Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Vegas Part One: The Dude Bag

One of Tania's favorite things about Vegas: The Orphan. Half empty glasses everywhere.

Before Tania tricked me into liking Vegas, I hated it. It was the people. The visitors, the tourists. Scumbags. The worst of the worst. If I was from the Middle East and the only place I saw in America was Vegas, I too would go home and be like, “Yo, we gotta fly some planes into some buildings or some shit because that place is fucked up.” At the same time, Vegas isn’t Vegas without the people. We’ve been there off season and it’s just not the same. “Where are all the shitty people?” When they’re not there, you miss ‘em. Kind of like our shitty dog. There is, however, one group in Vegas that I will never miss: The Dude Bag.

The more generic term for them would be “frat boys,” however I don’t find that adequate enough because they come in so many colorful varieties. And while “Dude Bag” isn’t the best term I’ve ever come up with, it’s all I got right now. Sorry.

This isn't really a photo of dude bag, but I think you can find the douche bag in this photo. Storm Trooper sunglasses and a shower cap? What the hell. He was also groovin' to the urban jamz as he strode along with the current.

Dude Bags are little bags of dudes. Each bag comes with approximately four to six little dudes in them and each and every one of them is an A-1, certified douche bag. As Tania would be quick to point out, these little douche bags are everywhere in every city across the country—and they suck at home, too—but as I argued, Vegas, with its “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” attitude, completely transforms them and radically exaggerates their inherent douchiness. In Vegas they are super douche bags. Tania agrees with me on that point. I would further argue that some members of a Dude Bag aren’t complete douche bags when they’re at home, but their inner douche is awakened when they arrive in Vegas. This is aided, of course, by the pack mentality they bring with them. Again, they come in a bag. I like to think of a bag of dog poop filled with little pieces of shit. Each little turd is a drunk, loud, single, stupid, and ugly male. They are completely bereft of manners or class. And since our visit last weekend coincided with the first Sunday of the NFL season, we were treated to an exceptionally high volume of Dude Bag behavior. On to the examples.

For instance, Tania and I got into an elevator to head down to the pool. Along with us for the descent were five dudes: a Dude Bag. The conversation began, as it always does, on the subject of the night before and their experiences at the gambling tables. Der, der, der, DERRRRRR! Then one of the dudes wondered, “How many open seats do you think there’s going to be at the sports bar?” Dude #2 responded, “Zero, inches, like your wang!” (Laughter).

I later wished I had turned around, proffered a high five, and went, “Oh MAN! ZING! Dude, you got him sooooo good! You’re gnarly!” Then I would rescind my high five offer before he could slap it and give him the “I’m-just-kidding-and-you’re-a-fucking-retard” face. Instead I was so dumbfounded by the stupidity that I was kind of frozen into a baffled stupor. “That doesn’t even make any sense,” I thought. The question demanded a quantity but he responded with a length? And who the hell says “wang?” Keep in mind, also, that Tania, a woman, was present. A zero inch wang?

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you, Team Awesome.

There were many more fine moments in Dude Bag history last weekend, but the best by far were created by our neighbors on the left bank of MGM’s lazy river, Team Awesome. What’s funny is I thought Tania had sarcastically dubbed the assholes Team Awesome for a good hour until I finally heard one of them refer to themselves as Team Awesome. “Wait, they call themselves Team Awesome?” I asked astounded. “Yes, that’s why I’ve been saying it,” she said. Holy shit. What’s worse is they all had nicknames. “Yo Macho, toss me a Bud Light.” Yes, one of them was called “Macho.” They were certainly a team, but they were definitely not awesome.

Team Awesome is also a perfect example of why the “frat boy” label doesn’t fit. Team Awesome was old. It’s almost acceptable for a frat boy to act like a frat boy. I said “almost.” Because that’s what you do when you join a fraternity: you act like an idiot. It’s expected. It’s not like frat boys weren’t idiots before they joined the fraternity, because who else would join a fraternity but an idiot? But when you’re in your fuckin’ 30s and you’re balding and you’re an ADULT and you’re in public, there is no excuse for that kind of behavior.

We observed Team Awesome for quite awhile and—and I don’t even know where to begin. Did I mention that the members of a Dude Bag are single? And when I say “single,” I mean “desperate.” I hadn’t thought of the term “game” for years before I heard The Caveman talk. I’m not sure what his TA nickname was, but I called him Caveman because he had a very low, monotone voice. And while he had a lot of hair on his back, he didn’t have much on his head.

