The Smugglers (Nick "Pool Party" Thomas, David "Nickel King" Carswell,
Graham "Malt Liquor" Watson, Beez "Poker Stud" Beez, and Grant "Ben Gay"
The Evaporators (Nardwuar The Human Serviette, Scott "Laughin’ Boy"
Livingstone, John "Flash" Collins).
and special guest…
Kevin "Woo Woo" McCandless
…along with about 40 other bands and a thousand or so people from around
the world. Here’s what happened over the course of four sun-drenched days
and booze-soaked nights in the sleaziest city on Earth…
Thurs Sept 27, fly to Las Vegas
Well folks, for just ONE forty-five minute Smugglers performance this
trek took a ridiculous few months of planning. First there was the fact that
our pals the Evaporators were also playing Shakedown, and we had decided to
all travel together. Then our rather intense bald pal Kevin McCandless
decided that this was a trip he couldn’t miss. Then the actual Shakedown
fest started juggling our original timeslots, threatening to reek havoc with
our already-paid-for plane tickets. What put the preparations into
high-stress mode was the events of September 11. Would Shakedown even
happen? Would planes be flying? Would Canadians be allowed in to the USA?
These questions and hundreds others were being shot at us daily from
Nardwuar, he himself absolutely FREAKED that we would not make it. In the
days leading up to our departure he would randomly call one of us in the
middle of the night and drill us as if he were a US customs guard to see "if
we were ready"….
Telephone at 3:30AM on Tuesday night in mid-September: "ring. ring. ring.
Me: "muh… uhhhh… hel… uh… hello?"
Nardwuar: "PURPOSE OF TRAVEL!!!"
Me: "…what… what the fuck?"
Nardwuar: "PLEASE!! Please help me!! Airport... Cleo... mozza...
SSSSCCCHAKEDOWN!!! Beer 'n' pizza with Nick... Cleo eating a mouse...
PLEASE!! Earwax... and uh, Grant? Please? See ya on the way down, or...?
Grant? Doot doola doot doo.... Um... DOOT DOOLA DOOT DOO...."
At Nardwuar’s insistence, we even went so far as to hold a "planning
meeting" the night before departure in my thin-walled apartment, where
Nardwuar was ranting and raving, screaming things like "SECRET MEETING AT
THE AIRPORT", "CO-ORDINATE OUR WATCHES" and "PRETEND NOT TO KNOW ME" (that
final demand was no problem). We were envisioning one of my more-alert
neighbors dialing "911" and expecting the RCMP to burst through the door any
second. We eventually calmed Nard down. He then gingerly said to our bald
pal Kevin (who shaves his head and appears, and behaves, extremely menacing,
aggressive, and ballistic at the best of times) "look, Kevin, would you
consider wearing a wig?"
Everything worked out fine in the Vancouver airport, then a smooth switch
at the San Francisco airport, and soon we were touching down in Las Vegas.
Nardwuar thought he was home-free. Everyone was getting up from their seats
to depart, when a kinda "Ghost World" punk looking girl looked over her seat
at Nardwuar and said "are you in a band or something?" Nard froze, jaw
hanging open, immediately slipping into a panicked, catatonic, wide-eyed
stare at the back of the seat in front of him. It was his moment of truth
and he froze. He would NOT move until the girl was long gone and the other
members of the Evaps literally shook him loose.
The Evaporators have always been like our older brothers. They were the
Smugglers first influence as a band (they started two years earlier than us
in 1986) and have always been good friends. That said, they are also
extremely cheap, so when we arrived at the airport, all five Smugglers, all
four Evaporators and our bald pal Kevin all stuffed ourselves into the
four-door sedan that the Smugglers rented and slowly crawled up the strip
towards our hotel. Nardwuar handled the ride like he handles gigs: he
basically crowd surfed inside the car, sticking his ass, armpits and sweaty
sections of his hairy back into various people’s faces depending on the
window he contorted himself to see out of to catch a glimpse of one of the
massive, stupid casinos.
settling into our dumpy hotel (the "New" Frontier) and immediately seeing
other rock’n’rollers like Reverend Norb from Boris The Sprinkler and a
couple guys from the Swingin’ Neckbreakers hanging around the casino floor,
we all spread out throughout the strip. A bunch of us hit the "steak and
lobster buffet for $9.95" special in the Stardust (home to Wayne Newton’ s
show) and ended up eating an incredibly disgusting array of buffet meats.
