Vegas Moments: Ricky the Pussy Eater

These bitches had really firm knockers.
--Ricky the Pussy Eater

There's no way any recap can accurately capture the insanity and jolity that was my trip to Las Vegas for the Winter Classic II. Rather than post a blow-by-blow, or any type of chronological recap of the trip, I thought I'd just pick some of the more interesting moments to write about over the next few days, starting with a cab ride from the Orleans to IP that I shared with Joaquin, Donkeypuncher, Drizz, and Performify. It was a sort of reverse "Taxicab Confessions" that began innocently enough. Our driver, Ricky, asked where we were from.

"There's a whole bunch of us," Donkeypuncher said. "We're from all over the place."

"Hey man, where are you from?" Joaquin asked.

"Mexico," Ricky answered. That was immediately followed by a smooth, rapid stream of Spanish from Joaquin. Ricky sputtered that his Spanish sucked and that he didn't want to offend the rest of us by speaking a language we couldn't understand. Joaquin told him not to worry about it, that we were a bunch of "putos" anyway, and happily struck up a conversation about the soccer team of the driver's hometown, ignoring my instruction to "besa mi culo".

Donkeypuncher, not one to miss an opportunity to spin a web of bullshit (damn shifty asians), shifted the conversation away from central Mexican soccer teams. "We're in town to celebrate. One of our friends is joining the priesthood!"

"Yeah, it's this guy back here." Joaquin jerked a thumb in the direction of a very surprised Drizz, seated in the back to my left. I made a joke about getting Drizz a hooker in the cab. The exact words are lost to me, but it included a reference to Bang Bus (NSFW, but I'm sure you can imagine what it is). That opened the floodgates for Ricky, our driver.

"I've seen some shit here. This one time, I saw this bitch making these weird motions in a car ahead of me, but I couldn't see what she was doing. I pulled along side her car, and this bitch was getting fingered!" He took his right hand off the wheel and made the appropriate two-finger hand gesture to visually describe what he had witnessed, as if the five thirty-something year old men in the car couldn't visualize it for themselves. (Donkeypuncher has pointed out to me that one of us was about to join the priesthood, so I suppose a visual reference was not entirely out of line.)

"I had some girls in the cab with me, and while I was watching, I showed it to them. They thought it was really gross."

Ricky's tales didn't end there, though. As we laughed at his outlandishness, he proceeded to tell the story of two black women who were drunk and didn't have enough money for cab fare. They offered him flashes of their "knockers" if he'd take them back to their hotel. He collected his fare before reaching the hotel by pulling to the side of the road, where the "bitches" showed him their "knockers". He asked if he could "feel them" and "suck on them". Of course, because Ricky is such a stud, they agreed.

"These bitches had really firm knockers." At this point, I was physically biting my tongue in an effort to try to keep from busting a gut.

Why stop at their knockers? Next Ricky asked if he could "suck their pussies". The "bitches" asked him if he was any good at it. Remember, Ricky is a massive stud. Of course he's good at it! They agreed, and one at a time he "fingered them and sucked on their pussies".

"The pussies of these bitches tasted like fresh oysters," he said. "It was so good, but after a while I smelled like sushi, you know?" Ricky, it seemed, was afraid the "smell of sushi" would alert his girlfriend to the fact that he'd been collecting more than just money during his shift. But really, what's a few STDs between significant others?

"Dude, you went home to your girlfriend after that?" I asked. That's me -- the voice of reason and morality even while we're all in the midst of a gigantic pack of lies and knee deep in bullshit.

"Yeah man. Why not?"

"I hope you didn’t wash your hands and gave her a dirty sanchez. This all isn’t worth it unless you did," said Donkeypuncher. Sadly, the concept of a "dirty sanchez" was lost on Stud Ricky.

Ricky concluded our ride by telling us how he could get us girls any time we wanted, and that if we were interested in going to any clubs, all we had to do was give him a call. He made Joaquin take his phone number, telling Joaquin to enter his name as "Ricky. Ricky the Pussy Eater."

"Yeah man. We'll be sure to give you a call. By the way, I call bullshit on your stories."

As Ricky pulled away from the IP after letting us out, we all looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"That's getting written up," Drizz said.

"Oh yes," I agreed.

--

Random aside: anyone else suffer any sleep paralysis since returning from Vegas? I just had my first episode in over two years during a post-work nap on the couch with the cat on my chest. There was a brief moment where I thought this might be the end (extreme fear / fear of death is common with episodes of sleep paralysis), and I'd be the subject of a cat-eats-owners-face post on Clareified. Yes, on my potential deathbed, all I can do is think about the fact that one of my friends might wind up mocking me on her site. She'd do it, too. She's evil that way.