bottle of vodka. He sat on the edge of the garden and surreptitiously put his hand back into the garden and searched around in the garden for the bottle. No vodka. Sanchez moved a bit further to his right and recommenced his clandestine search for his holy grail. Still no vodka.

"What the f..." Sanchez moaned exasperatedly. The next second the majority of his body was in the garden and all thoughts of a stealthy search were well and truly gone. He turned to the girls in an attempt to salvage this, "So ladies, we seem to have -". They were gone.

"F... this" Sanchez cried and walked straight to the bar, and as a sign of his frustration, Sanchez purposefully didn't tip. Bad ass. The night ended with some public urination and Sanchez taking a drunken race up the hallway tripping and knocking himself out. It also ended with Sanchez in a bed as in the middle of the night, unbeknownst to Sanchez, he had snuggled up on the edge of the bed after finding the ground a bit uncomfortable. The majority of this story had to be retold to Sanchez in the morning when he awoke with no recollection of his night.

The next few days the lads lived off 1 meal a day and virtually no sunlight. The next night we had Avicii on the agenda. There were whispers that Sanchez couldn't back up, but Sanchez made sure to prove those wrong by once again waking with no recollection of the night. Some of this may have been caused by the first rum and coke Sanchez had ever attempted to finish. After being invited to a VIP area to find free alcohol at the table, Sanchez was unbelievable upset to find no vodka. So what does one do when they find themselves in an upper level VIP library in a club with Avicii playing and free rum? You drink that rum. Or at least you try to. In Sanchez's case, try and fail. With the horrific taste of rum in his mouth and renewed sense of love for vodka, Sanchez headed to the bar and apparently to the blackjack tables as he later awoke with casino chips in his pocket. Through a few vague memories, Sanchez can recall slurring the majority of his speech at the dealer before the pit boss came over. The pit boss was legitimately worried about poor little Sanchez as Sanchez had forgotten where he was staying and his phone battery was flat. Finally, the pit boss walked Sanchez to the front of the taxi queue in front of 100s of people and got him sent home safely.

The next night was New Years Eve - blank. Just blank.

January 1, let's just have a few drinks. Oh hell, we have to finish this vodka before we leave for Canada. Maybe a few more drinks. Actually, let's have a gamble. So Sanchez and the lads headed down to the table to make a small fortune. Things were going well, only one of the lads had gone bust bust bust, broke. The others were prospering in the game of blackjack. Using the philosophy, "it's not gambling if you know you're going to win" the lads threw money on the table like it was going out of fashion. And when I say that, I mean we were betting table minimum. Sanchez at this point was relatively liquored up and getting a bit of confidence about himself. Not something you can usually say about Sanchez. But the lads starting worrying about security when Sanchez had a few losses. These are some of the lines Sanchez threw at the dealer who seemed unimpressed at best.

"You jewed me!" 

"What are you going to do when I bankrupt this casino? You aren't going to have a job. What other life skills do you have? I can help you with your resume if you like because this casino is going to be finished!"

"I'm sorry, it's not you, it's me... I don't like you."  

"You are cheating! Just flat out cheating, I don't like you."

Eventually the lads left under their own volition, there were no small fortunes but there were no major losses. We left Vegas different people, some of us scarred forever. Next on the list of adventures were the snowfields of Whistler, Canada. We will pick that up next time.

As a teaser for next week, I will drop a major plotline about the Whistler story that may shock many of you. The story involves lots of alcohol.

Sanch out!