It's Vegas Baby.

To put it very lightly, Las Vegas is a crazy fucking place. This past weekend was my second time there ever. It was also my second time there in the past 3 months. Go figure. During the most recent trip, I hit up the four things that draws most people to sin city.

1) Gambling: The fact that you have dozens of choices at any hour of the day to either try your luck, or just donate your money to just baffles my freaking mind. The fact that I’m Asian only makes me love it that much deeper. Up until the past 5 years, I’ve never been a big fan of gambling. However, I’ve always been quite keen of having the ability to gain money for nothing, so it was inevitable.

2) Nightclubs: The clubs there are bananas as well. The thing that I really hate is that I am a) no one particularly famous so I always have to wait in a crazy ass line just to have the opportunity to pay a 30-something dollar cover charge that doesn’t include a drop of alcohol. Then there’s b) I’ve only gone to Vegas with a bunch of guys, which only makes it oh so much easier to get my ass through the door. Bouncers look at my group like, “are you fucking kidding me?!?” I did manage to get into a couple of clubs, and I must say that they are pretty impressive.

3) Buffets: I’ve only been to the Aladdin buffet during both of my trips, but I read that it was voted the best in Vegas. Again, it is pretty impressive. If you picked any minute of the day that this buffet was open, and took the all the food that was there, you could totally feed about 2,000 Ethiopians for a week. Of course they’d probably all have diarrhea afterwards, but shit. It sure beats starving, doesn’t it?!?! They have different stations covering a bunch of different cuisines, including Italian, Mexican, Asian, Middle Eastern, and of course American. There is no way in Hell that people should be allowed to consume as much food that is available at their disposal, but shit, that is not stopping any of those motherfuckers online. Unfortunately, I’m included. I mean, it’s been 2 days since my buffet experience, and just minutes ago I took a dump that would gross out King fukcing Kong.

4) Strip Clubs: Yes, yes. It just wouldn’t be right being that I’m single and my dick still works that I wouldn’t go to a strip club while in Vegas. Plus my whole reason for being in Vegas was for a bachelor party, so please, save the lecture for another day. So upon my visit to one of the fine low-down establishments, I met a pretty-ass Filipino girl by the name of Leilani. She had such a pretty face, soft olive skin, and a body that you would want in a woman if you hate that saline-injected, freak show shit that I am opposed to. Anyways, she did her thing, repeatedly on one night, and being the swing-and-miss kind of guy at the regular clubs, I decided to go with a friend back the next night to see if she was working. While there, about three strippers asked me if I wanted a lap dance. Up until the 3^rd stripper, I rejected but then asked, “is Leilani working tonight?”

“Are you going to spend a lot of money on her?” is what the stripper asked me.

“Probably” I reluctantly answered.

“I’ll be right back” she answered while climbing off my lap. A few minutes later, a familiar face came bye and smiled at me.

“Oh you’re back?” she asked.

“It seems to be that way” I answered.

“Well let’s go in the back then.” she replied. I followed while leaving my African friend in his seat. She took her clothes off, (what little she was wearing), and again did her thing on my lap. Afterwards, she suited back up, and sat and we chatted for a bit. “So where are you from?” she asked.

“New York” I answered truthfully. (I usually don’t tell random people, my real name, or where I’m from). “You ever been?”

“No, but I hear it’s dope.”

“It’s different than out here, but I wouldn’t call anywhere else home.” I again answered truthfully.

“Wow. Maybe I should check it out sometime.” Her answer made me raise an eyebrow, although it wasn’t the only thing being raised. I mean, it’s not like I envisioned her to come out east, meeting up with me, and us getting married and living happily after. It’s just that I liked the thought of seeing her outside the company of college students, tourists, and dirty old men. (Although, the nakedness thing would have to remain consistent). “You should definitely check it out. I know a lot of people from the West coast who went out there and loved it.” I responded just to set a tiny, tiny bit of bait.

