Adam throws a pillow at snoring nick.
Adam throws another pillow at nick.
Nick: I’m up!
He isn’t pleased.
I pull out my card that says I’ve-know-you-since-kindergarten, lay that bitch on the counter, and continue with Adam to batter Nick with a barrage of every available pillow in the room.
Nick: God damn it you mother fuckers I said I’m up!!!
Me: We’re going to meet my cousin at the Rio pool you comin?
We had all just finished showering and changing into our beach vibe.
We don’t give Nick that option.
The fucker is borderline infuriated. Staggers off his footrest-made-bed and immediately proceeds to the bathroom to vomit the entire contents of his stomach. Exits, and pours a rum and coke. No ice.
We make it to the elevator a long ass way down the hall to turn around to the startling realization that Nick hasn’t even left the fucking room.
WHAT THE FUCK NICK
Nick appears and snail slimes down the hallway, red party cup in tow, as we incessantly ridicule him with verbal rape.
Arrive at the Rio pool scene and slap hands/hello hugs gender specifically with my cousin Sara, her husband Nick (We’ll call him NickZ due to the doublage of Nicks in this story) and their two friends.
Me: Does a waitress come around here or what?
Tron’s not having any of that. If I could erect a time machine and go back and grandma pinch his cheek out of sheer pride, I would.
Tron: NO. WHERE IS THE BAR?
Valid point Tron, valid mother fucking point.
First round is on Jared. Five dudes, Five Coronas in the bucket and Las Vegas pool chillen. I let out that commercially famed just-opened-a-coca-cola sigh of relaxation.
Jared: Can we get some fucking limes?
It’s 1pm. Now is just as good a time as any to tell you I’m that one notch above buzzed. What the fuck else you do in your room when everyone else is still rinsing off last night?
This is fucking it right here and to show my gratitude to the moment and my friends I hand Tron a hundy and tell him this next around is on me.
Adam front-mans the group and executively decides they are going to hit the Rio buffet.
Nay. I respectfully decline despite Adam’s offering to pay. Nothing will fuck up this buzz.
They must have forgot I just bought another fiver of coronas.
I offer one to Sara’s empty hand. She declines with a “no they are yours.”.
PSSSSSH MODESTY AT A TIME LIKE THIS? I will have none of this and remind her of our blood cousinship.
Five beers later. How the fuck is it 4pm? NickZ invites me up their room at the Mirage for a whipped cream vodka & orange juice.
Beer before liquor never been sicker? FUCK NAH I’M ERIC WISE BRAH, AND ERIC WISE JUST GOT OFFERED VODKA.
I pound one and NickZ hands me the half of his remaining as we walk into the Aria Buffet.
Wait how did we just go from the Mirage to the Aria? Hahaha. If I don’t know, you don’t know, and I’m telling you right now I don’t fucking remember.
I’m not eating. And for reputation’s sake let me just say this is more about how I can’t stomach food while this intoxicated and less about the admission fee.
Sara pressures me to eat and I decline by referring to her as “mom.” This is an instant argument ender with Sara. She doesn’t think this is funny. She’s never thought this was funny. I think it’s fucking hilarious.
They do have free unlimited wine though, and I CAN drink when I’m this drunk.
NickZ crumples the buffet receipt into his pocket and VOILA! As far as the Aria is concerned, I am a paying customer.
A paying customer who’s not eating, just drinking unlimited wine.
My smile is reckless and fucking sinister.
I’m bumping into EVERYTHING outside of the Aria. I have two thoughts: 1. Eric Wise you dual wielding mother fucker (as I look down to the OJ/Vodka in my left and the glass of wine in my right) and 2. GOD I FUCKING HOPE SARA AND NICK DON’T SEE HOW MUCH I DON’T HAVE MY SHIT TOGETHER.
I only vaguely remember getting dropped off at Treasure Island.
I don’t remember finding my room at all, however I’m positive the friendly hotel staff and the photo I took of our room number ensure my safe arrival.
I pass out on a king size bed.
I wake up on one of two queen size beds.
OH WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!
The empty room now populates with Adam, Jared, Tron and Nick.
Adam: Here man, here’s the food you wanted.
Me: Umm thanks… WHAT THE FUCK?!
I conclude that the long awaited room switch finally occurred while I’ve been blacked out, and judging by the willingness of my brother to bring me food I don’t remember ordering, I’m going to have to say my body was very cooperative.
I pop open a box to reveal a big ass corned beef sandwich from Canter’s, french fries and two big ass sides of ranch. Adam know’s my taste buds well, but I know he would have only gotten me one ranch. The mere fact that there are two ranch dressings in this box leads me to believe that I did indeed place this order because of how much I stressed to him just how valuable the proper amount of ranch dressing was for my dipping pleasure.
I fucking love you Adam.
I don’t remember eating the sandwich.
Memory returns and what’s this? I’m in a state of fucking panic! PROBABLY BECAUSE I CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE.
MOTHER FUCKING SCOTT IS ON TOP OF ME AND HAS ME IN A MOTHER FUCKING ARM TRIANGLE. (BJJ rook? he was choking me the fuck out.)
I instinctively tap repeatedly with my left hand on his back, the new age international sign of uncle.
I can only assume my body thought it a fabulous idea to make a submission attempt on Scotty and it failed miserably.
Me: Thanks man, I probably needed that.
Welcome to the re-birth mother fuckers. I’m back.
