Fear and Drunkenness in Vegas (part 2)

(Note: If you have not read Part 1 first, please go to the previous post and do so now!~ Things will make more sense that way. And please do not reveal the shock ending! Now...Where we're we? Ah, yes... The Shark Club urinals...)

PART 2: Purge Transit

The two party guys hand over the sagging load of stinking flesh that is my roommate for Vegas, Doug. I sling and arm about him and half drag him to the line of taxis. The first one opens up the door, probably thinking he's gonna get a load of cash off of me just for driving us a few blocks. I slide the still laughing Doug into the back seat, trying to fold his noodle legs in so I can slam the door shut.

"were too?" the Taxi driver asks.

"Excalabur" I get into the front seat of the cab. He gives me a look on why I wouldn't want to ride with my buddy.

"He's not gotta throw up, is he? I aint taking him if he's gonna throw up in here..."

I look back to the open mouth slobbering grin that Doug is giving from the back seat. If I tell the truth, we'll be back at the Club, and I don't think I can stop his blubbery frame from going back in the club. He'll be arrested eventually. So, I lie. I tell the cabbie, no problems, he threw up already...

So we start to drive back to the hotel. We don't get out of the driveway when the cabbie and I smell a horrendous stench from the back seat. And the cackling slurred laugh starts up again. And now he's talking endlessly.

"Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it!..."

"Who's Mike?" the cabbie asks. I say I don't know, he's drunk. Why stop lying now?

I can see the lights of the Excalibur car port! We've almost made it! We're gonna.... wait. The back seat all of a sudden fell silent. I look back and I see Doug's head rocking back and forth slightly. Eyes glazed, the sound of belch being born. I see a fast moving countdown timer metiphorically on his face. And through grit teeth, a scream, "Shit!!!" as I undo my seatbelt and slide down to the floorboard. The cabbie just got "wha...?" out and looked back...

When the projectile vomit started.

The cabbie is scraming like a little girl and blinded, covered. The front window is painted with sick as he slams on the brakes and we start to fishtail out of control into the hotel carport. Doug throws his gurggling head back and now he looks like one of those school project volcanos. He's tapped into another dimention, because the puke and bubbling sounds just isn't stopping!

As we come to a stop on the curb we jumped, and fall out of the cab like it was on fire. Who knew a cab driver knew so many profanities? I grab Dougs ankle and drag his heavy carcass to the automatic doors of the hotel, proping him up on the frame. I tell the cabbie, who's now wiping out the backseat with papertowels and catlitter, "sorry" and give him $50. He's earned it today.

I look behind me and see that Doug has slid off the frame and his head is now caught between the sliding doors, which are now opening and closing on his neck as he's laughing like an idiot. Getting him up and dragging him to the elevators to end this nightmare, he see the escalator up to the slots room. He tries to brake away from me, stumbling.

"erp...wanna gambowl..." he spits out from his red, now crusty, face. I tell Doug "no", and the next thing I feel is a meaty balled up fist slamming into my eye socket, with the full wieght of a bloated drunken rage. I fly backwards into the corner...and I...finally...snapped.

My evening was watching this idiot, toteing his fat ass, dodging vomit, almost dying in a old cab, and spending all of my days money for the cab. I am only trying to help. And then...he full on HITS me in anger?!!

Have you ever read about those times were people get superhuman strength and lift cars off of babies and stuff? It's totally true. I got up, the most pissed off I've ever got. Raced over to Doug, trying to get on the escalator up, actually pick up his almost 300 pound frame over my head, and toss him over the rail to the down escalator. Hotel security comes to the scene just as Doug comes to rest on his back at the bottom of the escalator, and he was laughing like the joker all the way. He loved it.

We all pour his body onto a wheelchair, and his dead weight is bottoming out the frame. He has to be taken through the casino as he's too heavy to be taken into the normal elevator. He's doing the "Mike did it..." mantra again and try to snatch drinks and chips off of tables. He also stripped half down by the time we clear the floor to the freight elevators. He's only in his soggy baggy whities when we get to the hotel room door.

The rest of the evening to morning, was hearing him in the bathroom belching, throwing up, betching, etc. I spent the rest of the two days in a friends room. But, I made sure I called Doug from a dead sleep every 15 minutes, Just to make his hangover all the more painful. He ended up throwing the phone across the room and having to pay for it, then he threw up into his suitcase when he tried to get clean clothes. He had no recollection of what happened. Or why his suitcase was full of vomit. But, he spent the rest of the few days in Vegas holed up in his room with nothing but a bedsheet toga for clothes.

Ah, Vegas....I don't think I needed to travel to the Sin City just to get a black eye.