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Can You Survive A Night On The Town With The Rat Pack?

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Its 1963, and its the time of year when John F. Kennedy is still alive.

After finding a cool $50 on the ground in your two-bit, one-mailbox town, you decided to come to Las Vegas to try to turn that $50 into $150 through the act of poker. Unfortunately, you ended up losing all your money after someone dared you to throw it into the sewer. Thats just the Sin City of Las Vegas for you.

Hot damn.

Nope. Your cool $50 is still in the sewer where you threw it. Its gator food now.

Well, you returned home with your human tail between your scrawny, stupid legs. And wouldnt you know it, the straw-chewing, tractor-driving dunces who call your town home were all waiting for you at the border. You had said, See you when I have $150, not $50, before you left, and oh man, are they going to let you hear it. When will they stop laughing? No time soon, thats for sure. These bumpkins have got all goddamn day. The cows and corn can wait, for theres a wannabe city slicker who thought they were piping-hot shit in their midst, and that W.C.S. is you. Oh man, are they ever going to fuck you up north, south, east, and west.

And its all your fault.

You continue to walk. You see casinos, lights, and a crisp $50 bill lying in the street. Normally, this would have your pleasure sensors lighting up like a Las Vegas night in November, but since you just lost money, all this shit just sucks ass. You are sad, the warm feeling of pain.

But all of a sudden, something stops you in your tracks.

Yep.

Youve smelled something.

You rev your nostrils once more, and its a mighty rev indeed. The act of vigorous inhalation reverberates throughout your entire body, your skin and bones bouncing as one. What a kickass feeling.

Youre close to recognizing the smell. Another inward suck of your nose, a Definitive Smell, will get the job done.

Oooooooooooh. And ah.

There it is, oozing out of a nearby bar.

You know this smell. Its a smell that has enraptured the hearts of millions, and its a smell that has more than a few fans. Youve heard about this smell on TV, and its an amalgamation of cigarettes, booze, and one cool, cool cat.

Its the smell of goddamn Frank Sinatra.

You couldnt really be smelling this, could you? Could you actually be smelling what you think youre smelling?

Yep.

Hello, Frank Sinatra says. Do you know who I am?

Youre goddamn right! shouts Frank. Say, I like the cut of your jib. Its cut real lean and nice, the type of jib I just cant ignore. Would you like to meet Rat Pack? Its a group of celebrities and stars Im the Enormous Captain of.

Whoa. Frank wants to introduce you to Rat Pack? And he likes the cut of your jib? Jesus, wow. Okay, just play it cool.

Youre gonna meet Rat Pack.

This here is my second-in-command. His name is Dean Martin, and he can make a bunch of different noises come out of his head: comedic noises, music noises, acting noisesall of em.

Hello, says Dean. Heres an acting noise: Say, sweetheart, wheres the cash and jewels?

The guy with the grin is Sammy Davis Jr. Hes a lot like the last guy, except Sammy here makes dancing noises, not comedic noises.

The bartender spat this into my glass, says Sammy. Here, you have it.

This is Charles Lindbergh. Hes very different from Dean and Sammy, as he makes none of the noises they do. Rather, hes someone who intimidates an airplane into making noise. In other words, Charles Lindbergh is…well, Charles Lindbergh is a pilot.

My favorite word is airplane, says Charles. I hope its yours, too.

And last but not least is Good Blaster, Rat Pack dog. We named him or her Good Blaster out of support for rockets that dont immediately explode.

Bark, says Good Blaster.

That is Rat Pack, says Frank. Now, how about you hang with us tonight? Rat Pack has never warmed up to someone the way theyve warmed up to you. Youve heard of a hot stove, yes? Well, were currently very similar to one of those.

Holy. Shit. Rat Pack, the beloved group of vandals, want you to run wild with them.

Do you think you can do this? Do you think you can survive an entire night with these guys? As you know from reading a newspaper, these guys can be tough to keep up with.

You gave Good Blaster a pet that was a little too hard and it killed him. Naturally, Frank Sinatra had you killed by activating the Mafia, who filled your body with bullets and knives. They buried you two side by side.

Somewhere, an old John Steinbeck hears about all this and is inspired to go back in time to write his classic book Of Mice And Men. He bases the character of Lennie on you, and its quite an honor. But since youre dead, youll never even get to know. Bummer.

We are currently thinking of the racial slur French. Anyway, whatll it be? Are you going to help us spread our nationally beloved brand of commotion or not?

