It all started
with a trip out west. Harlan and I were in the men's room of seedy
casino in downtown Las Vegas, Nevada. After about 2 beers, we
headed for the men's room so that I could releive myself, and
Harlan could begin vomiting as usual. We were down nearly 50 dollars
and my palms were already starting to sweat. We stepped up to
the wall on each side of an average looking Latino genleman, who
we would later find out was one of the greatest men to have ever
I'm pretty embarrased in public bathrooms and I almost literally
climb into those wall mounted urinals to make it impossible for
anyone to get a glimpse at my grotesquely underdeveloped penis.
Not like I think anyone wants to see it, but everybody looks,
and I can sometimes hear their snickering as they glance over
at mine, and then relax with confidence. It's really tough not
to sneek a peek, especially when you're standing right next to
a guy like this so I faked a yawn and, leaning my head back, took
a quick look at what was going on next to me. I couldn't beleive
my eyes. Sanding there, with both hands on his hips, a good two
feet away from the urinal, staring straight at me, was Lance.
All 14 inches of his enormous, uncircumcised, Columbian member
in plain view. He looked down his nose at me and nodded as if
to say, "That's right, little man. Look all you want. How
could anyone be self concious with a tool like this?" I couldn't
beleive it. I still feel like less of a man today after having
seen it, and this was only the beginning.
We follwed him around the casino for about an hour. He was throwing
thousands of dollars around like it was nothing, guzzling vodka
like water with beautiful women on each arm and at least 9 more
slipping him their phone numbers as I watched. He immediately
became my idol. I was in awe of him.
He wore a rust-brown suede jacket and tight fitting black pants.
He had on one of those silk shirts with the really big collar
that you wear with the top three buttons undone. The kind that
only really cool guys can wear with a lot of gold chains and a
pair of cowboy boots with the pointy toe and the stailess steel
tip. The guy even had on one of those pimp hats with the huge
brim. If I tried to wear something like that, i'd get my ass kicked.
He just strutted around in this getup like he dresses like that
every day. He had rings on each finger that were each about the
size of a matchbox car. They were made of gold and diamonds in
the shapes of all different letters; an L, a K, an F. I would
later discover what those letters spelled, and it would change
my life forever.
must have been obvious that I was watchng him. I followed him
around like some kind of lost puppy with my mouth gaping open
in amazement. He was invinceable. Men cringed, and women swooned
as he slammed down stack after stack of 1000 dollar chips at the
craps table. It didn't matter if he won or lost, he always had
that look on his face. It was that same on I had seen in the men's
room. Sort of a half smirk, half snarl of confidence.
After a while,
I completely lost Harlan. I found him later behind a dumpster
covered in gravy with his pants around his ankles. I have no idea
how he got there and he still won't tell me what happened.
his way out of the casino, Lance passed by me. He had two women
with him, a fat cigar in his right hand and a fifth of Chivas
Regal in his left. He looked right at me and in the deepest voice
I had ever heard he said two words; "Lucky Surf". My
blood ran cold.
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