Pissing on a Mook

Red Rock Girl 1 300x199 Pissing on a Mook Finally, the weather is nice enough to get back to the business of running around the desert naked! I’ve been doing quite a few photo shoots lately, and I’m here to tell you: if you’ve never shot a model out in the wilderness around Vegas, you don’t know what you’re missing!! I dragged more than one poor old man around the desert over the past week or two, and guess what? They LOVED it!

I gave one guy the Deluxe Wonderhussy Tour: picked him up at the airport, drove him out to the dry lakebed, then stopped off at two other scenic locations before heading out to some red sandstone caves for sunset pics. Then we headed back into town for MORE shooting in his hotel room! It was something like a 10-hour day, and by the end of it I was exhausted…and then had to go to the nightclub afterward and dance til 3am!!!!!

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Irisphoto

The worst part of it was, I almost ran out of gas because of all that driving around! There is NO gas or cell phone service in many parts of the desert around Vegas, so on the way back from the sandstone caves, my gas light came on and I pretty much had to coast back into town on fumes. YIKES! Thankfully, I barely made it, coasting down the pass from Lake Mead into east Las Vegas and turning in at the first gas station I saw. Phew! No wonder I was so exhausted!!

Because of all that craziness, I got sick AGAIN :-/ I’ve been sick so often lately that I finally rallied my shitty insurance and went to see a doctor for some antibiotics, hoping that a Z-Pak would kill whatever’s ailing me, once and for all. I have a lot of summer adventures coming up, and I need to be in tip-top health!

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pic by Bobby Deal/Real Deal Photo

The thing that really put me over the edge into illness was, I had scheduled another hike with the guy who hired me from WhatsYourPrice.com. As mentioned in my last blog, he didn’t want to pay me a second time because he only likes to pay for novel experiences… but he offered to pay one of my girlfriends, if I could convince one of them to come along.

My friend Trixie agreed to do it, so we all met up out at Red Rock and enjoyed a medium-intensity 2-hour hike…but because I already wasn’t feeling very well, that hike kicked my ass!!! I was really dragging toward the end of it, and I’m afraid I wasn’t very good company. But Trixie is a great conversationalist, so I think the guy was happy! In any event, he paid her in cash, right up front, and after the hike she and I drove over to Red Rock Casino to break the $100 bill up. And then I went home and passed the fuck out.

I had to dance at the nightclub until 3am that night as well, and let me tell you it was rough!! I was feeling so shitty that it was a real chore to smile and dance and look alive, and then to make matters worse one of the soles of my clodhopper Frankenstein stacks fell off during my second set, and I had to dance around with one leg half an inch shorter than the other :-/ Lame!

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pic by Irisphoto

When that shift was finally over, I went home and collapsed into bed for around three days! Thankfully, I had no gigs or other fun stuff going on for a few days…so I mostly rested up. I say “mostly,” because while I was laying there I got a great idea for a new moneymaking venture, and spent a few hours each day driving around town and scouring the internet for supplies. It’s almost ready to be unveiled….and just wait till you see it! I’ll be RICH, I tells ya — RICH!!!! icon smile Pissing on a Mook

card 169x300 Pissing on a Mook Also while I was laid up, I got another amazing idea. I thought I was almost out of business cards (come to find out, I had a whole other box of them…d’oh)…so I decided to design a new card. And I had the devilishly clever idea of designing them to look like one of those hooker cards the porn-slappers hand out on the Strip!!! You know, those little cards advertising escort services, that the poor illegals flick together as you walk past them??! Many in Vegas despise the whole porn-slapping business, saying that it makes our town look terrible. Well, guess what?! Vegas is terrible — why deny it??! It’s a hotbed of sin and inequity, and that’s what people dig about it! Why not revel in it, I say? I love the porn slappers! They’re a vital part of our economy, dammit! If your’e too fucking highbrow to handle it, get your lily ass down to the Smith Center for a Yo Yo Ma circle jerk or something!!!!!!!

