Thursday, April 5, 2012

Matt "eeee"


I was peeing.   That's what I was doing.

Over in the southeastern- most corner of the Motorcity casino hotel, level 1.  Not actually in the corner obviously, but in the restrooms all the way in the back, right next to the bar.  The biggest bar, in fact, between their multi- levels of Gaming floors.

That's when one of those ultra euphoric, phantasmagoric feelings hit me.  You know the ones I mean?  Insta chills, hair on the back of your neck stands straight- up style of feelings.  Heart flutterations.  Weak in the knees, weak in the gut.  A little bit o' off- center there, in the back by your butt.

Tummy tulti-mations mofeeeeasy!   That's the type exactly.  Like an f'ing Cirque de Solei troop is performing their saturday night routine somewhere down in there.

Why?  Because there was a drawing going on...  A promotion.  A Pro-miggity motion bitches.  Free money in the air...   Free money, in the City of DEEEEtroit!

Thats right.  Swipe your card between 2 and 6 pm every friday in February.... and BOOM!  Your ass was entered.   Entered BRO!    Just like that.

Sweepstakes style.  Name's in a drum.  20 lucky recipients would leave the Big Corner Bar that night with between $500 to $5,000 more dollars than they had wandered over here with.  3 minutes to claim it, a life- time to frame it.

But it's 7:38pm, and the drawings had started at 7.   It was taking flipping forever. 

I was sure I had missed my allowed 3 orbits of absenteeism at the poker table that I'd left to come up here.  Maybe if they were playing slow?  An all-in on every hand?  A good long think between every street? 

No.  Impossible.  Surely when I arrived back in the poker room and glanced towards my empty chair, my chips would be bagged and flagged for receivership upon identication over at the Cage.

But fuck it.  The drawing.  Free money.  In the city of Deeetroit bitches.   Hell, you never know.   These are how all good stories find their roots...  or at least, how they tend to begin.

But I had to pee.   Bad.   Really bad.   The beers I had polished off upon my arrival were seeking asylum somewhere outside the Motherland.

"Da, Da the motherlundLund of the czars, Mothaaar Russia!" I chuckled to myself in an idiot Russki accent as I glanced down in mild amusement at my own pee stream. 

"Gone Vasili!"  I continued to myself,   "Gone from this place of Snow, Harsh cigarettes, and Stermfeisted Vodka!"


Quick pause.

I glance nervously at the old guy peeing two urinals away.  As always, I'm suddenly paranoid that I had spoken aloud some part, or even all of my little muse.  

This time it was the Russians talking their shit up in my head.   Last pee was a friggn' Aussie, arguing with a Swede.   "W.T.F Mate?"

Aaaaand phew!  It's a full 1.5 seconds of raw tension passage before I'm satisfied.

I hadn't...  it appeared.... spoken aloud, or at least if I had, this particular gentleman chose not to acknowledge that a total stranger was standing off to his port side, conversing with his pee stream in a Russian accent.

I grinned like an ass at myself, then continued...

"Fine Zen!   Vladimir Robinivich of Chelyabinsk, and all that is ruutten in the potato making Lunds of God's sweet- nectered Vvvvudka!  YA Defectin' ass of an ox, yaaa leeetle...!"  

And that's when abruptly, this somewhat heated conversation between me and my 55 seconds of urination came to a screeching hault.   

Somewhere just outside the bathroom they'd called the name of the $5,000 winner.... And it sounded like Matt eeeee.  <---  The f'ing "eeee" sound was unintelligible though.  

What?  Come again?  Speak LOUDER promotions lady...  oh caller of the show!   It could have been anything she had said.   Damnit.  Damnit! 

"Matt G????   Or was that Matt E?   Did they just call a Matt f'ing B?"  I shouted at the gentleman 2 urinals down, who earlier, may or may not have heard me arguing with my defecting army of pee droplets.

And....  He ignored me!  No response from the old bastard.

Fucker.  Or maybe he wasn't a fucker...  It's possible he was just in deep conversation with himself and his own pee stream, and didn't hear me.  In an Indian accent maybe?  Far- fetched?   Yes.   But there are people in the world that do such things...


I half-assed my hand washing duties and broke into a light jog.   I had to get to a TV screen to find out what that last initial was of the lucky bastard they'd just called.  

"Matt."   I DID indeed hear that tiddly- bit of info plain as day when it came off the intercom.

"Da, Da... Vvvvell surely they've got the first name righ..."

"Ah Piss off Vasili!!!  Ya bloody wanker.  Not Now!"  I told the Russky in my head, using my Brit voice this time before the former got any further.   "Ya bloody Vodka guzzling mum- bugger you."

But he had a point.  The Russki did.  Your first name getting called was almost half the battle wasn't it?  And after that, it was just lining up that last initial and confirming the last four #'s on your player's club card.   Then....  BOOM!   Cash in the bank,  up in the city of DEEEEtroit Bitches! 

The nearest TV was right outside the bathroom, up overhead.  I missed it though.   Instead, I was steering my dashing body to the one waaaaaay over yonder by the craps tables.  At least 60 yards to the north.

It was the first one I glimpsed upon bathroom exi-tation.  But there were people everywhere,  and they were blocking my f'ing path.

1st in the way was a meandering cattle herd.   Giii-Hi-normously fat Laquisha, Shanice, and Lashanda.  Ohhh shit.  And so I dodged to the right like a bullet, lickety split!

To the Right.... and right into a Big White Bastard Cowboy Hank type in his "tacky as fuck" white- ass cowboy boots with pink encrusted tassly frumpets.   The cigar he was smoking nearly put my eye out. 

"Move!   MOVEEEE!!!!"  I now screamed within my head.  "Clear the damn path ya A-Holes!  Possible winner coming through here!  I got nearly one-half of this big girl all locked up.... and I gots to get through to see what letter that "eeee" sound they had announced stood for!

Stealthly, like a bull- semen drinking Panther on horse steroids, I dodged past Cowboy Hank with a hard maneuver to the left.

"STAAARBOARD HOOOOPER!!!  AIN'T YA WATCHIN' IT?????"  I could hear Quint from the movie Jaws reverbrating through my skull, frantically directing me onward...  


I turned her, hard.  Staaaarboard side, but the ship heaved up short two seconds later...

"WHEEL.....OF..... FORTUNE!!!"  I got screamed at, right in my face.


Skull fuggerishness, and damnit to hell!   Maybe I could squeeze behind...

BUT NOOO!!  There was no room to squeeze behind the blaring machine and it's Geriatic user.   Not 1 ft., not 6 inches or 4....  just  98 yr. old Trudy in her motorized chair.

Frenzied,  Frazzled and fuckheaded I glared, if this was just a casual loop I wouldn't have cared.

I reversed my course with the speed of a jackal, careful not to spill my drink, not even a spackle.

Enough of the rhyming, you idiot, you doof, I had to get to the television on the far side, and I was being aloof.

Careful.  Careful!

My path now reversed, I plotted new course, cuz if I knocked over a waitress I'd feel like the ass of a horse.

In my head, a Dutchman was screaming...

"If we win this one brother, In my pants i'll be creaming!"

I reached the TV with just a minute to spare, but then glanced up at it, with a heartbroken glare...

MATT "C".      ID# 970652108. 

It read. 

Now.   It pains me to say it, I wish i'd thought something else Instead, But I wished ol' Matt "C..."

...would get stampeded by promotion- folk....  and flattened til dead!

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