You know, I’m always ready to support new placements of gambling devices, because it’s good for the industry, and I’m all about what’s good for the industry.
But some of the mixing and matching of gambling with strange venues lately has me questioning if the ventures will be successful.
For instance, slots in strip clubs.
Commissioners in Clark County, Nevada, home to all of our favorite Las Vegas casinos, are looking into changing a 42-year-old regulation that says strip clubs and other “adult-oriented businesses” are “unsuitable for the conduct of gaming.” The ordinance was passed in 1980, before I ever set foot in a casino (or a strip club, for that matter).
The issue came up because Sapphire, an enormous nightclub location that happens to feature adult entertainment, requested an exemption to the no-slots-at-strip-clubs rule.
“Why are they prohibited in strip clubs?” asked one commissioner after the request.
I can’t answer that, but neither can I answer another question that pops up:
Why would a strip club want them?
Oh, right. They make money. But so does exotic dancing. I’m picturing exotic dancers exotic-ing away, flailing around, gyrating to music under flashing lights… and no one paying them a bit of attention, because the customers are all locked into holding and spinning and climbing bonus ladders and picking for progressive jackpots.
“Hey! Over here!”
“I’m wrapped around this damn pole!”
OK, for you strip club owners, here’s the only way it works. Put a screen-in-screen image of the dancers on each slot monitor, with a common bonus: Pick from a field of icons (garters, feathers, whatever) to reveal one of the dancers. Reveal three images of the same dancer. You get a prize, and a cash voucher prints out. That’s the dancer’s tip.
(Just so you know, I’ve filed a patent for this.)
I know. What’s the point of having exotic dancers if you want everyone’s attention fixed on slot screens? And if you’re paying for the machines, that’s what you want. You might as well have a regular casino.
Maybe they can dance on top of the machines. Hey, in the old days, they used to park convertibles and speedboats up there as prizes. Why not have Mandi up there doing her thing?
“Thanks, Mandi. Here’s a cash-out ticket!’
While strip-club owners ponder those possibilities, grocers in Ohio are pondering taking sports bets. Kroger and Acme have both applied for licenses from the state to place sports betting kiosks in their supermarkets. So, grocery lists will now look like this:
√ Bengals plus 6
I’m waiting for them to start putting betting kiosks at the McDonald’s drive-through.
(In fact, I’m going to file a patent for that idea, too.)
Moving on from the gaming device to food, I think I’m changing my name to George. Or, maybe, Jorge.
That way, I can eat for free at the Downtown Grand in Las Vegas. They have a restaurant there called the Triple George Grill, and they’re now offering the “George Lunch,” free to anyone who can verify their first name is George. That gets you the Single George—half a sandwich, choice of side, soup or salad, a soft drink and a small dessert.
If you’ve got two Georges in your party, you get two George Lunches. Three? The Triple George—three George lunches plus a choice of crab cake, shrimp cocktail or fried calamari, plus bottled sparkling water.
This is all to celebrate the 17th anniversary of the Triple George Grill. You can even celebrate if yours is a George-less party. Non-Georges who order the George Lunch get it for $20, and get a $50 match bet coupon. Or, for $200, get the 64-ounce tomahawk ribeye and a match-bet coupon.
Sixty-four ounces? Better line up a few Georges, or even Bernies, to help you eat it. George the EMT might also be a good idea.
(Come on, you knew that was coming at some point.)
In other foodie news, since you’re already downtown, you can bop over to the D and go to Bacon Nation. That’ a 24/7 restaurant celebrating the porcine staple. You can pick from around 60 bacon dishes there, including Elvis-themed peanut butter and bacon sandwiches, milkshakes with candied bacon added, and a “reverse BLT,” with “woven bacon strips” replacing the bread.
And you don’t even have to be named George, although you might want to bring along George the EMT to this place, too.
Geez, I’m a little queasy even thinking about all that bacon.
I think I’ll head to the strip club and play some slots. Then, on to the McDonald’s drive-through to lay down a bet on the Steelers.
What a wonderful world.