Category Archives: Friendship

The King and I

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I met Larry at a casino bar off Boulder Hwy.  While it wasn’t exactly the strip, it was good enough for a washed up 40 something year old guy with a Peter Pan complex.  Larry was cool, not in the tons of friends/success/money/women sense, more in the slicked-back hair, fonzie, jukebox-elbowing, “later daddio” sense.  I swear this dude was made out of pomade and Old Spice, somehow shaped very carefully into a 5’3 mid 20’s guy.  I should probably mention this kid is an Elvis impersonator.  Hey it’s Vegas and this kid looked like he had been here 40 years instead of the 4 years he said he had been here.  So back to the casino bar.  Larry was on the small stage in the smoky lounge doing hound dog or blue suede shoes or some other Elvis tune, I don’t know I’ve never been a huge fan.  I was trying my hardest to pick up the delightful and voluptuous Natalie, a cocktail waitress who was probably half my age and just playing along for a bigger tip.  I had a bigger tip for her but she wouldn’t take my number, damn corporate policy bullshit.  Larry’s act kept drawing her eye as I kept dreaming of the top button of her skin tight uniform shirt popping off freeing the lovely twins beneath. (Sorry a bit of a one track mind since my bitch of a wife ran off with my mechanic last year.)  Finally I diverted my attention to the convincing performance by this young buck and I swear I saw Natalie, my sweet Natalie, swoon.  Yes, swoon, like all the women my mother’s age did when the King himself performed.  I knew my chances were shot and decided to order a shot of tequila and a gin and tonic extra lime.  Fuck it, I might as well get drunk. 
A few hours went by, a few more sexy cocktail waitresses avoided my drunken advances, a lot more tequila was consumed, and there sat the King and I.  He must have told me his name a thousand times but I just kept calling him the King.  He must have felt honored by it because he blushed a bit whenever I did.  We sat around for hours, talked about the pretty women, sang a few songs together in that smoky musty old casino lounge.  One of the bartenders apparently got a video or us doing Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay”, that I give the credit for that one to my friend Jose Cuervo.  I think I must have gotten the King pretty intoxicated because when I said fuck it let’s go to Mexico he actually agreed.  I was drunk as the worm at the bottom of the tequila bottle, Larry was hammered, even puked in the casino parking lot but off we were. 
I was going 100 mph down the interstate, with a beer in my hand swearing we wouldn’t be too late.  Larry was singing Elvis songs at the top of his lungs and blowing kisses at truckers.  We got pulled over somewhere in Arizona and ended up in a holding cell with 3 drunk Mexicans and a kid crying about never even seeing weed before in his life.  I don’t know who Larry is or was or is related to but we were released the next day, all charges dropped and given vouchers for breakfast at someplace called Lou’s Breakfast Barn.  Fucking hell, Larry, you really are the King!
The King and I carried on for a week, drinking, flirting with senoritas, and singing, caution set aside for adventure and hopes of a hot mexican romance.  Of course none of the senoritas wanted this old geezer but I was content living vicariously through Larry.  Eventually Larry had to go back to Vegas, I had to go back to my studio in Anaheim, and life needed to return to normal but I’ll never forget, my week in Mexico, just the King and I.

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