Keith Cope – missed call. Keith Cope – text message.
Sorry my Vegas resident cousin, I was too busy being BLACKED OUT DRUNK to hang out with you.
Tron calls the concierge for the second time this trip. Apparently all it takes to get a free bottle of cheap champagne delivered to the room is a phony explanation that the guy at the check-in counter promised it to you.
Concierge says 45 minutes. The bottle comes in 2.
I’m suiting up as Tron and Adam, both hysterically cackling, bust down the bathroom door and spray showering Jared with the champagne.
Don’t worry, I was assured no male genitalia was seen this trip.
Everyone minus Tron and I leave the room to go somewhere. I just called Adam to recollect detail, he said to go get chasers.
Tron: Shot of Goose?
I humbly oblige.
This Goose is warm and I let out a aiight-lets-get-this-overwith sigh accordingly.
Me: Wait! The song!
We put on that song. Go back to Part Uno if you have made it this far and don’t know what I’m talking about.
Sorry Tron, you can’t judge a shot for shit. If I have to gulp three times to put it down that’s like three shots.
I actually chalk this up to six shots because it all came back up in my mouth forcing me to re-swallow.
There is no chaser.
Adam, Jared and Nick enter at just the right time to find both of us heaving for air. I mean, I’m fucking dying man. I have both my hands on the counter trying to regulate my breathing in a desperate attempt to not throw the fuck up.
Naturally they ridicule us incessantly, and justifiably so.
Nick deals the final blow by pointing out the diet coke I didn’t drink that came with my Canter’s sandwich that would have acted as an ideal chaser. An ideal chaser being anything but more Vodka.
Tron and I laugh over how fucking stupid we both are.
Jared buys me a redbull/vodka and we enter Tim’s bachelor party dinner at the Venetian.
I share an appetizer with Jared. Pay, because hell man, he’s bought me a fuck ton of drinks this trip. And proceed to the bathroom.
Adam, Jared, Tron and Scotty intercept me at the bathroom and I follow them to cab it to XS night club at the Encore.
Allow me to take this time to apologize to Timski for bailing like that. Dick move in retrospect on my behalf. Hope you had a good night man.
Allow me to also take this time for those of you who don’t know me well enough, the club scene is not my thing. However I’ll do anything twice, and why not have my first experience in Vegas with these dudes who’s thing it IS?
We’re in line waiting, Tron sparks up conversation with five girls. Two lookers, three not.
I opt to chime in with him.
Maybe this club thing ain’t so bad after all?
I overhear the bouncer claim there are 6000 people inside.
Rope lifts up and lets us in. Adam pays my admission because it’s my first club experience.
Walking down a small corridor to the club, hrm doesn’t look like there are 6000 peop… OH HOLY FUCKING SHIT.
If there’s two things I infamously loathe it’s small Asian girls and pop music. Yet here I am, Eric mother fucking Wise, smack dab in the fucking middle of them.
Yeah there are 6000 people here alright. 5000 Armenian males trying to get laid and 995 featureless female Asians trying to dance. By featureless I mean no ass and no tits, and by trying I mean trying not to get raped by Armenian cock.
YOU’RE HERE TO HAVE A GOOD TIME.
Tron: I’m gonna go get us some drinks.
VALID IDEA TRON. VALID FUCKING IDEA.
Only redbull/vodka can save me now.
It takes Tron 30 minutes to reappear with these drinks and I have absolutely no fucking clue how he got them being 1. male and 2. with this place so fucking crowded.
Now I’m not claustrophobic, but I don’t like being touched. Is there a -phobic prefix for that? Ask Adam, the quickest way under my skin is to put both your hands on shoulders. I’ll freak.
At some point mid conversation Jared says nothing and B lines to the dance floor. The rest of the group follows suit, me being last in line.
Err I don’t really dance.
I’m not standing here alone that’s for damn sure.
Fuck it I’ve had enough redbull/vodka to make this place my bitch.
And then… yep I fucking freak.
A male has placed both his hands on my hips. Not in the hey-can-you-move fashion either. More like the hey-baby-wassup fashion.
Now I really hope you watched that video from Part Uno because this is me now.
(You didn’t did you? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1C6gC50ZI0)
This is me now, Johnny Dramaing the fuck out of this mother fucker. Raging to the nearest exit because I chose to defy my mother wit to not fucking come here in the first place.
I’m so fucking mad. There’s no one acceptable to scream at. I need to redeem this night.
Dial Sara. No answer. FUCK.
Nick. NICK NICK NICK NICK NICK be up to something cool.
Please be doing something cool.
Nick: Ummm I’m just at Bally’s man… the rest of the guys are going to the club you just left.
ARE YOU FUCKING FOR REAL?!
I’m duck, dodging and weaving mother fuckers with my legitimate usher talent that I can only hope to pass on to my son one day. Working at a theatre at age 17 came with a benefits package, I’m schooled in the fucking trade of this shit.
Nick: How the fuck did you get from Encore to here in only 20 minutes?!
I applaud Nick for his capabilities of coping with the anger outbursts of my brother and I for so many years. Yep, kindergarten. No seriously, Nick is one cool cat.
I rage in Nick’s ear for 10 minutes on the bench outside Bally’s. Both of us mutually agree our best and cheapest option is to go back to the room.
Fuck it. It’s 4:30am, and getting out of this suit and dress shirt that’s now glued to my skin via sweat sounds fucking fantastic.
do your chain