Don't forget today is National Pancake Day at the International House of Pancakes. Get a free short stack from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. at any IHOP.

There are 16 local IHOPs in Las Vegas, but I think I'll pass on this offer and just go with my regular free pizza and root beer at Ellis Island.

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grubette and friends were in town for a few days and each day we toured a rotation of the three Diamond Lounges at Harrah's, Flamingo, and Rio for lunch and dinner. I suspect the free food and drinks in these lounges saves Harrah's from the hard comps of food and beverage in their restaurants (soft comps being free rooms, the easiest and cheapest comp for a casino to knock off your bill). Some people take advantage of the system by getting an upfront comp at a restaurant (no points redeemed) and ordering bottles of wine, not drinking, and taking them home (hard comps are considered liquor, which is the most expensive comp for a casino). The Diamond Lounge alleviates this -- players feel like high rollers by getting something for free, and Harrah's saves money in the long run.

I found out that they log each time I go to the Lounge, which is about 2-3 times a week now. But I'm unashamed. My card expires March 2007, and I plan to continue going as frequently, taking full advantage of the privilege of losing gobs of money in order to achieve Diamond status.

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grubette ran into a D.C. friend she hadn't seen in 15 years, and he hung out with us while playing slots -- primarily, Super Jackpot Party. I abstained for the most part, but wandered off into Mr. Cashman land. There's a bank of four Mr. Cashman slots at Harrah's that continually pay off. Every time I've passed them, I've seen people win big. Particularly the Betting Zoo and Jewel Enchantress ones near the Carnaval Court entrance.

I was down on other slots, sat down at Betting Zoo, ended up down more than I wanted that I wasn't going to tell anyone, then hit four peacocks for $320 (on a $1.25 pull), and immediately cashed out, the slot gods forgiving me my lapse. This put me up $100, which is a lot on penny slots.

The next day, I passed two women at these slots and casually noted they were each at $80. I went to root on grubette and Doug at craps, then returned to see the women's machines were at $300 and $400. Went back and forth every few minutes, and in the end saw that they'd run up Betting Zoo to $600 and Jewel Enchantress to $1200 before cashing out.

Kitty cornered to this bank of four is a row of four other Mr. Cashman slots that are also pretty loose. The day after that, saw another woman continually hit and ultimately cash out for $1100. Later the machine was out of service, and I saw a technician working on it (a peek at the display shows every detail, including how many bills of each denomination were inserted).

These amounts are huge, the most I've ever seen people walk away with. Yes, they were betting $5 a pull (I believe you hit more the higher you bet), but to pull out over a grand from penny slots is still quite a feat.

Next time you're at Harrah's and want to drop $100 in slots, try one of these machines and bet at least $1.25 a pull.

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grubette's final night, she played 3/6 kill and I sweated her while watching a juicy no-limit game that I wished I were in. Primarily I watched dealers, hoping to emulate some of how they deal. Watching dealers (and players, for that matter) is much easier when you're not in the game.

I pointed out dealer mistakes and mentioned one dealer I liked to grubette, who said she didn't like him because when she split a pot and was disappointed, he said to her, "There there, honey, at least you won something." Coming from a dealer, this is extremely offensive and would've resulted in zero tips the rest of the night. Not being female, I'm not usually privvy to this kind of talk, and it's sad to see female players still get this condescension at the poker table.

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One person from grubette's posse stayed over an extra night, and he wanted to go to a strip club because he'd never been to a Vegas strip club before.

While he napped in his room (later he said he watched Armageddon), I waited downstairs by playing extremely conservative poker for a few hours. Whatever I won in poker would be going to the strip club.

First hand dealt was pocket Jacks. I hope for first hands like these, because it makes me look like I'm anxious to play, particularly playing into a $15 raise. Though I'm also cautious with JJ and usually fold to raises... Carla gave me a card protector chip that says, "I hate pocket Jacks."

