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Twisting all the bad things into good

Oct 7, 2011

The Nitty Gritty, Part 4: Angel is a Devil

I'm going all the way down
I'm leaving today
NIN, Last


        There was nothing unusual about the gaming floor in this  nonexistent casino I had created, besides the simple fact that it only existed in my mind. I can only assume that my subconscious constructed it based on every other gaming floor I had seen. It was like walking around in a dream when you're not sleeping. Even though the lighting in casinos can never be an indicator of the time, I knew it was that time when late night begins to acquiesce to early morning. What happened next would change what used to be a Wednesday night television viewing ritual from 8-10. This was obviously before DirectTV cut my shit off a few months back for being a deadbeat. It's been barely a year, but I can't imagine ever being able to watch MindFreak without feeling a little uneasy.
        I was exploring the mysterious hallways leading away from the lobby of  the Casino Cerebellum when I saw the star of my favorite television show, the one and only Criss Angel. He was walking towards me when I said,"Criss! What's up, man?" I went on to say something along the lines of how MindFreak was my favorite show, how much of a big fan I was, blah blah blah. All the same shit that people say even if it's not their favorite show. I did mention that one of my ex-girlfriends had been a "box jumper", what people not in the industry would assume was a lesbian with commitment issues, but was in fact a "magician's assistant". I said how I thought it was pretty cool how he would pray with his mother and brothers before a dangerous illusion. He was really responsive and told me to walk with him, which I gladly did. Next thing I know, we're up in his private suite, and I found myself in the arms of the Angel. (Just kidding. I needed a personal tension breaker as I force myself to relive this crazy shit I'm about to get into.)
        We kept walking  and talking through the lobby. ( Let me reiterate, we NEVER went to his suite. Not in a hallucination, not in a dream, not in nothing)  We were getting along so I didn't feel like I was bothering him. Now, I'm no starfucker, but I have to say I was pretty stoked to be hanging out with Mr. MindFreak. Luckily, there were no other fans around to steal him away from me. He was so cool that I was able to ignore his lisp. He said something about how he has been working crazy hours now that they're filming episodes of next season's MindFreak. Realizing what a cool guy he had met, he naturally invites me to tag along to an after hours party. So, starfucker that I am, I held back my elation and accepted. It was an open area on the second floor overlooking the casino that was closed off by red velvet ropes except where we entered past security.  Once we entered, Criss started making the rounds so I walked over to some silver Stanley Cup looking thing that had streams of champagne continually streaming out of it in a fashion similar to one of those Cupid looking sculptures that continually pisses into the fountain below. I'm sure there's a name for it besides "Cupid looking sculptures that piss water", but I don't know it.  
        Never one to play coy when it comes to free champagne or any other beverage with alcohol in it that I don't have to pay for, I stopped myself from sprinting to the plastic champagne glasses and  held back from stiff arming the people standing between me and the free champagne that flowed like piss from some Cherub's tiny concrete penis.

        I enjoyed my champagne and felt a sense of peace for the first time in a long time. But that didn't last longer than 1 free drink. Criss walked over towards me as he scoped out 2 sketchy looking card counter types at the bar. I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say so for some reason I said,"So, what kind of schedule you been keeping lately?" He looked at me like I had said that David Blaine was the real rock star of the magic world. I watched this Angel of a man that I would admire for about 25 more seconds make a beeline towards these 2  security guys in suits who looked like uncredited extras from Goodfellas whose only lines ended up on the cutting room floor because they overacted and "just weren't believable". Criss puts an arm around each  failed actor and started whispering. When their little huddle broke, the 3 of them walked right over to the 2  guys at the bar. Criss suddenly mindfreaks the fuck out. As soon as the Bruise Brothers had a hold of them, City of Angels starts screaming about how he knows what they're up to. The party seems to stop as this lunatic continues to scream at these guys as they are escorted out and handed over to extra security guards outside the entrance. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking, but I imagine it was along the lines of, "Wow, Criss Angel is a fucking asshole". I realized that his greatest illusion was portraying himself as a decent human being. There was no way this guy was my favorite tv personality anymore. Then, the artist formerly known as the star of my favorite show looked over at me, standing by myself, looking all vulnerable. "THIS GUY TOO!" he screams as he points at me. Me? Here come Sammy the Barber and Lou the Icepick to drag Jimmy the Prick's ass out of the party. While they drag me out, I'm yelling, "Criss, what the fuck? I thought we were cool?" He said, "Yeah, you been watching my every step all night." 

