ONLINE GAMBLING AND CASINO GUIDE

Before the mad rush of visitors to Vegas reached a crescendo this weekend, I decided to test the waters a bit by jumping a South Ferry-bound #1 Monorail at the new Las Vegas Times Square (which is now supposedly located at Sahara and LVB), and headed toward the MGM.

Before reaching my destination I had to make a quick stop at Bally’s, yes, Bally’s again.

A homey with the world’s smallest wiener was walking to Ellis Island for lunch, and I jumped off and hung out in the Sports Book with him and his significant other for about 15 minutes.  There was no way in hell I was walking to Ellis Island, so this would have to do.  We grabbed a table at the Bally’s Sports Book, pulled out a ruler, and began measuring.

I stand corrected.  Apparently, he has the second smallest member in the world.

I have seen all of the Bally’s Sports Book I care to see for the next month. At this point, I am probably the most frequent visitor the book has seen since it has opened, and I have yet to drop a dime in the place.

I grabbed a $4.50 pretzel from a nearby stand to stave off low blood sugar, and after checking out the Bally’s pool to see if there was any tail worth photographing (very little), I once again boarded a southbound train and continued my journey.

When I got to the end of the line, I alighted the train, walked through the MGM Grand casino (which I refer to as the “belly of the beast” due to its size, dimness, and maze-like infrastructure), and headed to the NYNY pedestrian bridge.  I wanted a birds-eye view of the crowd and traffic knowing full well that I wouldn’t be in it.

Apparently, I was way too early, because there was little traffic in either direction.  I guess California is still on its way with its iPhones, gel, mousse, cologne, and tolerance.

The lack of vehicle traffic belied the crowds in the interior of the casinos, which were quite admirable for a weekday afternoon.

The first thing I did once inside was to hit my favorite weird game … Sigma Derby.

People seem confused as to why I like Sigma Derby, but the only explanation I can offer is that it is relaxing.  It is a completely mindless game which ups your idiot factor, but that’s not always a bad thing (unless you don’t know what a “lien” is or don’t know when the dealer has 21).  If ignorance is bliss, Sigma Derby is nirvana. Assuming nirvana is greater than bliss which is something of which I am not completely sure.

In this game, you simply plug a few coins into a slot, pick two horses that can’t hear a damn word you are saying, and then scream yourself hoarse as they “run” around a track.

It’s a bit of an escape, and it’s quite cheap by gambling standards.

Of course, it’s more fun when you have a good table placing bets, but today was a mixed bag.  While most of the people were cool, there was one guy at the table who gloated.  He hit a large pay on one quinella, then turned to me and shouted “In your face!”.

In my face?

What did I have to do with it?

I didn’t really say anything during the session other than “nice win” and I sheepishly laughed at other people’s jokes.

Part of me wanted to ask why my face was being “inned”, but the rest of me didn’t care, so I kind of just gave the guy a strange look and he didn’t address me again.

Since he had already shamed me for his mechanical horse victory, I guess there was nothing more to say.

Anyway, I started out with $20 in quarters, and thirty minutes later I walked away with $30.25.  Go me.

To whoever is reading this, IN YOUR FACE!

Ah, I see the appeal now.

After my resounding 50% victory at the Santa Retarded Raceway, I headed over to the Poker Room to try and make some real money.

I bought into a 1/2 No Limit game, and quickly walked into a buzz saw when my King high flush was beaten with a suited Ace.  I can’t really whine because anything other than a nut flush is a risk, and I willingly took it.

The only thing that tweaked me was when a guy at the end of the table shouted “That’s why they call it gambling!”

I swear if I had the key to this guy’s room, I would have spiked his beer with Imodium, and then I would have gone upstairs and replaced all of his suppositories with grenades.

When I become Mayor, I will pass an executive order that outlaws all gambling cliche’s from gaming rooms under penalty of execution.

If I hear “a chip and a chair” one more time from some person who thinks they are the first to utter the phrase, I can no longer be held responsible for my actions.

It probably goes without saying that I had my ass gift-wrapped and handed to me at the Poker Room today.

It happens.

That’s why they call it gambling!

I digress.

I took my beating and then called it an early day.  Sunday and Monday will be my best shot at tourist cash, and I had no intention on blowing my entire stack at what appeared to be a reasonably conservative table.

I will probably return to the MGM Poker Room and extract my revenge later in the Labor Day Weekend.

In any event, the last big weekend of the Summer is finally here, and I hope I can capitalize on a loose table somewhere in the environs of the south Strip in the next three days.

Porsche payments aren’t cheap.

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