Storytime with LIONINSIDE

[LIONINSIDE]

I've never known this artist for anything more than Werewolf's of London and maybe one other.

Same with the majority of people.

He lived with the pain and frustration that this was the song he was known for. He was an obsessively hard working writer and has so many beautiful songs.

Werewolves was written on a booze & drug fueled night with his buddies just screwing around in the studio. Acting all rowdy and howling at the moon.

He didn't even remember writing it until the next day when his wife showed him the lyrics they had sloppily written the night before.

It's still a pretty good song though.

Little ol' lady got mutilated late last night

[country978]

I've never known this artist for anything more than Werewolf's of London and maybe one other.

Same with the majority of people.

He lived with the pain and frustration that this was the song he was known for. He was an obsessively hard working writer and has so many beautiful songs.

Werewolves was written on a booze & drug fueled night with his buddies just screwing around in the studio. Acting all rowdy and howling at the moon.

He didn't even remember writing it until the next day when his wife showed him the lyrics they had sloppily written the night before.

It's still a pretty good song though.

Little ol' lady got mutilated late last night

You don't think putting him up there with the great Bob D is a bit of a stretch?

[LIONINSIDE]

country,

If you thought The French Inhaler was a nice song, you'll probably enjoy these two that immediately come to mind.

[country978]

ok but...

...

[LIONINSIDE]

I'm a little disappointed that your first story involved Danny getting laid in the O'Shea's bathroom, while the rest of you guys didn't make it happen with the girl's friends. But I guess the rest of her friends probably weren't more adventurous.

I'm a little disappointed too. Maybe they were turned off by my beer drenched shirt. Or my gay earrings.



This pic was snapped shortly before The Quickest & Hottest Pickup. Danny boy mooning cars at 7am on Las Vegas Blvd.

I will be writing a second part to this story because I just remembered many more details of events of later in the morning/day/night/following morning (pics).

[LIONINSIDE]

The Quickest and Hottest Pickup - Part Deux

My buddy who was in our group that day, who I'll name DoubleDown (DD), was on his first trip to Las Vegas. It was actually his first night/morning of the trip. He and I had so much fucking fun over the next few days. (He moved to LV shortly afterwards.)

For a a couple of hours after The Pickup, DD and I played $1-$5 Stud at the Mirage. I don't recall what prompted it but he got us kicked out for screaming at the top of his lungs, "HEY! FUCK YOU OLD MAN!!!!".

It was actually perfect timing because Carnival Court was opening soon. And I had told DD that it was a great place to meet chicks. While drinking my first cocktail I could hardly sit in my chair. Covered in beer. And not very coherent. I looked at DD and slurred, "I think I need to go home now." So we go back to that fancy place I mentioned earlier - The Budget Suites behind the Stardust.

Not even 30 seconds after we walked into the apartment there was a knock on the window. DD and I look at each other and I give him the nod to open the curtains. Where there was a teenage dope fiend standing there topless. Tits pressed up against the window.

(As previously mentioned, Las Vegas was a great place to be in 2004 for a dude in his early 20's.)

I was looking forward to meeting my new neighbors anyway, and didn't want to be rude. So I let her in and we introduced ourselves. But DD and I were so fucked up and needed to crash for a bit so that we had the energy to rip it up all over again later that night. So I told her we'd hang out later and asked her to leave. We got a few hours of rest in and when I woke up DD was still passed out. I grabbed a beer and hopped in the shower.

I'm standing there showering, focused on trying to remember all of the details from the last 30 hours since DD had arrived, when the fucking shower curtain flies open and the teenage dope fiend is cackling and starts grabbing at my wiener. "C'mon I want to see it. Let me see your dick LIONISIDE. I know you're packing something nice down there." DD had let her in.

"No no no. Get outta here. We'll hang out later on or in a few days when DD leaves town. I have a lot of stuff to do tonight." Thankfully she did leave. More on her in another post though. I need to work on Part III which will be about that night/next morning and two dikes from Vancouver.



