True Story©… Back to Vegas


I have learned a lot about myself in the post Wuhan Bat Flu - America…
As the two of you have read in these here pages, I can nearly FREESTYLE a money-making scheme in the course of a workout or sometimes even a simple lunch period.  As y’all may well recall, I took that show on the road, literally, back in 2020 when we went to Vegas and I used a few minutes away from Wife Person™ and attempted to get famous.
As I hope you read in that link there above, that particular attempt didn’t go over TOO greatly even though I cannot exactly call it a “failure.”

On a second attempt, I was OFFERED the opportunity to run it back…  Needless to say, Wife Person™ was absolutely over my continued shenanigous dipshittery and poured water on the even attempt.  I would later learn that it was not her refuse to see me get my fatman shine on, so much as it was the fact that she had designs on us selling my old little house so we could move into our big house.  I am not mad, I got Yetimer out of the deal and he is my buddy.

Anyway…  We have been in this house for two years and some months.  Yeti is two years and some months old – actually born on the day we closed – and we have settled into a life of somewhat normalcy.  We make use of our time off of work and my side hustles and the fact that I don’t spend money on alcohol anymore allows us freedom to do and try new shit without having to INTENSIVELY count our shells before doing so.  Make no mistakes, I am not claiming some level of unimaginable generational wealth, but I am doing better than I ever have in my life right now and I credit that to actually being married this time.

So yeah, Vegas…
I am here in the garage on pornhub one day after eating lunch and my phone rings…

[Phlip note: I’m kidding…  Pr0nsHub is banned in NC anyway]

It’s a 702 area code…  Maybe my aunt or one of my cousins has a new number for some reason…

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “Is this…  umm…  Moe?”

Me: “Allegedly, sometimes, yes.”

Caller: “Come again?”

Me: “This me.”

Caller: “Good morning–...  Well I guess afternoon where you are.”

Me: “Yep, good day, what can I do for you?”

Caller: “Well a few years ago, you had this wild idea about a–...”


Caller: “Yes, precisely.”

Me: “Man, that shit FAILED!”

Caller: “Well that is why I am calling now.”

Me: “You WANT me to embarrass myself again?”

Caller: “No, I’m–...”

Me: “...  my THERAPIST needed therapy after the mental image was scorched on his psyche.”

Caller: “Wow…  Well now–…  Shit, REALLY!?”

Me: “No, not at all…  I ain’t EVER telling him that shit.”

Caller: “Whew, I thought I was gonna need a session for a moment there.”

Me: “Okay, so plus-size male revue…  No more embarrassment.”

Caller: “Okay, so…  Demographically, more and more women are recently into men who are a little more, well…  ‘doughy’ around the middle.”

Me: “WHERE WERE THESE WOMEN WHEN THAT BIT–…  Nevermind, continue.”

Caller: “So yeah, apparently women we asked like what they call ‘Thicc Bois’ nowadays, something about implied security of a bigger guy.”

Me: “You EVER call me ‘Thicc Boi’ in front of ANYONE and I’mma fuck you up, bro.”

Caller: “Noted.”

Me: “So what the lick read?”

Caller: “Sorry?”

Me: “How will this endeavor make us money?”

Caller: “Oh, OH!!!  Okay, so you did a BANGUP job self-promoting with no help in a city that is not your own.  Well this time, you will have our assistance and therefore better promotion.”

Me: “I’m listening.”

Caller: “More butts in seats, more money of course.”

Me: “Naturally.”

Caller: “Sounding good so far, no?”

Me: “We good, but you know what I’mma ask next, right?”

Caller: “Well we’re prepared to offer you—…”

Me: “… HALF!!!”

Caller: “Half!?”

Me: “Nice, we’re on the same page here.”

Caller: “Wait, what just happened?”

Me: “Negotiation happened.”

Caller: “We can’t assist with promo and pay half the door.”

Me: “Then I can do the promo myself again.  MY ‘scribbling bullshit’ game is impeccable.”

Caller: “Can’t argue that.”

Me: “So what was your number?”

Caller: “75/25 our way?”

Me: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Caller: “70/30?”

Me: “60/40 sounds better, but I ain’t paying for our room.”

Caller: “65/35, final offer.”

Me: “I ain’t paying for my room, NOR am I paying for food, even if it ain’t in your hotel.”

Caller: “Um…  I-…”

Me: “And g’head and book my Wife Person™ a spa day.”

Caller: “Shit…  Just a second.”

I get a couple  of minutes of dinky hold music and—…

Caller: “You have to pay your own airfare.”

Me: “Bet.  Let me bounce this off the Wife Person™ and call you back, she gets home in about three hours.”

The call ends with the agreement and I headed back inside from the garage to finish my work day.  3:45 sharp, Wife Person™ pulls up to the house.  The fact that she was here promptly at that time and that she didn’t get straight out of the car, instead steeling herself to deal with my puppy as soon as she walked in the door let me know right out front that I was in for a HARD sell.
Fuggit, here goes!  I let her get inside and pour a cup of coffee and then sit down before I came upstairs…

Me: “Wife Person™!  How was your day?”

