You gotta hate the casino. The creepy oldies wheel up to the Wheel of Fortune machines and plug themselves in. They feed the machines with Bens and more Bens and push the MAX BET button as the CREDITS dwindle down... 562... 559... 556.. and so on. It's so sad. "Where are their grandchildren?" Amy asks.
But you gotta love the casino because scaring the creepy oldies rocks the house. We get good and toasted, all before 1:30 a.m., of course, and proceed to blow quarter after quarter in the pretty blinking boxes. Double Diamonds. Lucky Sevens. And the coyote (yeah, I know it's really a wolf) from my scary nightmare appears to me at the casino. He points to the machines in The Land of the Lost Tribes, and I play. And I lose. Amy punches the machines when we lose. And Amy and I get yelled at. "Don't you know this is the NO SMOKING area?" she says, barely turning away from dumping more quarters into the machine. Then Phil throws three quarters into the machine and then throws three right into the garbage. Oh, the horror! Not really. We discover the game show row of bleeping wonders and play video Hollywood Squares. "Yay, Gilbert Gottfried," Amy yells. "Yay, Bruce Vallanch," I yell. One by one, the little umbillical corded oldies look up from their Wheel of Fortune machines and glare. We laugh at them, but it's 2:30 a.m., and it's probably not nice. We drive away the little man on the corner machine. "YEAH, HOLLYWOOD SQUARES!!" We take our quarters and run, leaving trails of cheap cigs in our path.