Category Archives: Sports

A Message To Anyone Who Doesn’t “Get It” About The Racial Tensions in Missouri

I don’t remember what I told my mother, but it must have been a lie, because my curfew would never have allowed me the time to go out to a party. The midnight carriage-to-pumpkin life was a big part of the reason many kids never saw me at parties (or any social gatherings outside of athletics for that matter). But that night I was in a car with my homies on the way to what we were told was a “party by the cliffs.” I really don’t remember who I was with, how we heard about this “party,” or what our intentions really were (I didn’t drink or anything), but I remember I felt this crazy sense of freedom and excitement at the possibility of just being there. When you’re 17 year old virgin who never even has to opportunity to party, this makes total sense.

After I had hiked down the flights of stairs, I headed down the sandy beach towards the cliffs we knew our peers would be located. I never made it.

As I approached the gathering, a small group of kids stopped me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” one of them said. It was a kid named Cyrus. We weren’t friends, but I wouldn’t have called us enemies. I barely knew him outside of whatever classroom environment we had shared in the past, so it was odd that he came on so strongly.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.

“Get the fuck out of here now, you stupid nigger, before we kill you,” he replied.

I stood there shocked for probably longer than I should have. Here were four kids I had shared classes with since eighth grade, approaching me for the first time ever, in a completely racist manner. I promptly left and went home and cried to myself. These people had seen me around for years and years and never once mentioned that they hated me, and that it was racially motivated. I had had run-ins with racist people or situations in the past, but this was so different. This was home. Was I supposed to never go to the beach again? Was I supposed to now stay away from certain areas during school? Why? Just, why? I never felt comfortable within 100 yards of any of those guys again.

So a few days ago, the President of the University of Missouri resigned over student action regarding his (mis)handling of recent racial tensions on campus. I kept tabs on the story, especially once the Mizzou football players became involved and refused to play another game until he resigned. That was an epic, brutally effective way to not only call attention to the situation, but to also get results. I felt elated that athletes had somehow learned that (for some odd reason) a University can’t survive without it’s major sports. I did, however, wonder what the resignation would really do to ease the tensions? If anything, I postulated, this could escalate further with no one in a position to actually handle the situation the way he should have. I expected there would be a ton of anti-blacklivesmatter rhetoric and conspiracy theories about how the whole thing is a hoax. I expected comments like this:

Screen Shot 2015-11-11 at 2.55.45 AM

I expected these things because I’m used to these things being standard reactions from people who don’t get it, or can’t get it, or (and most infuriating) have no desire to get it. I never thought about what happens when these people who don’t “get it” believe they’ve been so wronged that they must act. I never thought that these people would take to the streets and to the campus and literally terrorize black students.

I won’t repost all the hateful messages or disturbing videos here but there are plenty of them. That said, one message was made abundantly clear: black students should prepare for a “school shooting” style massacre if they dare show up tomorrow (Nov 11). Students are scared, teachers are saying they will still administer tests, police are relatively unresponsive. It’s a mess. It’s a frightening mess.

Upon hearing about what has recently unfolded at Mizzou, my mind went back to that night at the cliffs. There’s an especially helpless, scary, cold feeling when the racism is in your home. These kids are students. They live on campus. They are part of the fabric of that community, and the hate has come to meet them right there. The portion of their lives that can be a refuge from all of the negativity and hate has now been taken over, like a cancerous tumor, with little option of how to proceed. The only options are seemingly like Chemo — as harmful to their health as to the problem. MAN my heart sank when I heard this. All of the feelings have resurfaced; I feel as they feel.

But I say all of this not because I can be another outlet for the information to disseminate, but because I need people to “get it.” Don’t say you don’t, or you can’t, or you won’t “get it.” TRY TO F&*$ING GET IT. Here’s what I’ve realized: people who don’t “get it” are liable to flip and become someone who acts in ways I’m not even sure they’re proud of. Like a lot of the kids I grew up with who had never lived anywhere else or seen a different way of life so closely that they had no choice but to understand it, the people who don’t “get it” haven’t experienced enough other things/people/ways of life to even understand that they don’t “get it.” Example: one of the kids from that night at the cliffs saw me at a bar many years later and apologized. He said he never felt good about it. It was one of the most meaningful apologies of my life. The other kid, Cyrus? He killed himself a few years later. He was obviously dealing with a lot in his life and I forgive him for how he manifested it towards me. We were kids. We all did things.