Wife Person™: “It was a day.”

Me: “I bet.”

Wife Person™: “Yours?”

Me: “Busy as a fuck…  Vegas called me on lunch today.”

Wife Person™: “Who?”

Me: “The hotel we stayed in when we went that one time and I–…”

Wife Person™: “And you made a whole ass of yourself?”

Me: “I love you too.”

Wife Person™: “What’d they want.”

Me: “They wanna run it back–…”

Wife Person™: “...”

Me: “I said they wanna run it back.”

Wife Person™: “And?”

Me: “You’re supposed to talk me out of doing some stupid shit.”

Wife Person™: “Y’know what?”

Me: “Huh?”

Wife Person™: “Let’s do it.”

Me: “What?”

Wife Person™: “See, I say ‘no’ and then you’ll run with the ‘she never lets me have any fun’ thing.  Let’s DO it.  When do we go?”

Me: “I gotta call him back.  Basically, we pay for airfare and they comp the room and all our food and–…”

Wife Person™: “… And what?”

Me: “AND you get a whole-ass spa day.”

Wife Person™: “Sounding good so far.”

Me: “And I get half the door again…  With REAL promotion this time.”

Wife Person™: “Let’s do it!”

That was entirely too easy…
Now it is 4pm and my actual break time.  I make the phone call.

Hotelier: “Hey, tell me something good.”

Me: “She’s with it.”

Hotelier: “Sounds good, how long we got?”

Me: “Gimme three weekends to scare up the airfare and make sure it is a week my little one is not here.”

Hotelier: “Sounds like a winner.”

Me: “Thanks”

So the requisite time has passed and the utter saint that I am married to scores us a cherry deal on plane tickets and we’re “Going-going, back-back to Vegas.”
6 hours of airplanes and airports and we’re getting off the Lyft in front of the hotel and go inside to check in for the weekend.  Our host is expecting us.

Hotelier: “Good evening, folks…  I pray your trip was peaceful.”

Me: “Smooth sailing.”

Hotelier: “Good, good.  So, ‘Plus-Size Male Revue’?”

Me: “Yeah?”

Hotelier: “So, umm…  Is there another plane coming with the rest of you?”

Me: “Huh?”

Hotelier: “When you were last here, you were going at what–…  255-270?”

Me: “265, probably but—…”

Hotelier: “Well now you’re barely–…”

Me: “205.6”

Hotelier: “We can’t DO this?”

Me: “Dude, I’m 5’8”…  I am in NO way NOT still a large man.”

Hotelier: “When we spoke last month, I said ‘DOUGHY’ what is this ‘new year new me’ bullshit you've come with?”

Me: “No ‘new year’.  I been at this 16 months.”

Hotelier: “You don’t think you could have, like, told me that when I called you?”

Me: “No, I still got a gut though!”

Hotelier: “I–…  FINE!  We’re here now and your room is already expensed.  Might as well try to recoup.”

Me: “Fine.”

Hotelier: “Jacqueline there will check you guys in, all of your instructions and schedules are on the desk in your room.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Jackie, as she insisted I call her, was a dream in her rundown of everything and acting as concierge for whatever we might so happen to need.

1470something words above this one, there is no need to bore you to tears with the details of the stay.  We will get RIGHT to the night of the show…

I knew it was one-night so everything I needed was in my one big backpack and could be ferried into the venue underneath what I was already wearing.  I took off my sweats and t-shirt backstage and listened for my cue to hit the stage.


He had not even a chance to finish before I rushed the stage and gyrated twice and threw off my towel and then–…



Why did NO ONE remind me that at the old-ass age of 44, that I CAN NOT FUCKIN’ DANCE?!!?

The crowd might have been more forgiving of my inability to dance if I was as large as they had been allowed to believe I was based on promotional material with three year-old pictures…

The insults flew, only ceasing when the unfinished drinks started to.  I had not a fuckin clue that this was still a thing, but after 43 seconds of my trying to get the crowd back, a siren started to sound and The Sandman came out to pull me off stage with the hook.

When it was said and done I STILL got my money off the door, or at least what remained after they granted some refunds.  It was a good thing our food was included because there was NO such thing as “out in public,” I got roasted to tears for committing the cardinal sin of just being in a casino on a slot machine.

Back on the plane Sunday morning…

Me: “Next time I have the bright-ass idea to–…  What?”

Wife Person™: “No, go ahead and finish.”

Me: “STOP ME!!!”

Wife Person™: “Wait…  Now, say that whole thing again.”

Me: “Ahem…  Next time I have one of these bright-ass ideas, STOP ME!”

Wife Person™: “Thank you.  I recorded that and saved it to my Google Drive to play back.  I bet I will have to use it before the weather changes.”

Dream.  Shattered…
… in the name of bettering my physical life.  Dammit.


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