“Oh really? That’s hella cool!” she said with a bit of excitement. “Maybe I can work out there! How are the strip clubs in New York?” This response totally set me back to the stone ages. I didn’t know what to say. I suddenly felt my stomach drop to the sticky strip club floor. One, because I had only been to one strip club in NY, so I couldn’t give her a definitive answer on that, and two, I kept thinking to myself, is that the only thing you can do? I mean, I understand that not every stripper is shaking her thing just to pay off her educational bills to get her PhD in saving the world. But goddamn! Isn’t there anything else that she could do to pay her bills besides taking off all her clothes, and rubbing her smooth skinned, strategically pierced body all over strange men who were recommended by their taxi drivers to swing bye for a good time? I could immediately feel my depression making itself once again comfortable in my mind.

I slowly responded with, “um, yeah, they alright” half biting my lip.

“Well I’ll have to think about that. Well my shift is almost up. Hopefully the next time you come to Vegas, you’ll come by and see me.”

“Yeah, totally” I told her, completely hiding my objection to the idea. If I ever saw her again, I would not want it to be at that club, with her looking amazing just waiting to collect my money and move on to the next dollar bill holding idiot. Unfortunately, that’s probably the only way I would ever see Leilani again. Who knows? Maybe she was completely retarded, and her only money paying skill was moving her awesome body to the beat of a song. Then I guess she picked the right field, and she should do the best that she could. That still didn’t stop me from feeling bad for her. I jumped in a cab back to the hotel with my African friend and shook my head in grief. I was going back alone, and the one girl that actually paid attention to me was getting ready for another day of showing off her shit for a random stranger. That sucks. I really have to wash my clothes now. I smell like a damn stripper.

Yours Truly, the Woman Stealer.

Back in pharmacy school there was this one girl that I met during my second year that literally had the eyes of every guy in the school glued to her very impressive rack and denim painted ass. She was moderately pretty, Korean, had nice legs to go with the aforementioned assets, and was the first girl that I assertively pursued, which led to mixed results. To make a long story short, we became very close friends, and we’d hook every once in a while. She would reveal her innermost secrets to me, along with details of the relationships she would have with other men, and we would hook up every once in a while. We would go through long periods of time that we wouldn’t see or hear from each other due to the rigorous schedule of pharmacy school, work, and our separate dating lives, but then somehow when we did bump in to each other we would talk like we saw each other just yesterday, and if it were possible, we’d hook up with each other.

Anyways, during my last year at school, she started to date this one guy that I was good friends with during my freshman year. I mean he was my friend but he didn’t speak to me for the next 4 years of school after he found out that I wasn’t Korean (go figure). This dude had a ridiculously bad temper too (Korean guy with a bad temper? No way!!!) Well, we became friends again during our last year at school when he admitted to me that it was silly to not be friends with me in the past, and that he always thought I was cool, even though I wasn’t Korean. Me, being the easy going, non-Korean that I am was like, “Aye, just keep passing that weed and we’ll be aight.” Well anyways, he starts dating this girl, and I guess she mentions my name here and there, and all of the sudden, I’m public enemy number one all over again. This past year (2 years after graduation) I called this girl on her birthday, (like I had done every year since we met each other). Again, she was ecstatic to hear from me, which had always warmed my heart. We chit chatted for a bit, and she told me that she was engaged to the aforementioned dude. I told her I was happy for her, which I was, and that I wished them the best of luck. She told me that she wanted me to come to the wedding. I told her that I was happy for her, which I was, and that I wished them the best of luck. We hung up, and I thought to myself, I’m probably never going to hear from her again, and I was right. She emailed me a week later, telling me that she recently had got in a huge fight with her fiancé. Apparently, he had checked her cell phone records (that’s normal for Korean people, right?) and saw my number and threw a tantrum the size of Africa. She explained that even though we were just friends, (who were cool with each other way before this guy was even introduced) her fiancé was just not having it. She had already agreed to marry him (after forcing him to seek counseling. seriously.) and so she told me she appreciated everything that happened between us, but there would be no more words shared between us. I kind of understood why she might want to do that. 1) He was crazy and dangerous, so if she didn’t, he might kill her 2) Their combined income comprised of two pharmacy salaries had reached “Whoa! Goddamn That’s High!!” levels. And lastly, 3) They actually love each other. Yah know, wait a minute. I take number 3 back. That’s just plain retarded. (Hahahaha. Just kidding people). Well, whatever the reason, she chose IT over maintaining our fairly deep friendship that spanned over five years. It’s fucked up, but whatever. Then I thought about it. It’s also pretty messed up that this dude would think that I’d try to steal his wife away. Shit he knew me for over 6 years, and at one point, we were friends. Did he really think that I was THAT much of a scumbag that I was going to try to break up his engagement, even though we knew each other for a good while now? Damn! He must have thought I was a straight heartless, baby animal devouring, little children robbing motherfucker that would just sell his mother’s organs to get what he wanted. Well, as all of my friends can attest, I am not that heartless motherfucker. But hold on for a second. What if I was a dirty son of a bitch? How would I be? Let’s take it there. . .

