Atlantic City: Where Dried Up Hookers Go To Die.

by Rachael on October 11, 2011 · 36 comments

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This past Saturday, Ben and I journeyed to Atlantic City to see “The League” live.

We drove up early in the day so we’d have some time to explore before the show. Now, I’ve never been to AC before, and my only points of reference are Boardwalk Empire and that one episode of Sex and the City where the girls take a bus down so they can wear sequins for a weekend and get called fat by some Jersey meathead. Still, as someone who enjoys the tackier side of life (if only for the people watching), I was looking forward to the adventure.

Our show was at the Borgata Hotel and Casino, which will run you about $400 a night. Since I didn’t feel like selling my eggs to foot this trip, we opted for the Sheraton on the other side of town.

Only, we didn’t realize just how OTHER it was.

After checking in, we decided to walk down to the boardwalk and check out some of the casinos. As we opened the door to Bally’s, the stink of cigarettes and musty vaginas smacked us directly in the face.

We are not easily daunted, apparently, because we pressed on.

As we followed signs that suggested places like “Kate’s Krazy Korral”, I got my first good look at The People of Atlantic City.

On a scale of 1-10 of sadness, they were Jon Gosselin.

Atlantic City is where the wrinkled and skanky (generally both at once, if we’re being honest) come to PLAY, and they are not messing around. With our non-douchey jeans and hair that did not defy gravity, Ben and I stuck out like sore thumbs.

The cocktail waitresses were 50 going on 150 – these ladies were ridden hard and put away drenched. We could barely walk through the casino floor, as there was a scooter attached to a chain-smoking lump of human flesh every six feet. The one “bar” we stopped at was atrociously Western-themed, built out of enormous styrofoam Arizona red rocks and miserable bartenders wearing bolo ties.

I so badly wanted to enjoy the ridiculous cheese-factor of it all, but the overwhelming stench of disappointment was just too oppressive.

I did have one moment of glory, however…

Once we were thoroughly disillusioned, we hopped in a cab to the Borgata – a very, very important two miles away – and we were suddenly in (the classy part of) Vegas.

Beautiful young people, bartenders with fake boobs pouring $18 martinis, zoot suits in high roller suites – it was like going from Buffalo to New York City. Let’s just say I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that my heels were only three inches high and that I’d left my BumpIt at home.

So naturally, we got drunk, and had an absolute blast at the show. (PSA: If you’re not watching The League, which is the funniest show on television except for maybe Parks and Rec, you’re basically wasting your life. That is all.)

Four of the five main characters are stand up comedians, so that should tell you something. And I even got a hug from Steve Rannazzisi, who was by far the funniest (sorry Nick Kroll, you were a close second. Love you.)

The only one who was disappointing was Jon LaJoie, aka Taco, which was surprising because his YouTube videos are hilarious (Rapist Glasses, anyone?) But honestly, he was just kind of a dick. Which would have been fine with me if he was ALSO funny, but, well, he wasn’t.

They took questions from the audience, which means I got the chance to thank them for being so fucking funny, which – most importantly for you – means they gave me TWO copies of Season 2 on DVD. Why two? I don’t know, but that means one of you gets one!

Share your favorite League quote in the comments for a chance to win, and I’ll pick my favorite on Friday. BLAMMO!

Update:

MAGGIE, you’re the winner! Shoot me your address and I’ll send the DVD your way!