        The Brute Squad usher me away to a secluded room and handcuff me to a metal chair. They both take off their suit jackets revealing their holstered guns. They hold me until my least favorite celebrity ever approaches." Criss, what's going on, man? " I ask, as if he just betrayed his best friend. "This is the way you treat your fans?" He gets in my face, " Why do you want to know my schedule?", he asks, trying to act all intimidating, with his goddamn lisp suddenly noticeable again. How do you talk to an Angel once you realize that said Angel is as much crime boss as he is illusionist. Confused, I remind him that he mentioned something about keeping crazy hours to me earlier. He asks me  what kind of surveillance equipment I'm using. They start aggressively patting me down like 2 gay TSA agents on steroids. Earth Angel asks me if I'm wearing an earpiece. I realize that he thinks I'm some kind of spy trying to steal his illusions. He keeps looking in my ear until I angrily ask, "What do you think I'm wearing the world's smallest earpiece?" He starts asking me who I am and tells one of his goons to check my ID.  Angels in the Outfield just continues to look at my ID like there's some kind of hologram that when you look at it just right reads "Organ Donor and Illusion Thief ". 

        One of his thugs asks Criss, "What do you want us to do with this guy?" Touched by an Angel stands there shaking his head as if he doesn't know, like he's contemplating some big decision. First I get worried that there is some kind of decision to be made, then I get really worried about how long it is taking to make that decision. I turn into a pussy quicker than you can say "sleight of hand". I was scared so I thought I would try to pull this rabbit out of my ass, "Criss,  I thought you 're supposed to be a Christian?" I remind him that he's always praying with his family before some of his illusions, hoping that I can guilt his inner Catholic  into showing some mercy. Fallen Angel says, "That shit's all for the cameras", with just as much disgust for my desperation as my naivete regarding the television industry. He asks, " Tell me something, why should I let you go?", as if that option was too ridiculous to even consider. I plead, "Criss, come on man. This is crazy. You were my favorite. I would never do anything  like that." This Angel with a filthy soul takes my ID and says he'll be back. I'm left with these glorified bouncers with a license to kill. One says, "I miss the old days when we would have just took this guy to the desert and buried him."   The other one indicates that he is also nostalgic of that simpler time.  

        Even though I had recently been romanticizing the idea of not waking up from the scattered hours of sleep I did get on occasion, I still didn't want to be murdered. I just stare at the floor, waiting for Angel of Death to return so I can learn my fate. He finally returns and gives me the obligatory Las Vegas intimidation/now get out of town speech. It worked. Without requesting an autograph or a picture together,  like some bad magic trick metaphor, I pulled my own disappearing act.

        Somehow, I found my room that I didn't know I had, and woke the twins up who I had not seen since outside the Kansas City Airport. I told them to pack their stuff before Criss Angel changed his mind and had us all killed. They sure had a lot of luggage for a trip we didn't know we were going on. They must just take it everywhere they go in case they feel like jumping on a flight to Vegas on a whim. We flew into Atlanta and they drove me home to Boca, in their car that they left at the airport in Kansas City. These girls really needed a travel agent if they were this bad at planning their little getaways.
        Once I was back in my apartment in Boca that I had never left, I was trying to put together what exactly happened in Vegas. I looked in my wallet, and was amazed to see that I still had my life savings of  30 dollars in my wallet. How did I not spend 1 dollar in Las Vegas? Maybe I broke even on table games that I didn't remember playing. I knew I had a great time, but could only remember the Criss Angel incident, and no matter how delusional I was, that wasn't my idea of  a great time.  I don't know why I was alone the whole time either. I knew that we were meeting 2 couples there. Jamie and Kelly were flying in from Florida, and Eli and Heather decided they would meet us on their way back from Hawaii. I remember thinking I must have just been so wasted I couldn't remember anything besides the Criss Angel incident. So I called Jamie. He didn't answer. I can only imagine how that conversation would have went if he did. 
        I left a message saying "Yo. Jamie. Great weekend! I was just wondering how we all decided to meet up in Vegas? I'm glad we did, but I was just trying to remember the details". 
         A few days later, I "couldn't be reached", so Jamie called Jeff and asked, "Did Jim go to Vegas? He left me a weird message". Jeff had no choice but to explain to Jaime what had happened to me. I would have loved to been three way on that phone call. 

        On Saturday night, I got a call from my friend Trevor. He was about the only one who even called me anymore. I told him that I had been in Vegas and how awesome it was. 
         I asked him, "You know who Criss Angel is?" He did. "Yo, that guy is such a dick". 


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