You and your new friends grab a couple of nearby glasses and slam them together out of joy. They explode on impact, and the entire bar flinches, then gives you a standing ovation.

You run this town.

What do you want to do tonight, kid? asks Frank.

You take a quick sip that fills your body with a previously nonexistent warm confidence. Society allows you and your friends to act differently than everyone else, and youre going to take advantage of that.

Well, you returned home with your human tail between your scrawny, stupid legs. And wouldnt you know it, the straw-chewing, tractor-driving dunces who call your town home were all waiting for you at the border. You had said, See you when I have $150, not $50, before you left, and oh man, are they going to let you hear it. When will they stop laughing? No time soon, thats for sure. These bumpkins have got all goddamn day. The cows and corn can wait, for theres a wannabe city slicker who thought they were piping-hot shit in their midst, and that W.C.S. is you. Oh man, are they ever going to fuck you up north, south, east, and west.

And its all your fault.

Dean calls up the owner of the hottest place in Vegas, the Boars Head Hotel and Delicatessen. He uses the acting voice of a tough guy to scream, Rat Pack has an ITCH, and 15 minutes later, youre walking through the main lobby.

Thats the power of Rat Pack.

Youre ushered into their world-famous Rumpus Room, and soon youll be onstage, part of one of the impromptu fuck-arounds that have made Rat Pack something a man or woman talks about. Whoa.

Hello, says this. Im the chef of the delicatessen portion of the hotel. I couldnt help but notice that youre in Rat Pack. Here, have one free sandwich.

Youll like it. My bones are pure.

You pushed over the chef of the delicatessen portion of the hotel, and he fell right on a couple of sandwich knives and died. Some people in the Mafia were his parents, so they roughed you up, killing you. They buried you somewhere in here. They cant remember where, though.

You head backstage. Frank Sinatras at the bar, and hes drunker than youve ever seen anyone in your entire life.

Youre about to be part of something special, kid. This is what we do best. Im gonna sing a song. Dean is also gonna sing, and maybe throw in a comedic noise. Sammy will dance in Sammys Dancing Corner, you know, just spinning around and shit. Charles is going to do his thing, and Good Blaster is going to dig a hole or two.

Now, I know it can be difficult for new people to keep up with us, even someone as wise as you, so Im going to give you something that I think is your speed.

Tambourine, drools Frank.

Now youre getting it! Just be sure to do the appropriate thing with the tambourine at the right time, and everything will be fine.

Frank puts down his drink and disappears. Its showtime.

Everyones onstage and ready. The crowd is positively abuzz, shouting sentences like Good Rat Pack! and Watching Rat Pack is a good thing to happen to someone like me! Who else could whip up a frenzy like this?

The lights dim and Frank steps to the microphone, confident as a man who can commit crimes but knows hell never get in trouble for committing them. He begins to belt one of his classics:

Im going to bed with a smile on my face, a grin from ear to ear because I spent the whole day thinking of outer space.

Fucking. Bedlam.

You did the appropriate thing with the tambourine, and the crowd loves it so much. Way to go.

Frank continues to howl:

I thought of Mars, a comet, and a little green alien too. But now that Ive stopped thinking about space, my hearts gone from bright red to bright, bright blue.

You were supposed to do something else with the tambourine there, and the crowd isnt happy. Simultaneously, all of Rat Pack gives you a look that can only be described as What is going on with your brain, new friend?

Frank continues to howl:

I thought of Mars, a comet, and a little green alien too. But now that Ive stopped thinking about space, my hearts gone from bright red to bright, bright blue.

You didnt hit the tambourine, and the crowd loves it. Frank gives you a look that seems to say Thanks for doing the appropriate thing.

His song is over, and now its Deans turn to do some singing noises and one comedic noise:

Have you ever looked at a star? Pretty goddamn bright, if you want my two cents. Okay, heres a comedic noise: Some people today have TVs, so why do they complain so much, or even, for that matter, at all?

You did the wrong thing, and the crowd hates it. Frank gives you a look that almost seems to say Honest to God, Ill rip off those limbs. Uh-oh.

Franks song is over, and now its Deans turn to do some singing noises and one comedic noise:

Have you ever looked at a star? Pretty goddamn bright, if you want my two cents. Okay, heres a comedic noise: Some people today have TVs, so why do they complain so much, or even, for that matter, at all?

Nice! You did so well that someone felt compelled to wander onstage and give Sammy a trophy. He really loves that thing, and keeps saying, Its Sammys Prized Metal.