A few other callers to a rag 10-high flop. Checked to the raiser, who checked, and then to me, who bet out $20. The big blind check-raised for another $30 and all fold to me. Being the first hand, I had no reads on the table or him other than he was wearing sunglasses (I don't give much credit to players wearing sunglasses). Normally I'd fold, but because he check-raised the flop I didn't put him on anything higher than a pair of 10s, perhaps with Ace high. I called, knowing that it would commit me and I should've just gone all-in at that point (I short bought for $100). The turn is an annoying Queen and I gather my chips as if ready to go all-in, a rather ostentatious and obvious tactic that I hope the bettor notices to get him to check and give me a free card. Instead, he puts me all-in and I call. River is blank, and I know I'm good once he doesn't show his cards immediately and just says, "Pair of tens."

I doubled up on the first hand and played tight the rest of the time. Carla later joined and I saw her go through $300, still on her bad run (she'd just come from Caesars, where she lost $200). Watching her play, I noticed she's limping much more, playing more hands, and not being as aggressive as she usually is, and I know it's because she's playing expecting to lose.

My final hand I should not have played. A new player had sat down and folded every hand in two orbits. Now he's UTG and raises $15. I'm UTG+2 with K Q. This is an easy fold, but the pretty s blinded me, along with the fact that Harrah's now has high-hand jackpots for quads and above that begin at $40.

I called along with two others. The flop is Q-x-x (rainbow and no s), and he bets $25.

I think for a bit, knowing I should still fold. KQ is an overrated hand, and with his first hand played, he could have an overpair, QQ, or AQ. I call. It's folded to the blind, who's all-in for $16.

The turn is blank, and I go through my little routine of gathering chips again. I count out two stacks of $25, getting ready to put in an anticipated bet that I hope he sees what I'm prepared to call (or bet) with. This time my trick works, and he checks to me. (By the way, this trick does not work when played against me... if I see anyone doing this, I tend to bet harder into them.)

I should have bet here, but I feared a check-raise and check back, intending to bet big on the river if he checks again.

River is an Ace and he checks.

A worse card couldn't have appeared, and now I can't bet, and I check back. He shows the same hand, KQ, the blind doesn't show, and we chop the pot.

I cash out $108 up, all going to tonight's stripper fund.

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Our first stop was Rio to the Shutters bar, a.k.a. the Hooker bar. It was still early, and only a smattering of hookers were out.

One attractive redhead looked like a live blowup doll, another looked like a used blowup doll from the 1950s.

We had margaritas and I played 25-cent video poker to earn mine. The first round was awful, and I asked the bartender about it, who sheepishly showed that they used a cheap tequila. I asked for a better one. It wasn't much better, but it was strong, seemingly all Grand Marnier. He also gave me a separate shot of it, which was a nice gesture.

I was down in video poker, then hit quads which put me up $5 that paid for the tip, and we were off to the strip club.

My name was going to be Tomas this time, and my friend's name was going to be Rob. These were the names of our bartenders.

I was going to be with Cirque du Soleil, working on the new Beatles show at The Mirage. I was a former acrobat from Slovakia performing high wire contortion with chimpanzees, but an injury and bad marriage (caught my wife sleeping with two midgets from Yugoslavia) forced me to work behind the scenes in props and tantric massage, except on the midgets because I've developed an irrational prejudice that they're better in bed. This would be my fifth year with Cirque, and I'm honored and privileged to open my first show with them, and if you give me your phone number and email I can comp you into the show.

That was my bio and I was sticking to it. Alas, none of the strippers asked what I did and barely any even asked my name, so I didn't get to be as creative as I wanted.

Rob didn't have any cash on him, so we stopped at an ATM. Then another, then another. Three ATMs denied his credit card advance.

Strip clubs usually offer funny money in exchange for credit cards, so we decided to try that. Sin is the only club that doesn't charge a cover, and since he had no cash, we went with that one (being a local, I can get into most strip clubs for free, so it didn't matter which one we went to).