^ The best band you've never heard of. My personal favorite.

[Baron Von Strucker]

feel free to embellish as much as posable, there is no reason to not believe your story... except the big dick part.

[LIONINSIDE]

feel free to embellish as much as posable, there is no reason to not believe your story... except the big dick part.

Hi BVS,

Thanks for reading and for posting your thoughts/video. I hadn't heard that song. I like The Killers but haven't listened to them in many years. 'Shot at the Night' and 'Runaways' come to mind as my favs.

If I were making these stories up I would cast myself as the main character banging chicks in bathroom stalls. I never said I had a "big dick". I instinctively covered my wiener when the shower curtain flung open. The meth-head stripper that lived next door probably didn't even get a glimpse.

When you party as fucking hard as I have in life, you end up with some funny tales. I'm looking forward to writing the Grandma Jean (photo evidence) story. Where I am the main character. Stay tuned for that one.

Speaking of partying hard, I started early in life.

1983

[Dan Druff]

You said this would be your weekend but so far you've only told one and its already Sunday.

FUCK! I thought today was Saturday. What day is it?

Sit tight. I'm in rough shape over here. I suck with computer stuff (posting photos/vids). It takes me awhile.

And I'm no writer, thanks to 'Reed, The Cleveland Steamer' - The new "hot" English teacher my sophomore year of HS that had a thing for 14 year old girls. And humiliated me in front of the class by trashing an assignment that I had put a lot of effort into. That was the last time I completed any assignments for that fuckin' guy.

When I go through these spells I sometimes don't eat for a day. Or two. Or three. I have no appetite but I need to get some food. I'm going to head out and grab a couple of pizzas right now. I'll write later.

I think all of us have had a few perv teachers over the years who had a thing for students. I had an 8th grade teacher who was a super bitter and angry middle aged dude because he had tried to become an NFL player in the '60s, failed, and had to settle for becoming a teacher. He was a big, intimidating guy with a loud voice, and was also a controlling asshole. Pretty much everyone I went to school with has bad memories of being in this guy's class. We also always noticed he was finding excuses to touch the prettiest girls in class (these girls were all 13-14), sometimes even putting his arm around them as he talked to them, but he never quite bridged it into anything illegal. Or if he did, he never got caught (which is more likely). He also would arrange the class seating so the pretty girls were always in front. I was stuck way in the back, like a lot of the boys, which was both good and bad.

A few years later, when I was in high school, a popular history teacher (different guy) was arrested for statutory rape. This was reported in the local newspaper, and while a detailed story of what he had done was provided, the victim wasn't named. However, it was obvious to everyone because the girl abruptly was transferred out of his class just a few days before he was arrested. The dude used the religious angle to get the girl to have sex with him, giving the troubled girl "Christian counseling" after school regarding some of her problems, and eventually turning it into having sex with him. She didn't feel entirely comfortable with the whole thing, and eventually wrote him a letter that she was going to stop seeing him, and how "the Lord would not approve" of their affair. Unfortunately for this perv, the girl's mom found the letter before she could give it to him, and that was that.

Amazingly, despite the rumor traveling quickly around the school regarding the girl's identity, she didn't transfer out of the school, and remained for the next 1.5 years until graduation. She was in my grade. She was pretty, though quiet, and I could tell there was something "off" about her -- even before the whole molestation thing happened. That's probably why the perv targeted her. If I were her parents, I would have transferred her to the other school in town, or maybe even to one of the neighboring cities. I can't imagine she was comfortable in school following that, knowing that all the other kids were aware of what had happened. I know the teacher pled guilty and lost his teaching license, but I never heard what sentence he got.

I understand why they transferred her out so quickly, but if they had stopped to think about, it would have been much better for the girl if they left her in the class and waited for the teacher to be fired/arrested. Then her identity probably would never have been known.

[Dan Druff]

Not to hijack the thread, but regarding perv teachers, I never understood the women who have sex with their teenage male students.

