Friday, May 11, 2007

The Sands Goes Sanford & Son

What happens when a casino has a garage sale?

The Sands Atlantic City is closing after 26 years in business. For a $10 dollar admission my sister and I were able to traipse around all 21 floors, kind of like those twins in The Shining, only without the murder and blood-soaked tricycles.

We got to go everywhere. EVERYWHERE. The huge, industrial-sized kitchen. The maid's locker room. Penthouses, dumb waiters, the stage of the Copa where Frankie and the boys performed.

People were buying: blankets, bidets, hot tubs, pool tables, lighting fixtures, plates, couches, poker tables, cash registers, sugar caddies, champagne buckets, doors.

My sister bought some matches. I bought an iron. A hipstery looking guy at the register next to us was buying a bunch of hotel soaps and shampoos. I'm sure he'll sell those under "casino memorabilia" on eBay and make a fucking fortune.

I would have followed suit but the responsibilities of being an eBay seller are overwhelming and frightening. Weighing things? Finding addresses? Leaving the house before 4 p.m. to go to the post office? No thanks. I'd rather have handicapped quints with hyperactive disorders.

Now's the time where you put on any one of the following:

-That's Life, Frank Sinatra
-Hey There, Sammy Davis Jr.
-Memories Are Made of This, Dean Martin
-Side 2, Flash Gordon Soundtrack

and enjoy this touching photo tour.




TOUCHING PHOTO TOUR STARTS NOW


Old casinos never die. They just get blown to tiny bits. If you wanna go ahead and call that "dying" I may disagree, but I won't stop you.

All those little white dots are where slot machines used to be. They were harvested and turned into a big bouquet for Donald Trump.

Here is a machine for cleaning vaginas, penises, and buttholes.

These room service trays were being sold for $8 dollars each. At first I thought that was a ripoff and then I realized they were all liberally dusted with blow.

This is what would happen if a KitchenAid appliance looked at a picture of the Enola Gay while sticking its dick in a robotic bird. The tag says "DOUGHMAKER: $800".

You can't see the detail but each of these clipboards is labeled "Daily Specials" Monday through Friday. That metal tube down there? KITCHENCOBRA.

Poor casino table. No one wants to play with you.

Here, I'll stick my head through the hole where your chip box used to be. Feel better? Thought so.

Who's that classy lady lounging in the penthouse suite?

Who's that other, EQUALLY CLASSY lady lounging in the penthouse suite?

THIS CONCLUDES OUR TOUR


Sorry, I don't really have anything that would make a good ending photo.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

I think I'm sort of in love with you....

hmm..

Maybe it's the dog...

Rune said...

I wonder how much nookie that penthouse couch has seen.

Jess said...

I hope you bought some room service trays.

NO REASON.

Anonymous said...

On Thursdays, you don't have to leave the house until 6pm!

SG said...

>> No thanks. I'd rather have handicapped quints with hyperactive disorders.

Somebody's going to helllllll
somebody's going to helllllll

Anonymous said...

me too. you are so fuckeen brilliant.