Birthday in Vegas. Part 1

What I am about to tell you my friends is a tale full of twists and turns down alleys and corridors so dark your mind may never return. Keep this in mind as you begin to read the following words.

Since it is our birthday, we will let someone else write the opening to our tale.

We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive…” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?”

Last Tuesday we were sitting in the Hey Stupid Headquarters watching some old episodes of Roger Ramjet to research them for a new article when all of the sudden The JaGe busts in the door out of breath. Champ looks up and says “Holy shit you’re here early”! See, it was the first time he hadn’t been at least ten minutes late in the two years we have been doing this. “Do you realize what today is?” JaGe sputtered out. “Um, It’s Tuesday…so you’re wearing underwear?” I asked in retort.

“No you ass holes, it was two years ago today that we were all sitting down at that shitty bar talking about how Howie Mandel and Jeff Goldblum were basically the same person. You know, until Howie shaved his head…oh and Goldblum would never be in anything as shitty as “Walk Like A Man”. What’s important here is that three days from now…Friday, marks the day we started Hey Stupid! We gotta have a world famous E-Rokk party”. Champ began slowly banging his head, his rock hair flailed about with furious anger as he sung out “No sleep till Brooklyn”, then he stopped and said he refused to sing “Fight for your right to party” on principle. What could I say, all I could think of was, “Let’s go to Vegas”. We packed our bags, hopped in the company car and headed west.

We could have driven to Vegas in a day if we pushed it, but since we had three days, we decided to take our time. I drove the first leg of the trip. Champ rode shotgun, JaGe was in the back seat with a blow up doll Champ got him as a joke….he named it Tina, and Stratt was in the trunk, probably playing Nintendo DS. We had the top down and the stereo up. We were jamming to Champ’s latest mix tape, “BEST SONGS WRITTEN WHILE THE ARTIST WAS STONED” and smoking through a pack of cigarettes every two hours.

We were just east of Gillette, Wy when JaGe said he had to bend a deuce. I rolled the big yellow caddy into a gas station called Joe Earl’s. He went in to M his B while Champ and I got provisions. Stratt probably could have used some fresh air…but we just plum forgot about him. I purchased all of the strange, low priced adult magazines I could find. You know, the ones in a three pack that are only about 30 pages with the one in the middle of the pack being so old it is actually in black and white, and the chicks bushes have longer hair than Champ’s head. Champ grabbed us all slushees and a carton of cigarettes. As I walked outside I noticed a drifter looking at the car. “This your ride?’ The drifter asked. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I dismissed it. “Yeah, that is the Stupidmobile.” “Where ya headin” the drifter asked next. Champ spoke up, “We’re going to Vegas!” he said. The drifter reached in his coat pocket and felt around for a moment then smiled. “Can I hitch a ride with ya to Salt Lake City?” About that time JaGe came out of the bathroom bought a Clark bar, laughed and mumbled something about Jerry then got in the car. I looked at the drifter and said yeah…come on.”

We piled in the car, this time Champ took the wheel I took shotgun, JaGe and the drifter were in the back seat and Stratt, if he was still a live was in the trunk. As we continued down the road I introduced myself. The drifter wiped some of the dirt off his face and sat silent for a second. Then with a trembling voice has softly spoke, “My name is Tim, but you can call me Sweetchuck.” Champ and I just looked at one another. Could it be?

Our next stop was a place called Rock Springs, It was just after 3AM and we all needed something to eat. The place we stopped was called Jeff’s discount goods. There was a light flickering in the window and the pumps worked. JaGe pumped the gas, I let Stratt out of the trunk and Champ went in to buy up all the snacks he could find. Stratt rolled out of the trunk, his eyes took a moment to adjust. It was dark out, but still not as black as the inside of the trunk. “Where the hell are we…and who is this guy?” he asked as he stood up and stretched out.

I walked inside to take a piss. The bathroom was dark and dirty and smelled of old vinegar and soup. In other words it smelled exactly like JaGe after one of his “dates”. After I pissed I noticed on the wall one of those vending machines that sells French ticklers. I went to the counter and asked for a roll of quarters. I traded the clerk a $10 and went back to purchase my goods. When I got back to the car, JaGe was at the wheel and Champ, Stratt and Sweetchuck were all in the back. I held in my hand 20 french ticklers, and under my arms was a six pack of diet Coke and three rolls of Mentos.

We went off into the night and I filled the finger coats with one half of a Mento each. I poured some diet coke in the first one, tied it off and tossed it at Champ, he caught it just as the pressure caused it to explode. We both laughed at the momentum of the explosion and I repeated the steps. This time I tossed one at JaGe. Unfortunately it exploded near his face. I was about to make a joke that it wasn’t the first time something exploded a stick mess on to his face when he started screaming.

“Oh god I’m blind! Its burning my eyes! Take the wheel, take the wheel!” He rubbed his eyes frantically and I reached over to grab the wheel. It was too late. In the commotion we had ramped off the road and were going down a small embankment. As we reached the bottom we crashed through a wooden fence. The car turned sideways before stopping. The car stopped just before driving into a swimming pool but since the stop was so abrupt and Champ nor myself were belted in we both ended up in the drink. A neon sign shimmered off the water. We were at a cheap hotel. Good a place as any to stop I guess.

We had only driven about 40 miles, we would make it into SLC early the next day, but for now we were at a cheap hotel and there were six bottles of whiskey in the trunk. We checked into a room and started drinking. By about 7:30 am we were all passed out. We were back up at 10:00 and on the road at 11:00. Just before 3:00 pm we rolled into SLC and dropped of Sweetchuck. He looked back over his shoulder and said, “Right, what if we were too…” then fell cupping his balls. Champ and I busted up laughing, but before we got to ask if he really was Tim Kazurinsky, he had disappeared into the shadows. We drove on through Provo, Cedar City and St. George before pulling into Las Vegas late that night.

When we got out of the car Stratt started sneezing uncontrollably.

Champ reached into his pocket and handed Stratt a baggie full of pills. “Take a few of those…the yellow ones.” What are they?” Stratt asked. Champ lit a strike anywhere match off of the stubble on his face and said, “Allergy medicine.” We all stood awestruck that we was actually able to get the match to light, the Stratt popped the pills and we walked into the lobby of some casino. We wanted a room, we wanted women and we wanted liquor. We wanted to celebrate.

About an hour later the war up in our suite getting changed into our suits when Stratt comes out of the shower. He was naked as the day he was born, he had the towel stretched across his back from one hand to the other so it looked like wings. He started screaming “I am Zarmetheus the Bird King.” Then he took off down the hall flapping his towel wings and singing the Stones, Honky Tonk Woman. Champ pushed his furious rock hair out of the way and said, “I guess Sweetchuck lied about them being allergy pills.”

JaGe and Champ and I headed down to the tables, Stratt would show up sooner or later.

Read Part 2

One response to “Birthday in Vegas. Part 1

  1. Reverend Blaze

    What kind of rat bastard psychotic would play that song right now, at this moment?

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