After a long, hard summer, I look forward to my quarterly pilgrimage to The Holy Land.
I have almost finished packing the few clothes I am taking, now all I have to do is iron and starch my money (a ritual I do to make my bankroll thinner and less noticeable).
My traveling companion tells me her research shows the Stardust has the loosest slots in town, so we will no doubt be making a side trip to the land of elderly gamblers and pink and blue diagonal neon.
Our headquarters, the Golden Nugget, has fond memories for me.
It's there at the video poker bar a hooker tried to pick me up early one morning. I declined, but it was rather flattering that she'd think I'd go for it.
Also, my beloved Binion's Horseshoe is across the street, and they were kind enough to finance my last trip, and then some.
I think we'll skip the high end of the strip this time. Paris, Bellagio and the Venetian are still so new they have tight slots to pay for their mortgages and Aladdin, well, fuck those clowns and their goofy Middle Eastern motif.
Bally's slots are nice and loose but the slots get jammed up too easily, the slot service sucks, the drink service sucks, and they don't give a damn about it.
The Flamingo has too many hokey, noisy slots like the Munsters and other sitcom-themed machines that just annoy me.
Last night I laid in bed and visualized winning thousands of dollars. I even pictured myself mailing some money home to myself so I wouldn't get into it while I was there. Then Cris appeared in my dream and sternly lectured me to mail it in cashier's check form, with insured mail so I wouldn't lose it.
Oy, even in my dreams she's an accountant/psychologist.
Wish me luck.