What I’m saying is it takes an understanding beyond the usual “I have a black friend” state of mind. I have many non-black friends (some very close) who don’t “get it.” Why? Because they tune me out when I try to bring it up. It takes an understanding that #blacklivesmatter is not some conspiracy to wage war on whites and police. I understand that your favorite politician may say it is, or your favorite blog, and they may be right about many other things, but that is patently false. Last year I had the pleasure of marching with these folks on a few occasions. It was peaceful, but deliberate. It was powerful, yet tame. It was necessary if even one more person “got it.” It takes an understanding that minorities of all kinds aren’t looking for special treatment, but maybe putting up with the usual racism in blog comments (how many times was I called a Nigger in my one youtube video that had a million views? I dunno, maybe a million times), social media, police interaction (yea, Ive been pulled over for no reason more times that I can count), general media portrayals, video game interactions, and institutions is cool, but when it hits home, we are forced to do SOMETHING to show those who don’t “get it” that we wish they would.

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Never Asking To See Photos of a Teammates Girlfriend Again

Anyone who’s ever been to Asia, knows that the mobile phone game out here is crazy. Literally every waking moment of every day, these people are looking at a screen, tapping that bad boy, and making something happen that us Americans don’t even know about. Well, I guess you can say we’re catching up a little. But generally, Asians do everything from watch live TV, to draw pictures of one another to upload on various sites or print out at little printing stations that exist in places like Bennigan’s for some odd reason. Tiny Korean girls lug around gigantic Samsung Note phones like they were iPod Nanos, doing God knows what all day long. It’s pretty awesome. 


“I wish I had more hands.”

As soon as we board our team bus after a game, on the way to a game, during a road trip, or even just to get food, the whole bus lights up with the screens of every one of my teammates phones as they begin to make moves. I never really bother them about what they have going on with their stuff, but they always seem to have an interest in what’s going on with mine. It’s my own fault. I have one of those gigantic Galaxy Note II phones, set to full brightness, usually watching a movie that they want to look at. If I’m not watching a movie, then I’m on Instagram. I’m going to have to assume that most of them have no clue what Instragam is, but they want it because when they see me on it. Our IG interactions usually goe something like this:

Because I, like most men, follow mostly hot girls on Instagram (I’m not apologetic), these guys will stop at my seat and look over and ask the following questions:



“Sex partner?” (pronounced sechi patuna)

My answers are usually:



“Unfortunately, no.”

So one day, after they saw me going through my IG page, I felt compelled to lean over and see what some of them were looking at on their phones. One of them had a phat picture of some Korean girl as his screen saver. I thought it’d be funny to ask him the same questions. 

“Girlfriend?” I asked. 

“Yes. My girlfriend,” he replied quickly. 

I didn’t get to ask the rest. 

Since my poorly planned attempt at hazing was cut short, I asked if he had more pictures. He then proceeded to show me about 5 pictures of the two of them together. I jokingly gave him a loving gesture, then I asked him if he had any “hot” pictures. I didn’t expect to show me any, but I just wanted to make him uncomfortable. It worked. 

“No. No. No. Nooooo,” he said while shaking his head. 

Making him uncomfortable was fun, so I asked him a follow up:

“Naked photo?”

He understood, and shook his head even harder than the first time. It actually seemed like he was hiding something, so I decided to press on. Mind you, I didn’t actually want to see anything, I just wanted him to keep blushing because I was messing with him. I knew 100% without a doubt that he would NEVER show me (or anyone else) naked photos of his girlfriend, so I could continually ask him, knowing he would ju—

“Ok. Ok. One sec.”

Huh? I thought. No way. I don’t believe it. 

“No, no. Stop. You,” I was trying to communicate to him that I didn’t actually want to see his girl naked and that he had successfully called my bluff, “umm no. No photo!”

He tossed his phone into my lap. I closed my eyes, but he kept tapping me to look. 

When in Rome, right?

I squeaked open an eye and jumped back in my seat and threw the phone back at him. It was a fully naked picture. I was shocked. I was appalled. I was disgusted because it was a picture of my other teammate who was sitting right next to him!

“Fuck! What the fuck?” I knew he knew those words.