Lobster, shrimp, crab, clams, ham, sausage, roast beef, turkey, salmon,
bacon, veal, "lamb shank", pork chops, pork butt, pork ribs, cod, chicken,
wieners, muscles, meatloaf, Sirloin steak, Salisbury steak, T-bone steak,
chicken fried streak, trout, beef ribs, beef tenderloin, hot wings, and
finally, Swedish meat balls. We ate all of that. No salad. Four of us are
vegetarians. We just couldn’t help it. It was a buffet.
Doubled over in various degrees of bloated pains of botulism, we tried to
walk the strip and do some gambling. Didn’t work out. We then tried to buy
some beer to get drunk and burp or something, but ended up spitting most of
it out on the sidewalk. There was no more room. Most of us did end up taking
in that PATHETIC free pirate show that happens like every fifteen minutes
right outside the Treasure Island casino. The show involves "American"
pirates fighting off a British ship in full size pirate ships on a lagoon
outside the hotel. Literally THOUSANDS of people watch the show, and after a
couple of lousy stunts and wimpy explosions, the whole thing is over in like
five minutes. Of course the Americans beat the British, but the capper is
when the Pirate Captain triumphantly shouts out to the crowd "Avast ye
mateys! Arrr, we have beaten them British sea dogs again! And now, won’t ye
help us celebrate this victory of ours by joining us… INSIDE THE TREASURE
ISLAND CASINO!!" And then of course all the big double doors to the casino
are flung open and the massive throng all excitedly rushes in. It was
something straight out of The Simpsons.
Fri Sept 28, Smugglers show, Las Vegas Shakedown
Beez left the hotel room at the crack of dawn, as being the true
opportunist/gambling addict he truly is, he had himself signed up in advance
to about seven or eight poker tournaments throughout the weekend. Being that
most of the other contestants in the tournaments were in their late
seventies and early eighties, the competitions start extremely early in the
morning, and Beez was gone by 8:00AM (midday for a senior).
That left the rest of us to enjoy the day until the Shakedown officially
started later that night. Grant hit the New Frontier beauty salon and got a
feathered ‘do from a born again Christian who was ready to personally hunt
down Bin Laden herself and eat his hairy balls for breakfast armed only with
her pair of scissors if need be. The Evaporators continued to hit various
casinos on the Strip, and eventually Graham, Nick and Grant found themselves
a ways down the Strip in the garden of Eden that is the pool area of the
fancy Monte Carlo casino. The swimming area is usually exclusive to the
Monte Carlo’s high-end clientele, but we managed to sweet talk our way in
and enjoyed an elitist day basking pool-side in the 110 degree heat, taking
lazy floats down their river canal, and sipping sweet booze. An obnoxious
Aussie woman even tried to pick up Nick while he was body surfing in the
wave pool. When Graham swam up she pointed at him and shrieked "Blimey! Yer
as white as the belly of a dingo, mate!" He said "shut up, Aussie bitch" and
swam away again.
Due to some outrageous behavior from last year’s Shakedown, this year’s
festival was no longer in a casino ballroom, and was now way off the Strip
in an old theatre called the Huntridge. Last year’s show was at the Gold
Coast casino, and as mentioned, the attendees and bands went so apparently
nuts, there were reports of repeated false fire alarms, smashed statues,
vandalized fountains, "intimidated gamblers", and even open blow jobs in the
elevators while senior citizens rode along right beside the sucking and
slurping of hard cock. That said and done, Shakedown got kicked out on its
ass and had to relocate. The Huntridge is basically an old theatre that has
been completely gutted, painted black, had a huge PA inserted and now caters
mainly to metal shows. This weekend the metal took a backseat for three
nights of international rock n roll. Almost immediately we heard that
several of the bands had canceled for one reason or another, the most common
reason due to the events of September 11. That created room for other bands
and caused the schedule to get constantly juggled so when we showed up, a
great band from Seattle was playing that wasn’t even billed: none other than
Beez’s pick of Shakedown, the Briefs. After a few other bands, including a
notable set by the Excessories, it was the Smugglers turn to rock and we had
a blast! We were a little concerned that we could be playing to a room full
of holier-than-thou garage rock penis-head puritans, but thankfully this was
not the case.
crowd wanted to let loose and PARTY! This was our first time EVER playing
Las Vegas for one reason or another and we made up for lost time playing all
sorts of songs, lots of requests with lots of extra energy. All along the
front row were friends and fans from all over the world: Japan, New Zealand,
Europe, and of course Canada and the USA. Reverend Norb judged the dance
contest and made the very controversial decision of giving one of our
coolest trophies ever to Cathy Bauer from Lookout Records, but luckily we
had another trophy that we gave to the manic kids from Japan.
