AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s a selfie of us standing cheek to cheek. Behind us is a place called Dick’s Last Resort.
Up next is a video. In it, Art punches out a waiter while yelling something about being rude to his fiancée.
Oh, boy. I think I’ve heard of Dick’s Last Resort. It’s a place where waiters are dicks to you as a gimmick. Art was clearly too drunk to get that bit.
At least he didn’t get arrested. I mean, I assume he didn’t, since we’re here and not in the local jail.
The next video is of us in a gondola at the Venetian.
And, of course, how could we not fall into the water midway through it?
Art glances at me, and my face burns at the video-me’s clumsiness. Though, to be fair, video-Art is just as bad—and he’s supposed to be the graceful one.
On the next stop of our misadventure, we’re still wet from the impromptu swim, and on top of that, I seem to be crying. It soon becomes clear as to why. We’re inside Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition.
I’m not going to cry now, obviously, but let’s all agree—Jack could’ve fit on that door next to Rose. He totally could have.
“Delete that, please,” I say with a slight hiccup, and Art does so.
The Mob Museum is next, and after that, we take turns shooting an Uzi at the Gun Store—probably inspired by our prior excursion.
Wow. Capitalism. To give two people as drunk as us guns—the mind boggles.
Next is the store where we got the gas mask—and a video of Art giving a slurred explanation as to why we bought it. Apparently, a guy farted in an elevator we were in, and my knight in shining armor wanted to protect me from having to smell that foulness again.
Yep. I’m still wearing the wet dress and the gas mask in the next two museums.
Art doesn’t need my prompting to delete all evidence of that.
In a video that follows, we look drier, and I’m holding the mask, so that’s good. The problem is, I’m not any more sober, so I heckle a poor magician we must’ve met somewhere by telling him that my sister Gia is so much better than he is.
Art flips through the recordings quicker.
In one, we’re French-kissing at the Atomic Testing Museum—because with enough vodka in your veins, even radiation is sexy. In the next, we’re buying a flogger at a sex store and calling it a venik throughout.
I sneak a look at Art. He’s grinning. I wish I felt the same.
Where is that flogger now? No clue. But it wasn’t the only stop of that sort. The next set of pics is at the Erotic Heritage Museum, and in many, I look to be taking excessive notes.
Skunk. Did I tell Art about my blog? More importantly, is there evidence left on his phone that could remind him?
So far, no. The Erotic Heritage Museum visit is only in pictures, no videos, thank goodness.
“I think this is the big event,” he says and starts a video.
Yep.
We’re on a ship at Treasure Island, looking as happy as two clams in a vegan restaurant. The officiant is a female Elvis, of course, and the witnesses are dressed like… umm …exotic dancers, male and female.
“I recognize some of them,” Art says, following my gaze. “Former ballet dancers.”
Great. Until now, I was only worried about his access to ballerinas. Turns out, he’s got strippers at his beck and call as well.
When the ceremony begins, we’re slurring words so badly our vows are hard to understand—but I do catch myself saying something about him keeping me as horny as Samantha. His vows are in Russian (I assume), so I only understand a single word: kislik.
Is it weird that I feel touched, despite the clusterfuckery of the ceremony?
Art’s face is unreadable as he watches, so this is probably just a financial transaction to him.
