Las Vegas Weekly

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I ask my Frankie’s Tiki Room date, “What’ll you have?” and she replies, “Just a Diet Coke.” Just a Diet Coke? At Frankie’s? That’s blasphemy. I order an extra-potent Fink Bomb (coconut rum, melon liqueur, pineapple juice … and 160-proof rum) to spite her. We sit on the wooden bench and, through the bamboo shoot fence, watch “Billy the Crud” chisel away at a mammoth log. He’s carving a Tiki, which, when my Fink Bomb is through, looks perfect for my living room. “How much is it?” I ask Billy. “I’m auctioning it off,” he says. “Want to buy some tickets?” I reach into my pocket to pull out my wallet, but my sober date steps in and saves the day: “You don’t have the space for that thing,” she levelheadedly points out. Thank God for that Diet Coke.