I should have realized that our Vegas trip was doomed when I referred to Siegfried and Roy as Sigmund and Freud while driving into town. I know what Dr. Freud would say about this Freudian slip. He’d conclude that I want to have a foursome with Siegfried, Roy and one of their fluffy white tigers. That’s okay. Freud was pretty much full of shit.

The truth is that my mixed-up Freudian slip was an omen. This trip to Vegas was destined be a very mixed-up affair. I’ve since realized that every trip to Vegas is destined to be mixed-up. That’s the nature of the place. It brings out the vilest in people.

Las Vegas is like a twisted Disneyland for adults. You know how Disneyland has those actors who dress up as Disney characters and walk around posing for pictures? Vegas has something similar. It has real people who look like cartoon characters. These haggard ghouls probably won’t pose for pictures, but they will walk around reeking of stale urine and payroll-advance stores. I suggest avoiding these Las Vegas zombies. They’ll eat your brains. They’ll also beg you for a few dollars so they can guzzle cups of discount bubbly in one of Vegas’ many champagne breakfast buffets.

Yes, Vegas actually has champagne buffets. You can sit down, eat a mediocre breakfast, and get absolutely bombed on all-you-can-drink champagne. I recommend giving this a try, but be careful not to take it too far — that’s the key to Vegas. You want to have fun, but you don’t want to get sucked so far into the Sin City void that you can never escape. My roommate Rattlesnake and I learned this the hard way.

We rolled into town with high hopes and a bag full of cash. The Snake and I like to live on the edge, so we decided to take a chance and bet everything on one spin of the roulette wheel. Prior to actually placing our bet, we observed a few spins. The first three spins came up black. This told us that there was a ninety percent chance that the next spin would come up red. We bet on red. Needless to say, we couldn’t believe our eyes when the spin came up black. This was a highly improbable outcome.

We knew our luck was about to change, so we pawned off all of our valuables in order to secure additional gambling funds. Rattlesnake sold his gold-capped molars and his imitation Rolex watch. I sold my car and my anal virginity. It was a heavy price to pay, but we were feeling extremely lucky. We approached the craps tables with a fistful of dollars and a head full of dreams. Within minutes we were completely broke.

Rattlesnake and I were really in trouble this time. We were penniless and we had exhausted all of our pawn shop possibilities. We decided that it would be a good idea to borrow some money from the mob. Luckily for us, Fat Tony Pagliani offered to give us thirty thousand dollars in unmarked twenties as long as we’d agree to pay five thousand percent interest. We accepted his generous offer and took the money. As we were leaving his lair, Tony told us that he’d cut our heads off and use them as volleyballs if we didn’t pay him back. We laughed awkwardly and exited.

If you’re going to borrow money from the mob then you probably shouldn’t spend it on livestock and Dom Perignon. We know this now, but we didn’t know it back then. We took Tony’s money and spent it all on barnyard animals and a wicked booze binge. When we finally emerged from the drunken haze, Rattlesnake had acquired breast implants and our hotel room had acquired enough animals to supply a small petting zoo. We were terribly hung over, but we weren’t dumb. We knew we had to get the hell out of Dodge before Tony’s henchmen got a hold of us.

Rattlesnake and I never did pay Tony back, but we’ve somehow managed to elude him all these years. Some people might attribute this to luck. I attribute it to several rounds of extensive plastic surgery. These days I don’t look like the hoodlum Tony knew. I look like an anus with eyes. Don’t be like me. Gamble responsibly.

Daily Nexus columnist Nick Pasto still has two more virgin orifices to exploit.