Cole’S Law Blog

Not wanting to leave…

“Unless a girl’s dancing on tension wires, I’m never getting an erection ever again,” says JewJo.

We’re still in a stupor from last night. We’ve seen things that have altered our perceptions about what is possible. We can never go back to the way things used to be. We’ve been to the top of the mountain.[1] After taking in the view, now begins our climb back down.

This is not to say last night was a total bust. What has hopefully come out of all this is a newly instilled sense of false self-confidence that will transcend to our adventures on the east coast with average girls who have similar delusions of grandeur. The four of us stood toe-to-fake-tits with the best that Vegas had to offer. We realized that although we weren’t the best, we could still stand with the best for a $30 entry fee.

We recap last night at an empty Jack-in-the-Box over 99 cent tacos and Mr. Pibb.

“As great as it was, I’m burnt out. Four days in Vegas is enough,” says Jammy.

As much as I want to tell him he’s an idiot and has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about, that he’s made $10 bets on games the entire weekend and finished plus $17 and violated the code of go big or go home, I have to agree with him. Today, I am ready to go home. Vegas has kicked my ass once again. I’m down about $800 for the week and it’s getting increasingly harder to sit. I’m ready for my red eye flight home and bad movie that comes with it. Plus, I have International Law about three hours after we land.

Maybe you should sit down for this

There is no greater disparity than the looks on the faces of the new arrivals and departures at McCarran International Airport. The people coming are happy and have the smirk that they’re going to take it down and have the best time ever. Then there are those leaving, who, although they’ve had the best time ever, have the thousand yard stare affixed to their faces, zombies ready to get the fuck out of here and in some cases flee the scene of the crime.

Everyone in our terminal looks guilty, like they’ve done something they shouldn’t have done.  Whether it involved someone with an “I” at the end of her first and only name I cannot say for sure. 12% of people have seen something inserted into somebody, 37% of people have inserted something into them. Regardless of which contingent demographic you fall into, I’m tolerant enough to sit next to you on the plane.

The only problem is that I’m standing now. Sitting has become virtually unbearable. The pain is excruciating in my aisle seat and I grimace through the entirety of Quantum of Solace, struggling to fall asleep.  Two cross-country flights, 12 hour days watching games, and averaging probably 15 hours a day sitting through law school, television, and other assorted lethargic activities has taken its toll.

A cyst to turn over

Three days later I’m at the hospital. I have a cyst and the doctor says she has to remove an abcess that has formed where my back meets my ass. There’s a large needle involved and it easily clinches the top spot of the three most excruciating experiences I’ve ever had, neatly nestled in between my future first wife and planar fasciitis. Despite all the pain that came from the weekend, I’d still adamantly say it was a good time. Aside from the minor ass surgery, I wouldn’t change a thing.

I hope that I’ve offered a good guide to March Madness in Vegas for future partakers. Although I literally got my ass handed to me, I know that I will be coming back for seconds. Then again, it’s probably best not to listen to someone wearing disposable underwear.

I’ve taken it all sitting down and now it’s time to do something different; to truly change my stance. I’m going to lie down. It’s time to sleep.

Taxi Driver

To conclude, I will now leave you in the hands of our very capable cab driver Mr. Ronald Bennett:

So there’s little Johnny, eight years old, and loves his parents. One day he has a nightmare and as he often does, opens his parents’ door where he finds his father and mother; the old man giving it to her from behind. The kid is aghast, speechless. His father and him lock eyes. Still banging away, his father begins to laugh hysterically.

“Close the door and go to your room. I’ll be in to talk to you in a few.”

The father finishes up and goes down to his son’s room. He knocks on the door. There’s no answer, just a strange, creaking sound.

“Johnny?”

The father opens the door to find little Johnny and own mother; Johnny giving it to his grandmother from behind.

The father doesn’t know what to say. The room smells like White Diamonds and Buick LeSabre. The father’s eyes begin to water as Johnny continues uninterrupted.

“Johnny! What the fuck are you doing!?”

Johnny turns to face the old man.

“Not so fucking funny when it’s your mother, is it?” Johnny replies.