V & I met up for a four-day, three-night stay in Vegas. No hubby, no kid and three comped spa treatments each. Food, drinks, antacid, fun. Legendary.
A couple days before departing, I read this story about people renting motorized wheelchair/scooters (like the Rascal) in Vegas because they are too lazy to walk a million miles down The Strip to get their next gigantic frozen daiquiri in a yard-long plastic Eiffel Tower or Stratosphere replica. Lazy fucks. Grab a taxi like the rest of us or go join the Midwesterners on the sidewalk. That got me thinking (and drinking) and talking with V. We decided we needed to Rascal-jack someone. Not the healthy but lazy folks. No, we wanted to jack a person who really needed it since we would have a better chance of out running them due to disability or age. We really wanted a Rascal of our own and decided that the elevator would be our best bet for a successful Rascal-jacking. Just get in, then push the person out of the Rascal and exit on the next floor, leaving the Rascalee laying in the elevator unable to follow. Of course we would hit the button for the top floor giving us just a little more time to elude capture before the Rascalee could claw to the emergency phone. But alas, no Rascal riders ever fell prey to our deviously simple plan. But damn if we didn't laugh until Bailey's shot out of our noses every time we passed a Rascal in the casino.
Legendary. More stories to follow.