Click here for Mr. Hong Kong Part I (Vegas Pink Monkey).
Click here for Mr. Hong Kong Part II (The Getaway).
Click here for Mr. Hong Kong Part III (Sodom, Gomorrah, and Rihanna).
That night, Mr. Hong Kong and crew said let there be light; and so we went to Light. If I were to seek a nest as a club rat, it would be at Light. As one might expect based on the namesake, the lights in the club were energizing. Not all club lighting is created equally. For example, the lighting in Coco Bongo, Cancun seemed more like a power outage in which the lights flickered between abrupt blinding brightness and damning darkness. A-trak was dj-ing at Light and he was absolutely phenomenal. Vegas is graced with some of the best djs in the world, but A-trak was my favorite of all of them during this trip. (Tommy Trash was a close second.)
Anyway, back to your regularly scheduled specimen blog post now. On this particular night, the friend that had brought us RiRi, brought along a stripper that he had met a few nights prior. She certainly was nowhere near as entertaining and lively as RiRi. Mr. Hong Kong and I were disappointed in his selection. As for Mr. Hong Kong and I, we were getting along grandly. (I believe it is for scientific reasons that I was experiencing the antithesis of specimen slaying feelings. More on that later.) We drank, we danced, and when I’d adventure off to socialize, he had no qualms. After Light closed (probably around 5 am), we again headed to the after-hours club, Drai’s. (In case you’re wondering, the pink monkey sat that night out.) It was another night and another Bill-less night. So, again, I was on my own in terms of choreography, which I practiced until roughly 9:30 a.m.
Being from the great state of New Jersey, after a night of partying, I want pizza. No. I NEED pizza. Astonishingly, acquiring pizza in Vegas as 9:30 am is no simple task! One would assume that gluttony would be easier to satisfy in this so-called “Sin” City. Mr. Hong Kong walked the streets with me on a hopeless pizza quest. Despressingly, I did not get my pizza. Fuck you, Vegas.
We went back to the room to order room service. They were only serving breakfast and I didn’t want any of that. I now wanted pasta to substitute my pizza craving. Mr. Hong Kong asked the room service people if they could make it. They said no. I don’t like being no-ed and after the tragic pizza episode, I was not about to accept it as an answer. They damn well knew they had pasta and water available. All they had to do was mix the two and serve it to me on a plate. I asked him to hand me the phone. Twenty minutes later, I had pasta.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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