He was now laughing uncontrollably. He then proceeded to scroll through and try to get me to look at TONS of fully naked photos of ALL my Korean teammates. I would keep my eyes closed and wait for him to stop this stupid game, but upon opening them I would catch a full glimpse of D and B in the corner of my eye and shudder. It was at this point that like four other guys realized what was happening and proceeded to show me naked pictures of the first guy. There was just bush and hole everywhere around me. They had FULLY succeeded in turning the uncomfortable game around on me, and they were winning the shit out of it. How could they all have SO MANY pictures of each other? I had to get the translator involved. 

“Chris! Yo! You know that these dudes all have nude pictures of one another? WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ABOUT? Is one of these guys gay or something?”

My teammate also knows the word gay and responded before Chris could.

“No gay! No gay!”

“Chris, tell him I don’t care, but no straight man has fully naked pictures of 12 other men on their retina resolution phone. Nobody is supposed to have THAT much definition!”

Chris told him what I had said. It sounded something like: “Ro-du hypo eehud sjJSHj skjsdhdhs gay gay skhdsh gay gay photo hssuskjsh.”

“No! No! Gay djdhjks dhdus dsksaiuapopsomcnvas sjhb sdkjhih no gay kzldfspfsohfs photo qbajkkjiytwre pocm gay!!!” my teammate said defensively.

Chris turned back to me.

“He says that it’s just blackmail. They’re not gay, but if they catch each other without clothes on, they take a picture to use against one another later. They’re kinda doing it right now as they’re embarrassing each other by showing the photos to you.”

My mind was blown. I put my hands up. They had won. I made a resolution to ALWAYS be fully clothed around these dudes. I leaned to the side and did my best to go to take a nap and erase all that bush from my memory. It still hasn’t worked. 

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You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry

After being ejected from last game, I threw my jersey into the stands… This amazing photo was born. 

Season Highlights 2011-12

My 2011/12 season highlight tape!



Full page interview on me/boomtho in Hip Hop Weekly magazine.

My Stint on Korean TV!

So I happened to be a guest on a Korean TV show called “Gag Concert.” It’s basically like Saturday Night Live. Anyway, umm yea, you can watch the “performance” here as I attempt Korean lines in front of a live audience. #NerveRacking


A Blackberry, Paris, a Train, a Taxi, and a Faulty Card That Nearly Led to my Demise.

Before you hear this story, you need to understand that I bought a Blackberry Storm here in France about a week ago. I got it here so that I could use my ATT card in it and get 3G speeds. It has been a bit of a process to get it unlocked though and, after searching all week, I discovered a place in Paris that could unlock it effortlessly. Today I had a day off and attempted to get this done. This is my story. 

[It was written as an AIM message originally so disregard the grammar and formatting]

So I woke up at like 1230 or 1 today, mapquested the two places that were sposed to be able to handle my phone, found the closer one and wrote the address down

I got in the taxi, and showed him the place

1 was a perfect time because my train back to Nancy was leaving at 4

I get to the phone place at about 130

the guy there said something like “5 hours”

either he meant come back at 5 or that it would be ready at 630

either way, I was going to have to get a new train and find something to do for 5 hours

So I went to lunch at Hippo which is like a TGIFridays style place

got my lunch and tried to pay

my card didnt work

my effin ffrench card has a weird 30-day spending limit

so it just works basically when it feels like it because I bought clothes online

So there was a very embarrassing situation in the restuarant

and they couldnt understand me anyways

We basically just ran the card 6 times and on time 6 it worked

but I tried to go to an ATM afterward and I was NOT able to take out any money

at all

and I had no cash

and the phone would cost 60Euro for the unlock anyways

so I was kind of panicking and I had to catch Taxis all over to get back anyways

So, after 5 hours sitting in a hotel lobby, I got in a taxi, figuring that the card would probably work at an ATM now and I had to pick up the phone and get to the train station

so we drive up to the Phone place which is on an VERY busy street

the cab driver speaks NO english whatsoever and I’m trying to tell him to wait outside for me while I run in and grab the phone

I am debating wether or not to take my bag inside with me, but I decide against it because I want him to know that Im serious about coming back out

when I get into the phone place the guy tells me to hold on for like 5 min

so I go back outside, check on the taxi, hes chillin, and I go to the bank next door to try to take out money


