I was having a great dream the other night. I was staying at the Sands, an old-school classic Vegas hotel. I was kicking back in the High Rollers Suite when there was a knock at the door."Who is it?" I asked.
"Two Italians, one bad comic, a Limey and a one-eyed hoofer," the voice on the other side of the door said. I knew instantly that it was Frank Sinatra. His phrasing was perfect.
Suddenly, the Rat Pack was in the room. They were rough housing and obviously drunk.
"You up for a wild night?" Frank asked.
"Well, uh, what did you fellas have in mind?" I replied.
"Booze, broads and hoprfully breakfast. You know, the usual," Dean offered.
"Yeah, cat--let's groove and let the cards fall where they may," Sammy chimed in.
"Well, how do I know you're real? This is a dream, after all." I was skeptical for obvious reasons.
"Will this help convince you?" Frankie asked as he handed me a Jack Daniels Manhattan, his favorite cocktail when he wasn't downing it straight.
I took a sip from the glass and it tasted good. What the heck, I thought. I've always wondered what it might be like to party with the Rat Pack.
"Let's roll, Daddy-O," Dino pleaded. "I've got a blonde waiting for me down at the craps table."
They exited the room and were gone as quickly as they had appeared. Oh well, I thought--They probably would have out-partied me anyway.
