Little Old Grannies in Las Vegas Pack a Punch

Hang in there because new blogs are coming Monday night.

I thought I’d bring this one up from the bottom of the pile to bridge the gap until then.



Anyone who has visited a Vegas casino can attest to the fact that little old ladies love to gamble. They are particularly attracted to “One Armed Bandits” in the penny to quarter-a-play range.

These old gals carry huge purses stuffed with money and they’ll sit for hours hoping to hit the big jackpot. Believe me; you don’t want to tangle with one of these gambling grannies. I know this because I had a run-in with one of these babes last week in Vegas.

Having just stepped down from the monorail, my wife and I were wandering through the maze that is Harrah’s, when my better half decided to make a pit-stop. Off to my left, I spied a humongous humidor with glass doors, displaying some rather fine cigars. I told my wife to reconnect with me there in about five minutes.

Now, this was a huge display case and being short of stature I took a half-step back in order to view the stogies on the uppermost shelf. I’m talking about a move of baby-step proportions here. Really, it was more like a lean-back.

That’s when I felt an almost imperceptible brushing of my backside. It felt as if I had been caressed by a skeleton; boney, cold to the touch and creepily unsettling. If this had been the dark of night I might have screamed like a little girl.

Instead, I heard these words directed at me in a voice as abrasive as Granny Clampett’s.

“Why don’t people here watch where they’re going, dammit. You darn near knocked me over. I could have broken my goddamned hip again.”

Turning around, I immediately saw the source of this tirade. At the moment, the old dame was poking the point of a cane in my face. This gambling granny was four-foot-ten, frail and wrinkled, and seemed to be older the Grandma Moses. Her apple-doll features went nearly unnoticed because of the inferno burning in the glare of her dark beady eyes. She was clutching a heavy handbag that, no doubt, was filled to the brim with coin. I’m quite sure this granny was prepared to wield that purse like a policeman’s sap.

Have you ever been hit in the face with a bag of nickels?

Unperturbed, I was not about to be assaulted by a smurf -sized octogenarian. I was prepared to meet this challenge head-on!

So, I looked the old babe in the eyes and with Simon Cowell veracity, said, “Maybe YOU should be looking where YOU’RE going, madam, because, in case you didn’t notice I’m a lot bigger than you!”

I puffed out my chest and rose to my full five feet, six inches! Take that you wicked witch of the Southwest!

Well, the old gray mare’s face quickly turned from rouge-pink to crimson. Her satanic eyes cut me like a knife when she said, “Damn youngun’s don’t have any respect for the elderly”, and then as if to spew a vile-inflicted loogie in my direction, she added, “ASSHOLE!!!!”

As she waddled away, I knew in my heart that if push came to shove, I could have kicked her ass. Come on, her fish net stockings hung on her skinny legs like spider webs.

When my wife returned to my side she could tell by my screwed-up facial features and my harrumphing that I was upset about something. So, she asked me, and I kid you not, this is how she put it.

“Are you feeling constipated again, dear?”

Now where did that come from, my friends?


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