Almost all sex offenders are male. This is a known fact. Not only is the male sex drive generally much higher than that of women, but (possibly for the same reason) male sexual deviancy is also much higher. Additionally, while there are a lot of perverted men out there who find teenage girls attractive (even ones who also like adult women), very few women are attracted to teenage boys. Most grown women are legitimately grossed out by the thought of having sex with a teenager.

So I don't understand why there's all these female teachers who keep getting caught having sex with their male students. As far as I could tell, there weren't any women like this teaching at my school. There also were very few teachers under 40 at my schools, for whatever reason.

[Dan Druff]

Anyway, good stories, go on.

I can totally picture a girl like that living in the Budget Suites.

A lot of really fucked up young girls come to Vegas in order to "start over" -- often with no plan on how they're going to do that. And you know what they end up doing for a living, when out of options (or because they don't want to work a low wage job).

I'm sure you know The Meridian on Flamingo and Koval. Lived there from 2004 to 2007 until it went condo and they threw me out. Tons of "high end" hookers and strippers lived in the place, because it was close to the strip and (at the time) a decent complex with a security guard at the entrance.

One of the times I got back from a long session at Bellagio at about 5-6am, and right as I got there, a really hot chick got out of a limo, and was headed back to her apartment. She got in the elevator with me and was flirting with me very hard. Also seemed like she was on something. Had a girlfriend at the time, so I pretended not to notice, and she got out of the elevator on the floor below mine. Had I been single, I probably would have gone for it, which likely wouldn't have been the best idea disease-wise.

[LIONINSIDE]

Originally the title/theme for this post was...

LIONINSIDE'S #1 tip for picking up women in small towns. And some more of my background . But I'm getting way off track here with my writing and this post is more about my life 10 years ago. I'll try to end it on a humorous note though.

In early 2013 my long term (7 year) relationship was starting to fizzle to point where my girlfriend told me that she didn't want to split, but she needed a break. Later that night I got a phone call from my mom who delivered some bad news.

She had a doctor appointment earlier in the day where they found more cancer, and wanted to operate ASAP. The first brain tumor was removed in 2009. So she had been sick for awhile, but doing relatively ok. She lived a lot longer than expected.

Not one of my happiest days. We cried together over the phone and I told her how my relationship was in shambles and how my new job as a barback at The Fremont was the most labor-intensive one I've ever had. (There was only one barback scheduled per shift and they didn't have bar porters for some retarded reason. So I was responsible for barbacking every bar in the entire casino, and doing a whole list of other shit. Taking out the trash, mopping floors, bussing tables at Tony Roma's.

When she said, "Come home, LIONINSIDE", there was no question that's what I was going to do.

One of the first nurses who came to the house was a very nice guy named Matt. He asked me if I was going to look for a night job in addition to being the primary caretaker during the day. When I told him that I planned to find a bartending gig he gave me a phone number to call. It was a close friend of his that owned a bar and was fed up with the shady shit that the current manager was doing. (Stealing, selling pills, who knows what else. Kamal was definitely a sketchy character.)

I was hired on the spot, but only worked two or three nights/week. Which was fine with me.

My routine those first months was to take care of my mom during the day, and when she went to sleep at night I would drive to the next town over to a bar for some alone time to decompress with two or three beers. And to lose $20 on keno. I didn't want to go to a bar in my home-town because I'd know mostly everyone there. And they'd know me. And I just wanted to be alone. I do my best thinking in seedy barrooms.

My mom passed away that September of 2013 and while my original plan was to head back to Vegas once the inevitable happened, I just couldn't do it.

I grew up in large family who was so loving, caring, and helpful during those days while I watched my mom wither away and die a horrible death. I didn't want to leave them. I needed them and they needed me. And it also felt wrong to just say, "OK, thanks. Love ya. I'm headed back to Vegas for poker and all you can drink comped cocktails. See ya in a couple years."

