(which isn't to say that we've actually done anything *bad* so far...Team FTW has actually been on remarkably good behavior)

We've been in Sin City since Thursday night and have yet to get arrested or rolled by any hookers. Hell, we haven't even broken anything yet.

Baaad Team FTW. For shame.

I blew $60 at the Pai-Gow table with Surge and Sven yesterday morning, before taking a break for some lackluster Meh-sican food. Washed down with a unimpressive margarita.

It must be a Bakersfield thing. One of the few benefits of living in Southern California. We've got so many decent Espanol-enabled restaurants that I guess we get spoiled by our hometown extensive menus and Herculean margaritas.

Because really, margaritas everywhere else kind of suck.

Except for the ones down in Meh-sico, which are okay.

For dinner, we all (foolishly) agreed to meet at Margaritaville, a Jimmy Buffet-themed joint whose margaritas rather sucked. Surge and I found Sven at around 1930, and inquired about the wait time to get a table.

"Probably an hour," Sven told us.

"And then they'll page us?" I asked him.

"No, in an hour, they'll give me a pager."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He wasn't. Sometime around 2045, we got the pager. Sometime around 2130, we were seated. Sometime around 2200, we got our food.

Now, the way I see it, if I'm going to wait at a restaurant for two hours before even being seated, Bobby Flay himself had better be at the grill, serving us seared chunks of Emeril's asshole. In an oyster-sauce. Benihana-style.

And David Blaine had better be there in the corner, encased in ice. While balancing on top of a pole. While doing a David Blaine-esque card trick.

David Blaine: "*shiver* J-Jb...i-is this your d-d-d-driver's license number *shiver*? I-i-it's t-t-tattooed on my a-ass!"

Jb: Damn, this Emeril sure is greasy!

Bobby Flay: *climbs onto the counter and stands on his cutting board*

As it turns out, there were none of the aforementioned bells and whistles. What I got was a waitress who never once refilled my water, a plate of cold, stale fries, and a veggie patty on a bun that would have been stale, except that it had been sitting in some unnamed fluid that caused it to be soggy.

And several more bad margaritas.

Cheeseburger in paradise, my ass.

-Jb
CEO FTW, Inc.
05.27.06