So I designed these fabulous cards on VistaPrint, and when they arrived I could not stop cackling with glee. I don’t know, maybe I’m immature (well, I’m definitely immature)… but I just think they’re the funniest thing ever!! I collected a bunch of the real cards to make my design extra-authentic, and I’d say I did a pretty damn good job. Hell, I’d hire me!! (And if you’re wondering what the “$150 Special” is…it’s a one-hour photo shoot. Or a kick in the balls — take your pick!)

Aaaaaaaaaanyhoo, I finally got well after taking all my antibiotics and coughing up about a gallon of sputum…and it was not a moment too soon, as my friend Fabian had a GREAT gig lined up for me. It was time for another prank!!!!

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Irisphoto

One thing about Fabian, he looooooooooves pranks more than just about anyone I’ve ever met. Last I talked to him, he was flying clear across the country, just to pie someone in the face!!! Must be nice to have that kind of pranking budget!! Anyhoo, now that he’s moved to Vegas, he has started hiring me to help execute some of his pranks…and it’s a beautiful relationship! Last month I did a fairly tame prank on some chick friend of his, where I pretended to be a flaky psychic hippie chick who kept running into her all night…but this time, he totally upped the ante.

For this latest prank, the victim was this Swiss mook he went to college with — one of those Eurotrash Ibiza-type party kids (I say “kid,” but the guy was in his early ’30s). This guy, we’ll call him “Bobby,” is your classic jet-setting party animal. He divides his time between Switzerland, France and California, and whenever he flies out to Cali, he stops over in Vegas for some hardcore clubbing.

Now meanwhile, here in Vegas pool season has officially started — which means that all those ultra-douchey daytime pool parties (they call them “dayclubs” — as in, the opposite of “nightclubs”) have fired up again. If you’ve never been to a dayclub/pool party in Vegas — CONSIDER YOURSELF LUCKY!! They are awful, insufferable affairs involving hundreds of sweaty, drunken morons packed into foul, cum-infested swimming pools…all to the incessant thudding “beats” of some half-witted European DJ or another. BEYOND lame, in other words. (For more of my scathingly witty impressions on dayclubs, see my Yelp review of TAO Beach.)

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a typical Vegas pool party. SHUDDER!

Aaaanyhoo, Bobby the Swiss Mook and his pals were all going to the douchiest pool party of them all — Wet Republic, at MGM Grand. Back in the day, ReHab at the Hard Rock was the pool party for nappy-extensioned, fake-titted, orange-skinned Vegas girls to be seen at…but after about eight or nine years of gross lewdness, that place has fallen out of favor with the In Crowd, and now Wet Republic is the place to be. I’d only been there once, back when it first opened, and in my memory it was pretty fucking bad. There was only ONE thing in this whole wide world that could get me to go back….and that’s a fabulous prank!

Fabian had the brilliant idea of having me show up at Bobby’s cabana and pretend to be a drunk, sloppy party girl…and then pretend to piss all over him!!!! We got together the day before to plan it all out: Fabian went to a medical supply store and got an IV bag with a long, clear plastic tube. We figured out a way that I could stuff the IV bag full of water into my WineRack bra flask (greatest invention ever; buy some today!), and then string the tube down the small of my back and down into my bikini bottoms, covering everything with an oversized beach t-shirt. There’s a small sort of clip/valve thing on the tube that I could easily manipulate behind my back, unleashing the torrent of “piss” onto an unsuspecting Bobby. BRILLIANT! It looked disturbingly realistic, I must say…even though Fabian didn’t want me to add any yellow food color to the water, for fear of staining Bobby’s clothing icon sad Pissing on a Mook

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Ugh.

So now I was faced with the task of going deep into enemy territory at Douche Republic. *Shudder!!!* despise nightlife/daylife (in my opinion, they should just combine the two terms into one: DOUCHELIFE) and I hate having anything to do with the whole fucking rigamarole. Simply getting in to a place like that takes upwards of an hour, what with all the ass-kissing and name-checking and line-waiting. WHY people willingly do this, I have no idea. Future generations will look back in bewilderment, I have no doubt.