So I stuck around for another year. Tending bar, breaking hearts, and drinking more alcohol than any other human on the planet. No joke. At one point in 2014 I remember thinking, "There cannot be a single person on earth (at least not at ~130lbs) who has consumed more booze than me over the last seven months."

Eventually I replaced Kamal the drug dealer and got a full time shift. My routine was to hit the packy on the way to work for a pint of 100 proof Ginger Flavored Brandy. I have no idea why that was my liquor of choice, but I'd take a few good pulls on my drive in. Then work my bar shift while sneaking drinks the entire time. Then drink a few more once the bar closed while I did the daily accounting and cleaned up. After locking the doors on the nights that I felt like I wasn't in good enough shape to drive home (I'm a very responsible boozer, lol) I would walk to an all night diner up the street where I'd have some breakfast. Then walk back to my car, head home, and have another few swigs of Ginger on the drive. THEN I would go home and have a few beers and cigarettes to relax. THEN THEN I had either my brandy or a few beers set up on my nightstand, which I would swig every 30 minutes or so while "sleeping" when my brain/body would wake me up in an alcoholic panic.

At some point I would get two or three hours of rest without booze. When I'd wake up I would grab a beer to drink in the shower. (Shower beers are the best). Head off to the packy if I was low on Ginger and do it all over again.

This self-destruction went on every morning, noon, and night for about seven months to the point where my arms were completely numb for the first 20 minutes or so
after waking up. Couldn't feel my arms, lol.

I had everything under control though.

On the bright side I was getting tons of pussy. Had many admirers at the bar. Even fucked some of them in the back room after closing time once they were done snorting their coke.

So, LIONISIDE's #1 tip for picking up women in small towns is to get a bartending job.



I didn't give one single fuck during this period of my life. Smokin' a butt while servin' drinks behind the bah, dude. No wonder the young chicks digged me. I have a hundred stories from those days but I'll close with a short one from right before I moved back to Vegas. I had already broken a few hearts and had a couple of ~stalkers, so I was ready to get the fuck out of town and didn't want any more drama in my life.

There was a really nice girl named Chelsea who would come in sometimes. Maybe a few years younger than me. She was from a good family that owned a handful of restaurants in the city. She was a bit of a party animal. Really funny and always very sweet. Pretty too. Sometimes flirty with me, and I was always happy to flirt back.

One night at closing time I'm working by myself and trying to get everyone out of the bar. That was usually a bit of a task because everyone would be having such a good time and there was no where else to go but home. Chels had a little too much to drink that night and she comes up to me while I'm at the end of the bar trying to close out tabs as quickly as possible. There were probably 7 or 8 people within ear shot when she starts asking how long it's going to take to close up and saying how she wants to hang out afterwards. I politely decline. Multiple times. And then she starts getting louder.

"LIONISIDE I JUST WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU! I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE PROBLEM IS HERE?! I JUST WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU TONIGHT! I HAVE A BEAUTIFUL HOUSE WITH A BEDROOM THAT OVERLOOKS THE LAKE. JUST COME BACK TO MY PLACE WHEN YOU'RE DONE. I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOUR ISSUE IS?!"

The onlookers were very entertained by this. One of them was my cousin, Jeff, who had a puzzled look on his face that I read as, "Dude, What. The. FUCK. Is your problem? Why in the world are you NOT going to fuck this chick?!?!?!?"

But I was worn out. I could tell that the lifestyle was taking a toll on me physically. (See: Arms). Plus I didn't want to further enrage my stalkers. I just wanted to get back to Vegas without any more issues than I already was dealing with. I got everybody out of the bar and continued my routine of drinking, closing up, and grabbing some eggs and sausage at the diner.



Thanks for reading. That was a painful one to write.

[Sanlmar]

Warren Zevon

I haven’t thought about him in ages. Thanks. Some crazy good lyrics.

Zevon was out of control personally and died early.

Enjoy every sandwich.

Hope Zevon isn’t a metaphor here.

