A wolf in sheep’s clothing

Dear god no. I've just had some news, upon hearing this my liver has tended its resignation and told me I'm on my own.

I'm getting a visitor in Vegas this coming weekend (the one before Thanksgiving). It's a very senior guy at a client of mine (the only reason I mention his rank is because I'm sort of obligated to make an effort when it comes to socialising with clients as he will, in some part, influence any future business I do with his firm) and he makes me look like a Boy Scout when it comes to drinking. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing, he's usually straight-laced and very professional - until he's out of the office environment and he's let out to party.

He thinks the wolf of Wall Street was a documentary - and that it missed out most of the debauchery that happened back in the day. He's a complete animal when he's off the leash - I've been out with him socially before and it wasn't pretty. And now I've potentially got a good part of a weekend with him.

He's also a fan of partying with ladies who charge by the hour and of ingesting Colombia's finest export - neither of which are my cups of tea but at least I can point him in the direction of some dealers given my interactions over the last couple of weekends.

I think the only thing that's going to save me is that he's not going to slum it in the Signature - I assume he'll be in a fancy suite somewhere. Hopefully he'll party so hard he'll end up on the roof of Caesers for the weekend, if he does maybe we should make a movie out of it?

If I suddenly go quiet you'll know that I've been broken but I'll try to remember at least some of the details for my usual episode of drunken idiocy.

I've still got a few days' worth of exploits to write up so some entries may be out of chronological order - you won't be as confused as me after I've spent a few evenings with my visitor though.