I cant pay for the phone ANYWAY

I got back into the phoen store and the guy tells me that they need to hold my phone for 3 days

and Im like nope cant do it cuz I live in Nancy

plsu I cant pay regardless

I grab the phone and go back outside


out of panic, and knowing that my laptop is in the bag, I just take off running towards where some taxis are up the street

after like 3 steps, EVERYTHING in my pockets falls out

including the brand new phone


I have to spend like 1 minute and a half collecting my things

I didnt realize how much sh** was in my pockets

3 phones


hella change

and I NEEDED that change

once I collect it all, the taxi driver pulls up

I guess he had to move cuz of a bus

finally a break

get in the taxi and head to the train station

but the bill is like 20 euro and I have like 8

in 50 cent coins

so I propose we go by a bank so I can try to take out just 20 euro

thinking that would worrk

we go to the bank and NO DICE

no money

I tell him that I DID get the money out and to drive back to the train station

on the way I scour my bag and my clothes from the night before

there just happens to be 25 euros in my jeans pocket

my tab was 24

I get out of the taxi with like 14 mintues to go until the last train leaves to come back to Nancy

but I have to change my ticket so I am hustling

i spend 5 minutes just trying to find the ticket office cuz all i see are automated things

I finally find it, go to the counter and start searching my pockets

for a ticket that ISNT TEHRE


somewhere in the mayhem

the guy says that he CAN NOT give me a new one

I have to buy it

So I walk to the corner and just sit down

like no way am I going to be stuck in this trian station overnight cuz I cant go ANYWHERE

I decide to give my card a try in one of the automated things




get my ticket with NOT EVEN A MINUTE to spare

and sprint to my train

make it home

the end

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I Have A Real Life Stalker (finally).

—-the names have been changed to protect myself—-

During my second week here in France (early September), I logged onto Facebook and did my normal add-friends-poke-back-wall-post deal as usual. Unlike MySpace, I never really check who I’m adding, I just do. The ‘book is just not as crazy as MySpace so I don’t find the need for background checks.

Well, maybe that time has come, because just when I thought Mark Zuckerberg had made it safe to Facebook, I got a message from “Julie” on Facebook messenger:

“Welcome to Nancy! I am excited that you are here.”

“Thanks,” I answered.

“I am friends with your teammate. I saw your practice today.”

“Have I met you before?” I asked.

“No. Just saying hi,” she replied.

Like most random people who hit me up on FB Messenger, she just wanted to say hi. I was fine with that.

A few days later, she hit me up again.

“How are you?”

“I’m cool,” I answered.

“I miss you,” she said.

“Wait, what? I don’t even know you. I’ve never met you before.”

The whole “I miss you” thing 

“Why are you being mean? O.K. then. Goodbye,” she wrote.

The next day at practice I told my teammates about the whole interaction. Naturally, they asked how she looked. I tried to help them focus on the point of the matter. She had never met me and she missed me. That pretty much negates everything else anyway.

So a few days later, I was with my man Lamayn at a local club and she showed up. I felt kinda bad about what I last said to her and since this was our first meeting, I apologized, but told her that it’s not normal for someone to miss someone they had never met. 

The next day she hit me up on FB Messenger again.

“So are we still on for Friday?”

“What do you mean are we still on?” I asked her.

“You told me we would get together on Friday.”

“No, I didn’t. I said one sentence to you. I never said anything about that.”

“Why do you change your mind?”


“Then when you are ready to spend time with me let me know,” she said.

Then an hour later:

“You can just tell me if you want to hang out with me or not,” she said.

I wasn’t near my computer so it went unanswered.

“Fine. I guess I have my answer,” she wrote.

A week later she sent me a message about how she doesn’t want me to leave the team and that she read in the local paper that I could be leaving soon. I disregarded it.

Fast forward to November 8th.

I had just gotten back home from a road trip to Cholet. It was 1:15 AM and I was about to leave my spot to go to Lamayns to pick him up and hit the club.

As I walked out of front of my apartment building, there was “Julie” at the call box.

“Who are you here to see?” I asked, befuddled. 

“Don’t do this to me,” she said.

“Don’t do what? You’re clearly not here to see me.”

“Please don’t do this, not again. You know I’m here to see you.”

“Are you serious right now? I didn’t invite you here. Don’t do what to you?”

“You told me to come over.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m clearly leaving. It’s 1:20 in the morning. I’m going downtown. I was supposed to meet up with Lamayn 5 minutes ago,” I informed her.

She started getting teary eyed and I felt a little bad.

“Where, when, how did I tell you to meet me here right now?” I asked her.

“We spoke on MSN,” she answered.

“Well, I don’t have MSN. People in the US use AIM. MSN is for Frenchy’s.  Everyone knows that I don’t have MSN. If thats true, what’s my screen name?”

“It’s Boom Tho,” she mumbled. 