After the show we hung out for the rest of the night and literally talked
to extremely friendly people from EVERYWHERE! There were folks there from
every corner and pocket of the USA and most major cities in Canada, folks
from all over Europe, lots of kids from Japan, some from Australia and New
Zealand, some even from South America!! We saw ol’ pals like Mike "Gearhead"
LaVella, "Time Bomb" Tom from Green Bay, Martin "Rock and Fucking Roll"
McMartin from Long Beach, Maggie "Maggles" Lee from Boston, Doug "The Cawk"
Cawker from Calgary, JJ from DMZ and of course all the fabulous girls from
Supersnazz. A fantastic first night, and the Smugglers couldn’t have asked
for anything better.
Sat Sept 29 01, Evaporators show, Las Vegas Shakedown
As mentioned a few times, the weather down in Nevada this weekend was
absolutely scorching, without a cloud in the sky, day after day. Hot in the
day, hot in the night, didn’t matter. And since Vancouver is a seasonal
place that gets chilly and wet around the beginning of October without
significantly letting up until March or April, we thought that we should
take advantage of the sunny desert weather. Some of us decided once again to
spend our day pool-side, this time at the pool conveniently located in the
courtyard of our hotel.
Nick, Grant and our bald pal Kevin were the first to strip down and set
up our deck chairs along side the pool, and we weren’t really sure whether
we’d see any fellow Shakedowners pool-side or not. Most garage-rockers are
kinda like vampires… they tend to shimmy for the nighttime and shrivel at
the sunshine. But against the best Vegas odds, out from the casino soon
crept more and more festival attendees, finding their own secluded spots
around the pool. An Asian beauty in a black bikini swayed by, looking for
her own sunnin’ spot. She eventually ended up at the opposite end of the
pool from us, lay down and started to soak in the vitamin D. Squinting
across the glittering chlorinated waters, our bald pal Kevin couldn’t keep
his eyes off her bronzed butt.
take a slurp from his Colt 45 tall-boy, look over, then take another slurp.
Finally he could stand it no longer. Screaming "FUCK THIS BULLSHIT GUYS", he
flew out of his seat, took a running belly flop into the empty pool soaking
shocked seniors left and right. Our bald pal Kevin quickly swam the length
of the pool, hopped out, and went straight over to the bikini-clad beauty.
We have NO idea what he said to her, but whatever it was worked because
after thirty seconds of his wild, dripping gestures, she had gathered up her
things and those wildly exotic hips were on their way over to our side! Our
bald pal Kevin continued on with his antagonistic yet charming pied-piper
party-pooling, until the three of us were surrounding in sunbathing
Shakedowners from coast to coast! The Asian temptress with the body sublime
was Noriko from Montana, along with her surly friend Julie from Atlanta, as
well as people from New York, Alabama, Texas, California, Oregon, Arizona,
Florida, Illinois, and Kentucky. We had soon taken over most of the pool,
lounging in the chairs, the Jacuzzi or the convenient shallow terraces that
lined the sides of the pool, where one could sit in a relaxing foot of water
while mingling with new found friends. The booze was flowing, the sun tan
lotion was oozing, the odd boner was indeed popped, and the water from the
pool was oh so cool. Oooooh, Las Vegas!
Even though we were having a ball feeling like the reincarnates of the
Rat Pack, we knew we’d have to wrap up the half-naked hijinks before sunset
because the Evaporators were scheduled to hit the stage at the ridiculously
EARLY time of 3:30PM!! They were the very first band of Saturday’s Shakedown
action, and I’ll go on record here with the opinion that the Evaporators got
the Shakedown shaft. The mighty Evaps have been a band for over FIFTEEN
put on a must-see incredible show! Nardwuar can control a crowd like Anthony
Robbins, Jesus and Hitler all rolled up into one! (Pretty good description
of him actually). And yet here was Nard and his Evaps, opening for bands who
were to immediately follow them that formed a year or two ago and may have a
single or two out?!? WHAT THE FUCK?? Nonetheless, being the professional
showmen they are, the Evaporators sucked it up and pulled out the stops,
putting on by FAR one of the most entertaining sets of the entire festival.