The Asian woman at the front desk whose birthday was Nov. 8, 1966 (for some reason, this stuck in my head when she said she was 39) took Rob's credit card and exchanged $60 for funny money ($20 and $100 increments, no $1 bills) plus a $6 surcharge. Not bad, and at least it wasn't denied.

I did take umbrage with $60, though. One shouldn't even think of going to a strip club without spending at least $100 in dances and drinks. With $60, he didn't have any money for drinks.

I gave him $20 in exchange for one of the coupons so he'd at least have cash for drinks (once inside in the dark, you never want to use a credit card because who knows what you're signing off on).

Unlike the Billy Joel song, the club was pretty empty for a Saturday.

The girls were sparse and unattractive, and now Rob was committed to two dances and I was committed to one dance: the coupons expire in 24 hours.

Our two drinks came in plastic cups, and the cocktail waitress had no explanation for why glasses weren't being used. It seemed cheap, unlike the drinks which I paid $25 for.

A 26-year-old lanky Las Vegas local named Tiffany came up to us with the aggression of a used car salesman. She immediately began with her patter of once taking four hits of Ecstasy and if we could buy her a drink (a kamikaze), which we did. We were inadvertently sitting in the spotlight, and she said when she saw us she thought we were the best looking guys in the club.

Puh-leaze.

I played up the fact that this was Rob's first time in a Las Vegas strip club, and asked Tiffany what she could do to introduce him. She didn't do anything different from her hard sell.

She did, however, ask us what we thought her pussy smelled like. I offered up, "Chicken burritos?" Her answer was the uncreative, "Nothing." Later when she was called up onstage (Sin's dancers have to go through a series of three different stages over four songs), she walked topless past me and flung her leg up over my face. I didn't catch a whiff (though I did catch razor burn), so it was probably correct that it was more along the lines of "nothing" than "chicken burrito." But then again, I didn't exactly take a breath to find out.

None of this bothered me much, but what did bother me was she didn't know what Weebles were. She was making fun of a husband-wife couple and said they were pear-shaped and if pushed wouldn't fall down. I said, "Like Weebles?" She looked at me blankly and I had to explain.

I called over another pixie cocktail waitress who was in her early 20s, and she immediately said, "Weebles wobble but they don't fall down."

It's the little things.

Tiffany was all over Rob, and I whispered that he can always just say no, or say he liked black girls, and she'd go away. He opted for the latter.

An Amazon later came up to him and unbuckled his belt and flung it to the floor. She undid his pants and at that time, a cute dancer named Valentina came up to me.

Valentina had only been in America for a year and didn't speak English.

"What did you do before you came to America?" I asked.

"Four years I was lawyer."

"Oh really? What kind of law?"

"I don't understand, my English is bad."

She asked my name twice ("Tomas, hold the 'h'") but never used it or remembered. That was the last thing she said except for "three songs" when I asked how much I owed her.

When one song goes into the next, they're supposed to ask if you want another dance, but Valentina had conveniently bad English so she didn't ask and by the time the fourth song began I asked her to stop.

I returned to our seats and Rob filled me in on his girl.

After she undid his pants, she took his dick out and rubbed up against it with her breasts. She was hyper-aggressive and said, "Let me suck your dick." Rob was afraid. Very afraid.

Afterwards, he gave her $60 but she expected $100 for being in the private area and three songs. She said, "You owe me money."

After she finished with another customer, I saw Rob's girl make a beeline toward him. She practically molested him, trying to kiss him and sucking on his fingers, all the while saying, "You owe me money."

And then, like a whirling tornado, she was gone.

We sat for awhile in a stupor. A couple girls approached, both of whom I would've accepted dances from had I not spent everything on Valentina.

I watched Rob's girl around the club and then thought what if she really did try to claim that extra $40?

We'd have to wash dishes at a restaurant if we couldn't pay the bill, but what would happen at a strip club?

That was probably something we didn't want to find out, and after thinking through a couple scenarios, we decided to leave while we could still walk on our own.