The Woman Stealer

I am the woman stealer. I am the marriage breaker. I am the complicated twist-adding cancer that creeps into your healthy body of a relationship, straight laying up in the cut, until things are at it's honkey fucking doryest, and then I begin to replicate. Slow at first, to allow me to go undetected. I then pick up speed to a record breaking sprint, ridiculously lapping all of your healthy blood cells that are keeping your silly relationship together until you suddenly stop to look around, only to see that I've violently eliminated any trace of those pitiful happy feelings that your woman had towards you. Any of those sweet, loving smiles that she flashed you as a show of affection, I've already rolled them through a bed of rusty thumbtacks followed by a bath of rubbing alcohol and urine. All the times that you foolishly believed her when she told you that she actually loved you? I molded them into the form of a guy and chained his limbs to a wall in front of an endless line of NFL punters, wearing spiked boots instead of cleats, waiting to send his balls 80 yards down field. Oh, and this is good too. As for every time that you've boned, oh, I'm sorry, "Made love", and she moaned in ecstasy and screamed your name? I know that you replay them over and over in your head to boost up your little confidence. Well I've replaced them with the shrieking screams of hungry little children who have lost their parents to some senseless violent act in front of their tearful eyes. You see, I have no compassion to your asinine feelings towards her. I don't give a shit how long y'all been together, or if each of you parents approve of each other. Shit, I'm only concerned with taking that girl that you hold closest to your heart, and having my merry way with her, unprotected of course! That is my sole purpose in life. To take every fear and ounce of doubt that you have about your relationship that you pack tightly into the crevices of the back of your mind, and run wildly with them to show that they are in fact true. I will directly beam them to every channel on TV and website on the Internet, as well as email them to all the inboxes of your friends, co-workers, and family members.

Now what is my motivation for such senseless, wreck less abandon? Is it because I am jealous of what you have and am actually blindly in love with your woman? Or that I believe that you are taking what is rightfully mine, and that is my sole purpose in life is to make her blissfully happy? HELLS NO!!!!! I don't give a God Damn about your slutty bitch of a girlfriend. Shit, once my task is done, I mean your precious bond together has been utterly abolished, and you are exiled to your corner of the room to cry like a girl, I'm only gonna dump the cunt in a ditch and look for the next pathetic relationship to raise hell upon. "Why?" you repeatedly ask like the kid who keeps getting his lunch money stolen from the class bully. Because I am the woman stealer. I am the marriage breaker. I am everything that your twisted imagination believed me to be and worse. You have created me, and now you must face the consequences. The only person you have to thank is yourself.

Well, I guess I’m not going to the wedding.