Well, you messed up really badly, but someone still felt compelled to wander onstage and give Sammy one trophy. Looks like everything is going to be okay. He really loves that thing, and keeps saying, Its Sammys Prized Metal.

Thank you for another trophy! says Sammy. I will use it to call my family and friends.

Youve made Sammy very happy, which is a good thing. Everyone is in good spirits and coalescing as one happy disaster, at least until the owner of Boars Head Hotel and Delicatessen comes barreling in, screaming about how he needs to fill his entire body with sleep.

Looks like theres only time for one more thing! shouts Frank.

Frank responds to the inquisitive nature of your tambourine by shouting, Charles Lindbergh, get cracking, and so it goes that Charles Lindbergh steps up to the microphone wearing the glasses of someone who flies a plane.

Look. I demand total silence for what Im about to do, he says. It is imperative that you do not make any noise, or else something bad will happen. And thats a promise. The silence begins…now!

Whoa. He means business.

Charles Lindberghs thing was a success! You didnt make any noise, and the crowd loved it. There was even enough time for Good Blaster to sneak in a dig or two. Nice.

Its time to leave the hotel, but the night is still young for this famous cabal of legal criminals. Franks nodding his bulbous head in the manner of someone who wants you to choose another thing.

And this is what?

You had to make a noise even though the famous pilot Charles Lindbergh said not to, didnt you? Well, guess what? His thing went horribly wrong, and now you and everyone who was inside the Rumpus Room at the Boars Head Hotel and Delicatessen is dead, long deadincluding the famous people, like Dean Martin. Nice job.

The rivals of Rat Pack are the 1927 New York Yankees, the other group of popular men. Widely considered to be one of the greatest teams in the history of professional baseball, the 27 Yanks went 110-44 and won the World Series in four games. They were led by superstar Babe Ruth and his 60 home runsa record that would stand for 34 yearsand by first baseman Lou Gehrig, who won the American League MVP and drove in 175 runs.

They dont like you guys, and you guys dont like them.

Your two groups square off in an unmarked Las Vegas alley, rendering tourists completely oblivious to the fact that at that very moment, the 1927 New York Yankees and Rat Pack are about to beat the living hell out of each other.

Which pinstriped oaf would you like to attempt to clobber?

You walked up to Babe Ruth to try to kick his ass, but he got scared and threw a bat at you. The bat broke your arm and sent you to the emergency room, ending your night on the town with Rat Pack, as that is a place where they are nowhere to be found.

As for Ruth, this all happened so fast that it rocked him to his very core. He left the fight, even though it was still in progress, and hitched a ride back to New York City, never once taking his eyes off his hands, the hands that had been responsible for so many home runs and the hands that broke your arm.

Babe Ruth retired from baseball the next day and spent the remainder of his living days staring at his hands, saying, These hands…these hands are the arm-breaking hands, not the home-run hands. This man, a Bambino so important to the evolution of baseball as a sport, never touched another baseball bat in his entire life, and ended up dying on February 9, 1986 as he stared at his arm-breaking hands in a dark nursing home room somewhere in Nebraska, the only light entering his room coming from Halleys Comet as it passed overhead, making its first appearance in 76 years, on the night of the death of Babe Ruth, the man who died staring at his arm-breaking hands.

Also, Babe Ruth was clearly Franks to fight. Know your role.

You walk over to fight Lou Gehrig, the legendary Yankees first baseman who once made 50,000 diehard Yankees fans mourn to death after giving a speech where he promised to die. He holds no guns or knives, just a voice and an intention to use it.

After an enormous clearing of the throat, he begins.

Soon, Im a dead man, says Gehrig, reciting his famously deadly speech. Soon, Ill just be bones and blood in the cold, hard sand.

The tears run down your face and render your fists and feet totally slimy and useless. Gehrig continues:

Ill be moving to a graveyard soon, population dust and bones. If you want to see Lou in a couple of months, youll have to make me a couple of clones. Big or small, tall or wide, it doesnt matter to me. As long as I have some clones, me is who youll be able to see.

You let Lou Gehrig recite his Soon Im A Dead Man speech for too long, and you mourned so hard that you died. Ultimately, you probably shouldve let Dean Martin take care of Gehrig, because he doesnt have time for weepy, mawkish horseshit like this.

Read more: http://www.clickhole.com/clickventure/can-you-survive-night-town-rat-pack-3423

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