“Where you from?” he asked as he swam up to the girl in the bikini to our right. Great pickup line.

“LA! Shaw!” she said excitedly. She was by herself. Well, by herself and her makeup. Tania’s fascination with women donning shit tons of makeup to go to the pool grew on me over the weekend as well. Yeah, why?

“Really?” the Caveman drawled. “I lived in Irvine once.”

And that’s when I thought, “He has no game.” I couldn’t stop saying that all weekend, by the way: “I lived in Irvine once.”

Three members of Team Awesome. Baby Blue is on the far left. The guy on the far right was TA's resident dancer.

The dude in Team Awesome who did have game, however, was the dude with the baby blue sunglasses (Team Awesome all wore the same terrible sunglasses, just in different colors). Baby Blue was the loudest and most confident of them all. Perhaps because he had no bald spots? His hair was thinning, but no bald spots. His game wasn’t a good game, but it was a game of some sort. “If you could be any age, what would it be?” he asked one girl. “Eighteen! Chuh!” the slut squealed. “What was it about those 365 days that were better than any other?” he cooed. Tania barfed.

One of Baby Blue’s best strategies was the beaver dam. Well, maybe I should just call it the Stupid Dam. They were trying to catch beaver, but they got nothing but stupid… I had a really bad sense of humor over the weekend and, like the hiccups, I couldn’t make the corny jokes go away… apparently I still have them? Anyway, Baby Blue’s Stupid Dam is what made me get out of the water and leave. When he’d see some chicks in inner tubes floating down the river towards us, he’d instruct the other members of Team Awesome to spread out and block their passage. They’d then turn their backs to the approaching girls and pretend to be discussing the Vegas skyline. “Is that Paris right there?” “No that’s the Bellagio, dude.” “Ohhhh… so where’s Paris? Is it—“ BAM! “OH! Excuse me ladies!” “Don’t even think we, like, don’t even know what you’re, like, doing! CHUH-YAW!” Giggle, giggle.

So then the pile up and ensuing flirtation between Team Awesome and the bachelorette party (complete with Mardi Gras beads, “I GIVE BLOWJOBS” visors, and cock-shaped water pistols, WOOOO!) would divert all oncoming traffic into a narrow channel between us and them. But mostly us. Thus we were pinned to the wall by every fat ass in an inner tube that had the misfortune of floating down the river at that time. I was worried I was going to drown. Not in the water, but in the shit that was flowing out of everyone’s stupid fucking mouths. GRRRRR! “I’m getting out,” I said.

Little known fact about Tania: she loves doing handstands in swimming pools. Before Team Awesome got in and ruined everything, World Champion Hand Stander Tania was going off.

But our trip to Vegas wasn’t all Dude Bags sucking, no, this was a delightful trip to Las Vegas and maybe one of our best. Especially in the food category. So over the next week we’ll be rolling out posts of our dining adventures in Las Vegas. Dare I say they were “awesome?”


Unknown said...
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Unknown said...

dear husband, not one of the girls in the pool flirted with any of those dudes. NOT ONE. in fact, with my keen girl radar, i actually heard them getting talked shit on.

"giggle giggle, what is with those dudes trying to be slick? are they kidding? tee hee hee!"

they did befriend two yadoods from boston though (complete with a NE Patriots TATTOO).

Bozo Monkey Bear III said...

dear wife, i merely said there was flirtation going on... although i suppose it's implied, i didn't say it was going both ways. but i'm glad you pointed out that nobody stopped to talk to team awesome except some old guy with a gay ass football tattoo.

speaking of gay ass, why are we talking to each other in the comment section of our own blog?

elastic back said...

you, dave, have just reminded me of what i am soon in for during my cousin's bachelor party (in just over a week). see, my cousin lives in staten island and is a cop in the nypd. you can imagine what his friends are like if you have ever been to staten island (or jersey, same thing). essentially, i am in for a night on the "party bus" with a bunch of drunk, guido, horny cops going from bar to bar in manhattan. i can imagine the embarrassment and will try to keep a low profile but fear the worst night of my life...please, i don't want to be but another stick in the beaver dam!