[Dan Druff]

Great story about the bar, all the drinking, and Chelsea.

I hope you're drinking considerably less nowadays, because you're over 40 and your body won't be able to take such alcohol consumption without there being increasing issues. Look at limitles.

One comment about girls in small towns. You have a lot better shot at getting girls otherwise out of your league in small towns, than you would in the big city or the suburbs. This is because the competition is substantially worse, so you often look great by comparison when up against local dudes in their area. I'm not talking so much your physical looks, but the entire package. A lot of these small town guys are fucked up in some way or another, or are trashy, or are just very simple, so it's not tough to stand out and impress these girls. I discovered this myself in my early 20s.

Enjoying this thread, please go on...

[Baron Von Strucker]

feel free to embellish as much as posable, there is no reason to not believe your story... except the big dick part.

Hi BVS,

Thanks for reading and for posting your thoughts/video. I hadn't heard that song. I like The Killers but haven't listened to them in many years. 'Shot at the Night' and 'Runaways' come to mind as my favs.

If I were making these stories up I would cast myself as the main character banging chicks in bathroom stalls. I never said I had a "big dick". I instinctively covered my wiener when the shower curtain flung open. The meth-head stripper that lived next door probably didn't even get a glimpse.

When you party as fucking hard as I have in life, you end up with some funny tales. I'm looking forward to writing the Grandma Jean (photo evidence) story. Where I am the main character. Stay tuned for that one.

Speaking of partying hard, I started early in life.

1983

good story lots of twists and turns, I didn't indicate i didn't believe your story quite the opposite as i have no reason to not believe... embellishing is harmless as far as I'm concerned.

also...

[LIONINSIDE]

good story lots of twists and turns, I didn't indicate i didn't believe your story quite the opposite as i have no reason to not believe... embellishing is harmless as far as I'm concerned.

I apologize BVS. I mistook the word 'embellishment' for 'exaggeration'.

Thank you for the writing tip. And the funny meme.

[LIONINSIDE]

This post will have (3) stories because they all took place during the same time period. The first tale about my job is dark, but the post will lighten up.

My Worst Job, The most intense laughing fit I’ve had in my life, and last but not least... Chink Food and Scorpion Bowl Races

In 2003 I took a job as a youth counselor at a group home for adolescent boys. My aunt was the head of the nursing department. My cousin, and closest friend growing up had recently started working there and suggested I should join this fucking looney bin. It paid $0.50 more an hour than I was making at Toys R Us. So it was no brainer.

I chose to work a 10hr, 4 day/week on graveyard, when the kids were asleep for the majority of the shift. Because I weighed about 120lbs with no self-defense training and was scared for my life that one of, or all of, these teens were going to attack me some point. Graveyard felt like the safest bet, but I had a ton of anxiety pulling into the parking lot every night. Hoping that when I got out of the car I didn't hear screaming through the windows of a kid, or multiple kids, in a physical restraint. Like the 12 year old red-headed kid, Shaun, who looked like a little leprechaun who would scream, "YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT. FUCK ME! FUCK ME IN THE ASS!" as he was held down by 3 or 4 counselors. Or, Troy, who's face was covered with cigarette burns. Anytime a new resident was admitted we were encouraged to read their file to know what we had coming. I never did. Fuck that shit. These boys were so messed up from the most tragic circumstances you could imagine. I didn't need to read real-life horror stories.

Enough about that fuckin' place. Although I just thought of another non-disturbing tale about an incident with a supervisor that was the catalyst for me to quit my job and move to Vegas. I'll include that story in a different post.

My weekly routine at the time was to hop on the 395 South every Monday morning after my shift ("My Friday") to play the LHE games at Foxwoods. The vast majority of my hours were in the $5-$10 full kill game.

And then I would go back on Wednesday morning to play $2-$10 spread limit Stud8 with a full kill. That game only ran the one day a week on Wednesday. I had to get there early to make sure I got a seat, because they only ever had enough interest for one table. I was the youngest regular there by at least 30 years. Most of these guys, and the woman who always sat in the 1-seat, were in their 70's or older.

