The Other Stall

I woke up in a haze on Sunday morning in my hotel room at Bally's. Usually, this isn't abnormal considering what the fuck I did on Friday night, then again on Saturday. I really gotta stop these Vegas 10+ hours of drinking bullshit. I'm not 21 anymore and I need to stop acting like I am. This is the part where I say some stupid shit like, "YOLO," but I want to keep my fans so I'll shy away from making a complete fucking ass out of myself.

Reeking of vodka, tequila, whiskey, what tasted like pizza, some birthday cake, cinnamon and a cigar, I needed to get food. REALLY FUCKING BAD. See, being 34 years old, this whole, "time to rally" shit doesn't work anymore. At least on me. The only thing that works the same now and when I was 21, is my Guamaconda...that's cock for you folks who have no fucking clue what I'm talking about. But that's for another time and another story.

Check-out time was around noon and with about 4 hours to kill, I went to some restaurant inside the hotel/casino...btw - don't ever eat at Bally's. Their food taste like something you could get out of a dumpster and a bum's asshole. But I digress...

As breakfast arrives at my table, I'm eating my food when all of the sudden it hits me:

THE BUBBLE GUTS.

Now, I know what you're all thinking..."J, not another infamous "J done shit his pants again" story, is it? Bro, control your asshole." No, no...it's fucking worse. Way worse. Keep reading.

I excuse myself from the table and dart straight to the goddamn restroom...ass cheeks clinched so tight, as I was walking, my motherfucking knees weren't even bending. Y'all know exactly what I'm fucking talking about too. Stop laughing.

I finally get to a stall and start to shake like a crackhead having withdrawals trying to put the toilet seat cover around the toilet. It was like I was having a fucking seizure and my hands along with my body couldn't sit still. I finally take a seat and unleash what was probably the next world war...but in the goddamn shitter. I had no fucking shame as I sat there yelling "God forgive me" while tears were running down my face because I forgot I ate way too many jalepeno's with my nachos at Senor Frogs the day before. At one point, I'm almost positive the bathroom attendant started reciting Hail Mary's and Our Father's because he thought an exorcism was going down in the stall he was mopping in front of.

The dust finally clears and my body calms down after what felt like the fight scene from Brave Heart was going on from my anus to the toilet for 10 goddamn minutes. As I sat there wiping the alcoholic sweat from my forehead and tears from my eyes, a guy comes flying into the bathroom and hits up the handicap stall next to me. Within seconds this guy is puking his brains out. And when I say puking, I mean, this dude sounded like a sea lion getting murdered in front of a thousand other sea lions just chillin'. That's how loud this motherfucker was.

Knowing I wasn't done dropping the heat, I sat there and was laughing at the fact it's not even 9am and this fucking dude is wasted and puking his brains out and saying shit that sounded like a baby looking for it's mom's titty. The worst part, when he was yacking with great vengeance and furious anger, he was hitting everything BUT the toilet. That's when shit got real...

Hands on my face, still pondering life and why I drink the way I do while in Vegas, I began to hear a pitter patter of puke approaching my feet and flip flops. Knowing this was the case, I pull my feet up as high as I possibly can but the fucked up part is while I'm doing that, dookie is flying out of my asshole like a roller coaster screaming down from the highest point. This was all way too fucked up.

He's puking like the exorcist, I'm trying to do fucking yoga while shit is machine gunning out of my anus and the bathroom attendant is cussing in Spanish at both of us because it's a complete shit show at this moment in time. It was so fucked up that at one point, I got a cramp so bad in my leg that as I go to put both feet down to stretch my leg out, this dude yacks towards my stall and my feet get hosed with something that resembled 3 days worth of Guinness and way too much beef stroganoff for a single human being to ever fucking consume. I know, I know..."J, why the fuck does this ALWAYS happen to you?! Like, all the fucking time?!" No fucking clue BUT why do any of you people care? You're laughing as y'all are picturing this fuckery in your head, right? You're welcome.

The bathroom stall is a mess, the bathroom attendant is pissed and there I am with a loaf hanging from my asshole with puke on my fucking feet. I saddle the fuck up, wipe like a big boy and as I leave, security comes and hauls off the dude who is so fucked up that I'm pretty sure he passed out puking. I head for the sink to wash my feet and flip flops because at that moment in time, I wasn't trying to be that fucking guy that motherfuckers stare at and say, "That fucking dude smells awful. Did he just puke on his fucking feet?!" At the sink, I'm scrubbing my feet and flip flops with no fucks to give when the bathroom attendant looks at me and says, "Senor, I so sorry that man puke in your stall. It sound like you not doing so good either. Ju ok? Vegas loco, pelon. Haha!"

I took one good look at this man and laughed. I said, "Senor, if you only knew the luck I have as a human being, all this fucking shit would look normal to you. Sorry about your bathroom brother. Here's a tip for your troubles."

It's never a dull moment in Vegas. Never a dull moment.