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Typical Vegas pool hags

Besides all that, I was wearing an IV bag full of water in my bra — and I know how security can be at these things! They suspect (rightfully so) every halfwit coming into the party of being high on ecstasy, so they do an extra-thorough job of searching people’s bags, pockets, etc…even patting you down like at the airport, to make sure you’re not bringing any more contraband into the party with you. They checked every single pocket on this poor fool’s cargo pants in front of me — I mean, these guys are hardcore!

Fabian had arrived at the party earlier, with Bobby and his group, and he texted me every few minutes with information. It was Fabian who tipped me off to the extra-intensive security check…so I decided to dump the water out of my bra, and just fill it up once I got inside. But, where to hide the empty IV bag? I’m positive they wouldn’t allow that in — they made the poor chick in front of me surrender her umbrella (which she was using to protect herself from the searing desert sun during her hourlong wait in line, poor thing).

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Yeah, BRO!

Thankfully, I was carrying a beat-up old canvas tote bag that had a hole in the lining…and I was able to stuff the empty IV bag in through that, so that it was totally hidden from security’s prying eyes. After a mere fifteen hours of line waiting, ass-kissing and name-checking, I was finally through the gate and into the party. I headed straight for the bathroom, so I could refill and reposition the bag…and guess what, there was an endless line for that, too!

While I was waiting, Fabian came over and brought me a drink and we discussed how I could best insinuate myself with the group. Saying I was a friend of Fabian’s would be too obvious, so it was decided that my “in” would be this one poor member of the group who had a broken arm. Just like with predators on the savannah, my best approach was to get to the wounded one first, haha!

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Flotation devices

This poor kid had been asking everyone for painkillers, but no one had any. Well, Fabian scored some oxycodone from his roommate, and had been able to smuggle that into Wet Republic with astonishing ease. HA!!!!! All that security rigamarole, for nothing. DUMBASSES!!!

Anyhoo, Fabian gave me two oxycodone pills, and it was decided I’d sort of dance over and start chatting with the broken arm guy: “Aw, man, that sucks! I broke my arm last summer…I feel your pain. Do you need any painkillers?” Once I’d won him over, it would be easy to infiltrate the group and zero in on Bobby. The idea was that I would start talking about being a fetish model, and he would be intrigued and end up befriending me. Then right before I left, I would ask Bobby to take a photo of me from a low angle, so that he was below me…and I would “piss” on him. Easy enough!

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Jersey Shore rejects

Well, it all started out pretty good: I danced over to their table, chatted up the broken-arm guy, gave him an oxycodone (which, astonishingly, he took right away — an unmarked pill from a total stranger!) and earned his everlasting appreciation. Now I was able to get into their area and start dancing around, trying to attract Bobby’s attention. But that was proving really hard to do, since a)I have no tits, and b)I’m not a skanky blonde!

Bobby was totally the Alpha Male of the group, and thus was swarmed by the aforementioned skanky blondes, making it difficult to approach him. I buzzed around him for an hour, but was unable to penetrate his fortress…until finally, one of the blondes got up to pee or have a miscarriage or something, and I gained a foothold. I rubbed my “tits” (really the IV bag full of water…probably felt pretty much the same as fake tits anyway) on his back, and he finally took notice and started dancing with me. Meanwhile, Fabian was watching from a few feet away, trying not to crack up laughing. The plan was, when I got ready to “piss,” I would rub my stomach, thus giving Fabian the signal to start filming with his iPhone.

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What up, bro??!

But dammit, Bobby had the attention span of a flea, and his attention soon wandered. D’OH!! I looked at Fabian and he kind of shrugged. There was no way I was ever getting this Cock of the Walk to lay down and take a photo of me; what to do?!

