Sliver Rock Casino Resort

Sonja and I have been hearing it for fucking years. "You haven't been? You should go there. Spend the night! Have some fun!"

On Friday night we gave in. We spent the night at the Sliver Rock Casino Resort. Sonja insisted - I try and stay away from gambling, drinking and bedevilment in general.

"Just because summer is fucking over doesn't mean we cannot get out and have ourselves a good time," is how she put it. She was right. Of course. This time of year I tend to get a little inward looking remembering, as I do, my war vet grandfather, still sadly missed by all who knew him, and my first dog Strangler who died on a sunny November 11th about the same time my grandfather did.

Even though I have loads of fun in hotels I do not associate them with fun. Odd personal paradox that is. Guess that is because most of that hotel fun has been had near but not inside the hotels I have stayed in.  

Nice hotel the Sliver Rock is. The casino itself is nice too I guess except I cannot stand the racket of the slots. Get enough noise at the mill all fucking week thanks very much. Think that is why I like horse racing so much: even the noisiest day at the track is peaceful compared to a sawmill's frantic din.

Sonja agreed I could leave her seated comfortably in front of one of the slot machines while I went upstairs to the racebook. Played a couple races at Remington and Mountaineer, as well as a handful a Retama. Never played Retama before. Horses looked to be on par with the stock I see raced in my province's interior. I will be playing that track again.

At Remington I watched a loaded owner come running from the grandstand to plant a big wet kiss on his horse's lips after it won a decent purse. The owner and his friends then went on to spill beer all over the winner's circle. They were having some kind of fun. Appeared as if everybody at the track was totally fucked up. Just like all the Oklahomans I have met in my life. I have to go visit that hillbilly fucking state one day. Those redneck motherfuckers really know how to live.

I got pretty fucking gonzo myself. Was not a horse around to kiss so I kissed an old hairy face Chinese lady instead after I capped my night of horseplay with a 4-1 shot in Retama's last race. My bartenders, two of them while I was there, understood I was not fucking around when I told them not to let a beer get less than half empty before they slid another one my way.

"I only lost $6!" was Sonja's triumphant reply when I found her downstairs in a bar, her slot play for the evening completed. With my winnings we now had enough money to get a spa treatment together in the morning.

I felt like a knob waiting for our spa attendant in my robe beside Sonja the next morning. Soon though we were taken to a private room where we were massaged simultaneously. I was having some November fun now, motherfuckers. Nothing a guy likes better than a massage without a happy ending.

"Wasn't that great?" Sonja coo'd after we were done and on our way to pick up our bags before the drive back to Steepleton. Women love it when you go along with their ideas, something they expect since we stopped burning them at the stake.        

Service at the hotel was first rate. If you are one of those people who come in from the interior and have to spend the night near the airport when you fly some place I highly recommend it.