“I mean, that appears to be a good guess, but I don’t have MSN so someone is playing a joke on you or you’re lying.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“YOU don’t believe ME?” I nearly yelled out. “O.K. I’ll prove it to you.”

It was nearing 1:30 now, but I didn’t care. I ran upstairs and grabbed my laptop. I brought it back down and proceeded to scroll through all my apps. MSN was nowhere to be found. I then took the laptop back upstairs and came back down. She was teary eyed again.

Maybe she thought I was going to invite her up or something but that was the furthest thought from my mind. I was late for party time with Lamayn.

“So there you have it. Sorry to tell you, but either you’re being pranked, or you’re lying to me. Either way, I have to go.”

I got in my car and left and had a great time that night. I ended our Facebook friendship (first time I’ve ever ended a FB friendship) and I haven’t heard from her since.

The End.

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Peer Pressure Drinking in France

I left my crib and headed downtown (it’s like 4 minutes from my spot). There’s one restaurant that serves Italian food that I had already been to before with my teammates. The main server speaks good english, so she understands that I like my steak medium-well and not the usual purple-red bloody meat that is served out here. The owner is also a real nice guy who hands me the remote to the flat screen so I can change the channel. It’s a good thing. 

After I left there, I went to a bar to meet my teammate. He never showed up. I ended up sitting there drinking some drink that consists of Stella, Cannes (which I think is sugar), and Absinthe. I had about five of those bad boys while waiting for my teammate to show up. 

Finally, I got tired of waiting and I left. On my way back to the house, I walked past a bar that the owner of the Italian restaurant happened to be seated out of of. He was with a big group of people. He called me over and asked that I partake in some drinks with them. Who was I to say no?

I sat down with the big group. I guess it was the birthday of one of his friends. The owner must be like 50 years old, and the birthday boy was 25 on that day. The whole group was already pretty drunk. He ordered three whiskey and cokes. There was one for me, one for him, and one for the birthday boy. 

He handed one to the birthday boy and told him to finish it immediately. I figured the kid would just sip it kinda fast, but it was a big drink and I doubt his ability to finish it so quickly. The older guy told the birthday boy to give him his hand. I was looking confused. The other people at the table seemed to already know what was about to transpire. 

The friendly restaurant owner grabbed the birthday boys hand, and pulled out his index finger. He then put the birthday boys finger in his mouth and bit it. He bit that bad boy HARD. The birthday bay threw his drink back in a heartbeat. Mann it made my head spin it was so fast. As soon as the drink was finished, old guy released birthday boys finger. He then took his own drink and gave his hand to the birthday boy. Birthday boy bit the finger of 50+ year old man.

There was only one drink left on the table. Clearly it belonged to me and everyone looked at me like I had been informed of the rules, now it was time to play the game. I started shaking my head as I saw the teeth marks on the birthday boys finger. I told them I didn’t need my finger bitten to kill my drink. I kill drinks like lions kill gazelles. 

The sweet old restaurant owner was suddenly not so sweet or old. He reached for my hand and I tucked it away. Suddenly, there were four people fighting for my hand — a fight I could not win. Teeth plunged into my index finger and I knew that my only way out was to drink the drink. I took that bad boy like I was Frank The Tank. As soon as the glass was empty, my hand was once again mine. 

The birthday boy ordered another round. I knew it would be a long night.

By 2am I was biting fingers like they were covered in McDonalds sweet and sour sauce. It ended up being kinda fun. I guess that could be the new way to get your boys to finish their drinks. Just bite their index fingers and see what happens. Tell em that a 50 year old restauranteur started it and that it’s your job to keep it going. That’s what I’ll be doing anyway.

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One Last Vegas Story

It was just one of those mornings. I knew that the night before had been spectacular because I woke up in my own bedroom and, for a split second, thought it wasn’t. It was a relief to know that I made it back to my hotel room and that my boys were there too. Well, actually, one of my boys, Elram, was there, the other, JGant, was nowhere to be found.

It was time for me and Elram to recount what happened the night before. I knew the story to a point. We all showed up at JET Nightclub hoping to get in, even though Elram didn’t have an I.D. I knew it’d be a tall order, but he wanted to go to the hottest club that night and not settle for the Palms. 

