| rev:text
| - 'But,' you will say, 'It's supposed to be bad.'
Ok, then. I'm just giving it what it wants.
Maybe it's that I was taken in by the name... we were starving, every place was closed or with long lines, and, well, it was our last resort (more on that later). Maybe it's that I can only appreciate rude humor and mediocre food when it's not accompanied by an astronomical bill. Maybe I'm just a sourpuss. But this place sucks.
Later on in the trip, we would have known, with pictures of dirty overweight hairy shirtless bartenders adorning posters encouraging us to come to Dick's Last Resort for abuse. But only a few minutes after arriving in Vegas, starving, with most restaurants in Excalibur closed and the buffet line with no end in sight, we decided to sit at the bar and grab a snack.
The bar is right next to Excalibur's 'Party Pit', a phenomenon we only saw that Sunday afternoon, where one underwear clad dancer appeared after another gyrating to mediocre rock. Yes, this IS the highlight.
The bar was tended by two rejects from the school of obnoxious sidekick characters in bad 80s drinking movies, and one grumpy girl who seemed out of place in a land of innuendo, chauvinism, and party pit girls.
The one guy was the shirtless poster guy, leering at women at the bar, pouring beer on himself, and making the lewd paper hats I would later see middle aged women walking around Vegas in later in the week, proclaiming, 'Dick says my vagina smells bad' to all the world. The other guy apparently gets his wardrobe from the lewd sidekick thrift shop, complete with fake cowboy hat with loop hanging under chin, Hawaiian shirt, and, of course, modified Van Dyke.
The female bartender wore a sweat shirt, jeans, and a scowl.
We got a shrimp entree to share for $20. It had 5 shrimp and some fries. My companion also got a weakass Malibu and coke for $15.
We left.
I'll tell you what Dick's Last Resort did leave us with... some lingering entertainment. I had a mental block over remembering the name of the place, especially when I would agitatedly try to describe the horridness of the place, leading me to develop increasingly bizarre and inappropriate alternates, usually completely unintentionally.
If you met me in Vegas, the restaurant I am describing may have been called, among others:
Last Chance Dick's
The Last Dick Resort
Last Chance for Dick
or
Resorting to Dick
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