Then I noticed there was a sort of chest-high clear Plexiglas counter/bar thingy for setting down your drinks, right next to where Bobby was dancing/fist-pumping…so I climbed up on top of it and started dancing near him. Now my crotch was right at his eyelevel – perfect! Before security could make me get down, I looked over at Fabian, who was trying not to die laughing, and we sort of nodded at each other: this is it!

So I released the clip on the tube running down my back, and water started trickling down my legs. It looked horrifyingly realistic! The trickle became a waterfall, and it REALLY looked like I was pissing all over the bar!!! So much so, that people all around jumped back, exclaiming, “That chick’s pissing on the bar!!!!!”

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A thug and his Bitch

Bobby backed the fuck up two seconds before Security descended on me. By that time, my bag was empty anyway, so I hopped down to face the music, trying not to crack the fuck up. I could see Fabian behind the security guards, red-faced with suppressed laughter, and that made it all worse!!

“Let me see your ID!” one of the security guards barked at me, so I went over and got my bag and fished around in it while him and his partner stood over me, glaring. I handed over my ID and said, “Wait, guys…before you go getting all mad, check it out: it’s a prank! I had an IV bag of water in my bra; that’s all it was!” I showed them the rig, but they were still mad as hell. Now more security came over, and the one guy explained to his supervisor that it was just a prank. So now I showed him the IV rig, and the other guy handed my ID card back…and then Fabian came over and whispered in my ear “Make a run for it!!! They’re PISSED!!!!!!”

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Why?

So I grabbed my bag and got the hell out of there — straight out the door, away from the mooks and douches and thudding oonce-oonce-oonce music, back to my car and blessed peace and quiet. But it wasn’t quiet for long — I could not stop cracking the fuck up, laughing!!! It was GREAT!!!!! Unquestionably one of the greatest pranks I’ve ever helped pull off. I may have to order NEW business cards now that say “prankster,” in fact!!!!

So anyhoo, I went home and kinda laid low after that. Fabian invited me to come out later and meet Bobby and the rest of them (Bobby had figured out it was a prank, since Fabian had already told him he was moving to Vegas to start a pranking company…duh!)…but alas, Bobby and his pals were the type of jet-set partiers who rage all day, then sleep til 2am and go out for afterhours. And there was no way I was staying up til 2am just to go meet up with them!!

Anyway, that prank was by far the highlight of my week…although a close second was a few days later, when I went out on my friend’s boat on Lake Mead with some of the crew from the Def Leppard show that’s here in town. (Does that not sound like a 1988 timewarp?) One of the guys said he’d hook a girlfriend and me up with tickets, so next week I’m gonna go rawwwwwk the fuck out at DEF LEPPARD, lol!!! Does the fun ever stop???? Hell, no!

*A note on photos: the pool party photos I used here are from ReHab back around May ’08…the last time I was unfortunate enough to set foot in that lamentable fucking mess. But you get the idea….Wet Republic 2013 is basically exactly the same shit.

About wonderhussy

I am a foul-mouthed, flat-chested bon vivant and adventuress who likes to curse, drink, smoke and run around nude, and I refuse to kow-tow to the bourgeois moral code of the day. I’ve lived in Vegas over ten years, and have a few stories to tell. I roll around town in a truck stocked with a Breathalyzer and a swizzle stick, a spare pair of panties and two stun guns. Don’t fuck with me!
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4 Responses to Pissing on a Mook

  1. Kraut says:

    Awesome post, Sarah! That was a great prank! I love the pix, too. Were there people still wearing Ed Hardy at Wet 2013? I hope so. If not, I’d have to hate them just a little less. :)

  2. Tatiana says:

    OMG that is funny! I would had been so scared when the security demanded your id. And FYI I never once made it to one of those douchy parties, you named it right – DOUCHE Republic. Love the pics and the descriptions.
    And although I think your idea with the porn cards is very funny and great, I personally think that the porn slappers have to go. I have a hard time with that, although I strip I am a fierce feminist. I find that stuff degrading to say the least. Not YOUR card, the others. Good luck with your new money making idea!

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