Many moons ago, before the proliferation of cellphones, social media and such, and upon reaching my forty years on this third rock from the sun, I asked myself: What would Jesus do? The answer came to me right away. Go to Las Vegas, of course! So, to mark that miracle milestone, I decided to fly out to Las Vegas to see what all the fuzz was about. The plane, the flight, the landing and the airport were all stellar. Checking into the hotel went pretty darn swell.
“Best time to come to Las Vegas,” said the plumped male receptionist “is in the month of October; it’s not as hot as in June-July or August.”
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.” I thought.
Now where’s the fucking bar!? This is my city. I’mma tear this bitch up!
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
The only one getting shit teared up ‘round here is you the sucker.
I took a shower, lacquered up and headed out looking for those exciting adventures everyone talks about. Let me pause right here. Whenever you see a casino scene in movies or TV shows it all sounds quiet; you can actually hear the actors when they speak. In real life those fucking places are as loud and chaotic as grandma’s fruitcake. Anyways, I went up and down The Strip and for the life of me I couldn’t find any of the famous mammary meccas everyone talks about. So, I asked a cab driver, he said he was going to hook me up. While he drove, he informed me that Las Vegas wants to be a family friendly destination, therefore all the strip-joints have been relegated far away from the main drag.
He took me to a dark, cold and cavernous place call Spearmint Rhino. I paid a twenty-entrance fee, and bee lined it to the bar and got myself a Rum and Coke. The drink was barely making its way down my gullet when I got approached by a young blond cutie. Strange thing though; this girl had an uncanny resemblance to the actress Kirsten Dunst, including her slight snaggletooth, I swear on my momma’s ashes, I felt bad for her, I thought maybe the Hollywood thing didn’t pan out for the poor woman y’know? Turned out blondie was not the actress Kirsten Dunst. She had a thick Russian accent and claimed to be a student at UNLV. Yeah sure, why the hell not. Soon enough the Russian Kristen Dunst- looking stripper, managed to pull one hundred and forty bucks from me. That’s seven songs she danced, at twenty bucks a song.
She wanted this little party of ours to keep going, and suggested the Champagne Room, I wasn’t too keen on the idea. As a way to entice me into this new adventure, she showed me her VCH (vertical clitoral hood piercing). Wow nellie, I know right? As impressed as I was by that form of mutilation, I felt I needed a change of scenery, plus earlier, she’d said something that made me feel icky; she said she once had a costumer tell her—as a compliment—that she had the body of a sixteen-year-old. She wasn’t fazed by this, matter-of-fact; she kept calling it a compliment. It creeped me the fuck up. I felt bad for the woman because she has to put up with creeps and scumbags all day and, quite possibly, all night. Good luck at UNLV, love! I got out of there and got into a cab.
The Eastern European cabbie informed me that strip joints like this kind, are a big scam.
“Those bitches in there,” he said, “take your money and all you get is blue in the balls.” He coughed the cough of a dying dog.
“You want to have real fun друг?”
“Sure, I said. What you got?”
“Your dick will thank me later.” He said as he peeled off.
The fucker left me in the middle of a God-knows-where massage parlor which smelled of Dill pickles, cheap booze, and stale cigarettes. With a chubby woman that rubbed my slim Jim for a mere ten minutes and demanded I pay her one hundred bucks. When I refuse to pay such a high price for a half-ass job; a Deebo- ass looking motherfucker came out of nowhere took my wallet, my money and slapped me around like I was his little bitch, he then threw me out. With a busted ego and a shamefully flaccid unhappy slim Jim, I waited for a cab inside of a Seven-Eleven drinking a King Cobra. Despite this unsavory episode, I refused to give up on the fun possibilities that Las Vegas has to offer.
The next night I ran into a drunken wedding party in which the bride-to-be in all her white gown- wearing- glory; ripped off her garter belt and fancy undies and proceeded to do her business on the sidewalk in front of the entire world to see. The flash of a hundred cameras blinded me. Overnight; the woman became an internet sensation.
***
In pursuit of anything resembling fun I befriended a couple of local yokels. Another thing to note here is that if you wish to have fun in this town; try not to gamble all your money in one day or in one place. You will go broke. Now, these local cats (I’ll call ‘em Tom & Jerry) took me to an underground cock fight three miles out of Las Vegas. Rowdy, boozy crowd—despite the fact that three roosters kicked the bucket, we had a blast. The next day they took me to a popular and frightening hot balloon ride. After that they took me to a kick-ass shooting range where I got to shoot an AR-15. Then we bought tickets and saw a short, yet brutal MMA fight at the MGM Grand. After that we went to a good old fashion honest- to- God- All American whorehouse where all the women were from foreign countries. The next day I learned that Cocaine is passé, Meth is where is at baby! Tom & Jerry got us fucked up to the point where we ended up somewhere near the infamous Area Fifty-One. I’m positive I saw a huge spacecraft the size of my ex-mother-in-law’s bee-hind. I mean this thing was huge brother. Speaking of which; Tom has a girlfriend goes by the name of LuAnn, they made it official by tying the knot at the Little White Wedding Chapel, the one with the Elvis impersonator. It was trailer-trash glamorous and quite touching.
The next day, while waiting for my flight home at McCarran Airport (where suckers fly in and suckees fly out) I realized that I did learn a few things about Las Vegas. Such as: Everyday there are at least three hundred weddings in Las Vegas. About thirty million people visit Las Vegas on a yearly basis. There are at least one thousand human beings living underground in the tunnels of this Desert City. Also, prostitution is illegal in Las Vegas. Except in certain designated areas.
***
I got home broke, exhausted and slightly bemuse by it all. I collapsed in my own bed thinking about that crazy desert city of neon lights, big money and sketchy characters. I then asked myself: What would Jesus do? The answer came to me right away. He would probably stay the fuck home. Will I ever go back to Las Vegas? Probably not. Oh, by the way, Jerry got a tattoo on his schlong that reads I LOVE YOU. (How romantic no?) I wonder how LuAnn feels about it.
The End