And while the crowd was quite respectable in numbers for a boiling Vegas
afternoon, the Evaporators deserved to play to a whole lot more people, much
later on in the evening. The kids who were present were treated to all of
the Evaps’ crowd-control antics and forced participation, giving many people
much-needed relief from the multitude of early evening sets that consisted
of bands nervously standing and staring at their audience that for the most
part stood and stared right back, usually with their arms crossed.
Another band that proved to be an apex of the weekend’s entertainment was
Red Planet. Because of their free-wheeling willingness to have fun in the
face of a still-somewhat subdued early Saturday evening atmosphere, these
four kids from San Francisco were AMAZING. Sounding and looking like a cross
between Chixdiggit and Sloan, Red Planet tore through a great set of Cheap
Trick-esque high-energy rock ‘n’ roll, sometimes unabashedly metal. The lead
guitarist’s hammer-on solo attacks was at times so furious, he sometimes
completely lost it laughing like Harvey Korman in a Carol Burnette skit,
dropping his guitar to his side with a huge grin on his face. They
incorporated nice zings
Moog organ into hilarious songs like "Law of Tonnage" and ran about the
stage with total reckless abandon, even ending their set with a cover of Van
Halen’s "Panama", something that certainly must have seemed like a cold slab
of liver to the garage-rock Fonzies in the crowd. We loved it (and yes, it
helped that the lead singer was proudly sporting a Smugglers t-shirt!) So
many bands played this thing like nervous-nellies, making sure they had the
three chords right and the fuzz just perfect, hardly interacting with the
audience or themselves. Whereas, just like we learned at the pool earlier in
the day, at an event where everyone shares the same interests, everybody
really wants to let DOWN their guard, talk, rock, and have a good time
together! Thank you Red Planet for realizing that and rocking that joint
damn hard! So impressed were us Smugglers that at the conclusion of their
set, Nick immediately and rudely barged into their dressing room. On behalf
of the Smugglers, Nick officially invited all four members to join our next
pool party, slated for the following day, all day.
The other band that all of us Smugglers had circled in the program was
Supersnazz. The last time we rocked with these sweet people was at
sardine-packed club called Jam in Tokyo back in May 2000, so we were quite
excited to see them again. They enjoyed a full house, having the prime-time
slot of 11:00PM. They played all their hits from their excellent last record
"Diode City" as well as a few from their new one that just came out called…
I can’t remember what it’s called right now, actually. Oh well, great to see
and party with them again. Bassist Tomoko is a gambling fiend! She would not
sleep! We’d get up in the morning and find her where we left her at 4:00AM,
yanking on a slot machine! Incredible!
Other notable sets of Saturday night were Alabama’s Immortal Lee County
Killers (who Nick joined for a raunched out guitar solo as the lead singer
played harmonica), the Fleshtones (who Nick ended up in a drinking contest
turned US foreign policy argument with after their set), and the Humpers
(who Nick was dancing to so hard he lost his sunglasses, camera, and Red
Planet record – he got all but his sunglasses back. Who took those? Give em
back, the frame is out of print, you thieving leopard-print pompadour iron
cross Cuban heeled garage rock dance floor klepto!).
If the washrooms were any indication, this was definitely the "party
night" of the festival. By the time the Humpers were wrapping up, all of the
urinals, toilets and sinks in the men’s bathroom were filled with puke.
According to an eye-witness account from Nick, this apparently was also the
case in the women’s washroom. So drunk was one Shakedowner, that when he saw
the urinal basin was overflowing with barf, he shrugged his shoulders,
pulled out his dirty cock and pissed right into the puke, splashing it and
his piss all over his pants and the bathroom floor. Speaking of piss on
pants, while I was at the urinal a little later, the drunken chappie beside
me looked over at my cock, then looked up at me and slurred "hey aren’t you
Grant from the Smugglers?" As he said this he turned towards me, piss
spurting in a steady stream, and proceeded to attempt to converse with me
while unwittingly pissing directly on my leg. Needless to say I jumped back
like a mongoose from a spitting cobra and spat out a string of obscenities
in his face. If you’re reading this now, sorry for the cursing, chappie, but
here in Canada it is considered EXTREMELY rude to piss directly on someone,
and unlike most Shakedowners, I pack my manners abroad.