Al, who always took the 4 or 5 seat, was a really nice man. I'd guess maybe 80 years old. Every couple of weeks he would ask me if I wanted to see his "pride and joy?"

"Sure, Al." (For the 10th time). Then he'd pull out his wallet and show me a picture of cleaning supplies. Pride and Joy.

Funny guy. One afternoon we're sitting there when a seat opens up and the host calls 'GBB' for Stud8 over the intercom. No response. After a minute, "GBB for Stud8".

[Oh shit. That reminds me of a funny side story involving my cousin, Jay. The one who suggested I should go work at the insane asylum and the main character in the following bit. One Tuesday night we drove down to Foxwoods together. After a long walk to the poker room we approach the desk to put our initials on the whiteboard. Jay goes first and asks the host, "Can you put 'STD' on the $5/$10 list?" I had no idea this was coming. The host turns around to post 'STD', then turns back around and looks at us once he realizes what he's about write. Jay, without hesitation, blurts out, "Steven Terry Davidson." HAHAHAHA.]

Moving along, it was a tight group of regulars and I knew 'GBB', and knew he was on the other side of the room playing $1-$5 Stud while waiting for a seat. I told the table, "I know where he is, I'll go get him." Then Al shoots up out of his chair and says, "No, I know where he is too. I'll go get him." As soon as he stood up he started stumbling. Bumped into the $10/$20 table next to us, bumped into a cocktail waitress who spilt the drinks off her tray, then knocked over a side table. I don't know what the hell material those tables were made of, but any time they hit floor they made and atomic boom. So now the entire Foxwoods poker room turns around to see this poor old man, still on his feet somehow, and trying regain his balance. While he's sayng,"Wha Wha, Whoooa, Wha, WHOAAAA!!"

It seemed like an eternity and the look on Al's face was sadly priceless. Eventually he hits the floor and a number of us immediately go over to check on him/help him up.

"I'm ok, I'm ok", he's assures everyone. Al hops right back into his 4 seat like nothing happened.

The game resumes and as I'm posting my ante for the next hand I bust out laughing replaying in my mind what I just witnessed. And the look on his face as he tumbled around with a hundred or so onlookers watching him take a dive. After I folded 3rd street I busted out laughing again. I'm thinking, "LIONINSIDE, get it together. You can't be laughing at this poor guy." As the hand plays out I bust out laughing again and see another one of the regs looking at me and he starts laughing too.

I got up from the table, because I knew I was about to break out hysterically. Walked around the room giggling to myself like a crazy person. To this day I've never experienced a fit of laughter like this. To get my stupid, giggly ass away from people I walked into the bathroom by the food stand and stood in a stall for a few minutes trying to compose myself. But I couldn't stop. I thought, "I need to call someone to tell this story and calm my retardedness." So I walked into the race book and called Jay and told him the story. I finally cooled off and went back to the table. Where I still broke out a few times, but eventually straightened out.

My goddamn wife and mother in law will be home soon, so I have to cut this short. Stay tuned for Chink Food and Scorpion Bowl Races.

[FRANKRIZZO]

Is this the guy that suns his balls?

[LIONINSIDE]

Real quick.

After some hesitation I sent my most loyal drinking buddy, DoubleDown, a link to this thread. I warned him to be prepared because there was going some brutally honest content.

I don't think he's ever seen an internet forum of any kind because after 10 minutes he sent me a text...

"What the fuck is this?!?!? It's like another world or something."

Yes it is DD. Yes it sure is. Welcome to Poker Fraud Alert.

[LIONINSIDE]

Is this the guy that suns his balls?

Nope. But I remember that guy. I enjoyed his posts. He was very entertaining to the point where I thought there was a small percent chance that it was Druff fucking around on a dupe account.

What ever happened to that guy?

Can you spell your name for me again? Is it R-I-Z-Z-O?