Clearly they wanted no parts of him and his lack of identification, so we had to bounce. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to head back to the Palms, so that if he was denied again, I could just go right to bed. Elram and JGant had other plans. They wanted to stay and wait for this girl to pick them up so they could try to go to the HARD ROCK and sneak in. After a short argument, it was decided that I had to get back to Palms. They stayed and waited for the girl. That is when our nights went down different paths.

My night was simple. I went to Rain and consumed a lot of alcohol. I fell asleep in my bed. I was awakened by Elram at 6am. He came up to the bed and tapped me to wake me up. I looked at him and told him to go to bed. He said: “wait wait wait. Gabe Pruitt is such a nice dude.”

Confused, I told him to go to bed. That was where my night ended.

I was waiting for Elram to explain to me where the hell JGant was, when his phone rang. JGant was calling. Elram picked up and started talking, then he started laughing. I grabbed the phone from him.

“JGant man where are you?”

“I don’t know,” he answered me.

“Well, why don’t you look at a street sign or something.”

“I don’t see any street signs.”

“Jason, seriously go walk outside of wherever you are and look at a coddamn street sign!”

“Bro, I’m trynna tell you that there are no street signs. It looks like Afghanistan. All I see is dirt.”

I started laughing. I told him to get a cab or tell whatever girl he was with to get him home. There was nothing Elram and I could do. JGant ended up getting a ride and meeting us at the hotel McDonalds. It was time for them to tell me what exactly happened the night before.

JGant explained that they waited for that girl to pick them up while they drank at the lobby bar of the Mirage. The girl came to pick them up a while later and took them to the Hard Rock. From what I was told, she had a bottle of liquor in the car that she offered to JGant. He claims that there had to be roofies in the bottle because he requested to go back to the Palms a few minutes after arriving at the Hard Rock. He passed out in the car on the way and woke up in “Afghanistan,” in her bed. That’s where JGant’s story ends.

Elram arrived at the Hard Rock with one goal in mind: he wanted to sneak into Body English. He was hanging around the lobby, drinking, when a woman began to give him the eyes. He started talking to her, and, before he knew it, he was on the way up to her hotel room.

When he arrived at the hotel room, she put her key in and opened the door. As he began to walk in, he noticed someone down the hall walking in their direction. He didnt pay any mind. He let the door close behind him when he entered the room. Right before it closed, though, a hand pushed it back open and a guy walked into the room as well. 

Elram whispered to the woman.

“Who the hell is this?”

She answered him at regular volume.

“Oh, that’s my husband. He likes to watch. Don’t mind him.”

Elram looked over at the guy, who was now seated in one of the chairs, legs crossed, watching SportsCenter. The woman started kissing Elram on his neck and attempting to unbuckle his pants. Elram was feeling uneasy because the guy was just staring right at him. Elram described the watchful husband as “all swole with hella tattoos.”

It became too much for Elram to handle. He got up and took off. He went back downstairs, had some more drinks and somehow, walked into Body English. When I say walked in, I mean that he didn’t sneak in. He just waltzed right in through the regular entrance. 

After he was tired of dancing by himself, he decided it was time to head home. He went out front and hailed a cab. The cab driver suggested that Elram go to a strip club before heading home (we later found out that cab drivers in Vegas get paid by strip clubs for referrals). Elram, too drunk to use his better judgement, decided to go to take the taxi drivers advice and head to the strip club. 

When he got to the club, he walked in and realized that he didn’t have any I.D., so they sent him right back out. He walked back to the cab. The cab driver suggested ANOTHER strip club. Elram went. Elram went into and was denied from 5 strip clubs, not realizing that his lack of I.D. would keep him from being able to enter. 

Finally the cab driver told Elram that he knew of a place better than any strip club. Elram ended up at some place called “The Redroom.” He walked in and there was one beautiful woman sitting there behind a desk. Behind the desk was a long hallway.

“What is this place?” He asked curiously.

“Here at the Redroom we offer full relaxation,” the woman answered.

“I’m sorry, but what exactly does that mean?”

“It means that we offer full relaxation.”

Elram, wanting to explore further, rephrased his question.

“Different people have different opinions on what fully relaxed is. Can you be more specific?”

“Specifically, when you leave here you’ll be fully relaxed,” she answered once again.

Elram left. He got back into the cab and FINALLY got back to the Palms. He paid his cab the $70 fare for driving him all over the city and walked back into the hotel. He walked over to McDonalds and, while waiting in line, struck up a conversation with Gabe Pruitt (Celtics guard). After all of that, he walked back to the room, woke me up, and told me how nice Gabe Pruitt was.

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