Sunday Sept 30, final night, Las Vegas Shakedown
though the night before proved to be very debaucherous, drunken and rather
out of control with many Smugglers and Evaporators not leaving the casino
floor until 6:00AM, most of us did manage to get up in time to make it to
Nick’s scheduled pool party at 11:00AM. Once again the weather was perfect
if too hot, and today we managed to get Beez and Graham into the swim trunks
as well. Dave opted out, feeling particularly lucky, which, as the reader
will read later, turned out to be prudent urge.
Sure enough, just like the day before, the weary and hung over
Shakedowners soon outnumbered the pool’s regular "leathered and feathered"
clientele, and the day-time sunshine party was once again ON. Even though
Nick and our bald pal Kevin barely had any sleep, they were both running on
pure social adrenaline, making sure everyone had enough booze, lotion and
conversation. Nardwuar even showed up, and to our delight, he was
immediately surrounded by inquiring sun-tanned girls in bikinis.
of them asked if she could make out with him then and there, to which he
replied "I don’t drink, I don’ t smoke, I don’t fuck!" and ran off, leaving
her standing their, nipples erect.
At one point I took it upon myself to question the waitress (who might
personally supply 90% of the funding for the Vidal Sasoon hair spray
production line) as she spent her day wandering through our bare-skinned
camp mumbling "cocktails… cocktails… cocktails…".
Me: "Excuse me, honey, isn’t it actually kind of dangerous to be serving
booze to people in this kind of heat?"
Her: blank stare.
Me: "Listen doll, I’m saying isn’t it somewhat irresponsible of the hotel
to be selling alcohol at this early hour should one of these people have too
much and be ill-affected by the combination of booze and 110 degree heat?"
Her: blank stare.
Me: "Look sweet tits, shouldn’t you at least be offering bottled water or
juice or something along with the alcohol products!?!" Her: "… cocktail?"
Me: "Yeah baby. I’ll have a double whiskey and coke and make it quick".
Soon the entire Red Planet entourage also made it down to
the pool and brought with them their energy, causing much laughter and
commotion. Nick and Red Planet’s lead singer Jeremy even took it upon
themselves to entertain the crowd, taking multiple choreographed dives into
the pool, right beside a sign that said "SHALLOW – NO DIVING!". Like his
brain-dead counterpart the cocktail waitress, the hotel’s zombified
lifeguard looked on with indifference. Jeremy and Nick drunkenly pulled
all sorts of moves –front flips, back flips, twists and dives, you name it,
all to the delight of the audience of international onlookers. The best part
of the antics had to be that they both came away with nary a hint of
permanent spinal chord injury! Yeah!
We tried to keep the awesome pool party going as long as we could,
stretching it out for about five hours or so. Eventually people either
passed out in a pool of their own sweat and empties, or managed to stumble
inside and up to their hotel room to prepare for a final night of rock
Myself, Nick and our bald pal Kevin for some reason still had energy to
burn so we hopped in the rental car and headed for the hills, checking out
the fabulously spectacular Red Rock Canyon an hour outside of town. In
places like these I’m often guilty for quickly comparing them to their
closest pop-culture reference point and at this lovely geographic wonder I
was completely a-buzz. "See that peak? Just like Big Thunder Mountain at
Disneyland! Ooo… see down in that box canyon?? Just like when Bobby and
Cindy got lost on Brady Bunch! Woah!! See those cliffs?
feel like Billy Jack! I love Billy Jack!" Nick puts up with it, along with
my constant references to the degrees of weather, but our bald pal Kevin had
had enough. "Look fucker, just take it for what it is. It’s fuckin’ nature,
real nature, and it doesn’t need a loser like you pinning some bullshit
Brady Bunch tag to it all right? We just don’t need that shit right now, so
shut the fuck up".
After a silent drive back to the glaring paradox of the Strip, we took to
our respective hotel rooms to get ready for one more night of non-stop
bands. And since we’d been exposed to such a tonne of sunshine and elements,
I thought it’d be rather wise to grab some of the moisturizer someone had
left in the bathroom and smear it generously all over my entire body. Gotta
keep the skin supple! After wandering around the hotel room naked for a few
minutes waiting for the moisturizer to soak in, my entire body suddenly
started to feel strangely numb and rubbery. Stumbling towards the bathroom
feeling like my skin had been frozen with Novocain, I fumbled for the tube I
thought had been moisturizer: "Ben Gay Extra-Strength Heavy Duty No Messin’
Around Total Muscle Relaxant – Now With Extra Added Power". My entire body
suddenly slipped onto the floor and I flopped about the hotel room like
Sammy The Pubic Hair Seal, completely naked and helpless. I tried calling
for help but had lost control of my lips and sounded like that girl with
cerebral palsy that sometimes guest starred on "Facts Of Life". I attempted
to pick up the phone but couldn’t cradle it properly, my head lolling to and
fro, soon falling back on the floor with the phone on top on me. Like a
spawning salmon with down-syndrome I managed to make it to the tub, rolled
myself into it and with a knee and an ear turned on the water and started
power-spraying the dilapidating cream from my tanned, hirsute body. And then
about ten minutes later I was dressed and ready to go. Watch out for that
stuff, eh! That was almost as bad as the time I mixed up stay-hard cream and
lubricant in a dark bedroom, mistakenly rubbing the stay-hard cream on the
OUTSIDE of the condom, freezing the INSIDE of the poor girl’s vagina! She
couldn’t feel a thing! But that’s another story for another time.
Most of the Evaporators and our bald pal Kevin decided they had seen
quite enough garage rock for one weekend thank you very much, and made
evening plans to take in Vegas attractions like the Elvis Museum and the
Stratosphere. Nick, Graham, Nardwuar and I decided to stick it out, though
it hindsight that may have been a mistake. Back we returned for one last go
at the Huntridge for another twenty-plus bands. This night was pretty much a
blur. Early on, the sunshine and alchohol obviously had a tiring affect on
Graham as he was dozing off in the Huntridge BBQ pit by about 8PM. We
suggested he just throw in the towel and head back to the hotel to which he
agreed, and we thought that’d be it for him. Wrong. About an hour later, a
white convertible 2002 Mustang stuffed with Shakedowners screeched into the
parking lot of the Huntridge with Motley Crue blaring. To our shock, Graham
was standing on the passenger seat screaming "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS!!", fists in
the air, one hand clenching an open 40 ouncer of malt liquor, the other a
giant bong. Guess he caught a second wind.
Through hazy exhausted memories, the only bands that I can truly recall
from this night were Zen Guerrilla from San Francisco, who put on a powerful
show, and the Dirt Bombs from Detroit, the last band of the festival. Hype
may have proceeded the D-Bombs however, as their stage presentation didn’t
quite match the intensity of their record, although their two-drummer angle
was a surprise and pretty damn cool to watch.
And so after the beer ran dry at the bar, the last slab of BBQ ribs were
sold and the final group of the forty-plus bands packed up, Shakedown 2001
was over. And while this year’s fest certainly had its problems (isolated
venue, questionable sound, canceled bands [headliners the Zeros canceled for
the second year in a row] and lack of booze on the last night) this was the
first Shakedown the Smugglers played, and we must conclude that we had a
blast. We were certainly glad that we played the first night, because along
with most attendees, we were absolutely burnt OUT by the time the last night
rolled around. Besides getting to play, the greatest aspect of Shakedown has
to be the aforementioned gathering of so many like-minded people. And while
several people I spoke to expected aloof and cool behavior, that was
generally non-existent with most people being extremely friendly, talkative
and kind to each other. Thanks for the good times folks, maybe see you all
again next year?
How ‘bout a report of the winnings? As usual, Dave was the big winner,
netting around $200.00. The day he skipped the pool party he nursed a slot
machine for a nice jackpot of 1000 nickels. He would also take strolls
across the street to the little drug store/malt shop casino near the
Huntridge and shock the fossils glued to bar stools when he’d stroll out
five minutes later with $25 in quarters in his pockets. "Who was that guy?"
they’d ask the bartender. "Don’t know, but the som’bitch been doin’ that all
weekend!" Of course this comes nowhere near Dave’s all-time biggest take of
$1500 in a weekend at Reno. He walked in to Circus Circus and worked out a
$1250 jackpot on the quarter slots (they presented him with a big cheque and
a Polaroid photo of the moment) and a two hours later rang the bells again
for another $250! He is the king of video poker! On to the real poker
tables, Beez didn’t quite fair so well in all the tournaments he signed up
for. In one he came in 12th out of 25 players, and other 10th
out of 25, and in his last one, 8th out of 25. All in all he lost
a whopping thousand bucks and change! The man is serious about his poker!
Lucky for him he’s a phone-sex baron in Vancouver and can afford to throw
that kind of money around! The rest of us hardly gambled, opting for
sunshine, music and sleep instead of dirty thieving slot machines. We found
another side of Sin City that didn’t leave us feeling ripped off, chewed up
and spat out, but as Dave always proves, to each their own!
See you in the front row,