Out of the Loop

Once upon a time, probably somewhere in the south, a currency exchange, and its distant cousin, Six Flags, retreated to a local motel.  After some drinking and conversation, the two relatives noticed a glimmer in each other's neon eyes, and that evening, an inbred, bastard child was created.  After much deliberation, the two decided to hide their creation in the barren desert of Nevada, hoping never to hear from it again.  But before leaving the helpless monster they had created to wither and die in the scorching extremes of the desert, they gave their little beast a name.  They called it.......Las Vegas.

I went to Vegas last weekend, and it really is quite the place.  The spirit of Las Vegas can be summed up by the piece of trash that sat near me on the plane ride home.  Sporting this season's most fashionable mullet, frayed denim shorts, bunched up white tube socks, white high tops (with just a hint of Velcro), and a red t-shirt reading: "What happens in Las Vegas, stays in Las Vegas" followed by a nice "Sin City, Baby!" on the back.  On a small strip of land with desert walls, people from all walks of life come together to walk around in a giant movie set, consume alcohol, and piss away large sums of money.  I have never been in the presence of such diversity.  From rich, high rollers, to college kids, to picture taking Asians, to mulleteering children, to dirty hookers, to some of the finest local trash available, this place has it all.

The thing that amazed me most about Vegas was the casino regulars.  I'm not talking about Dr. Rolex, dropping a thousand a hand on blackjack, I'm talking about the smoking shrew, slowly turning her skin yellow, feeding $20's into the "Wheel of Fortune" slot machine in between drags of her current Virginia Slim.  Sure, she wins sometimes, but come on, if she really won big, she wouldn't be rearranging her change purse every 3 minutes while frantically searching for the cocktail waitress to refill her hi-ball.  Night after night, there she is, on "her" machine, hoping to hit that ever elusive, super double bonus jackpot.  Hey, Tina, get a clue and look around....there's 50 other wrinkly ladies like you in the casino, and you're all rotting away.  Go play blackjack or something, at least then you're not handing your money to a computer, programmed to make you lose, you're handing it to a dealer, who will at least talk to you while you lose.

The worst part is, when they do win, the money goes toward a boob job or a nasty face lift.  So now, they can smoke their lungs to nothing, flush their money down the toilet, but still get hit on by sleazy Vegas guys.  All while still helping the casinos make a giant profit.  Good work.

schrags

dude, your posts are going to either a) get me fired from my job because i'm laughing out loud, and obviously not about anything work related and/or b) force me buy a pack of depends because i seriously am having trouble not peeing my pants. now i really can't wait for my first trip to vegas...to bask in all of it's glory. the inbred child thing is a riot. you have a gift my friend.

Once again, you have hit the nail on the head. I was once in Vegas on my birthday, New Years Eve. At the strok of midnight I could have been naked and at the craps table and the roll would not have stopped.

You are agifted writer....keep it up!

Were you naked?

It was in my youth, however I was not unwrapped !

So....I've heard my name used in reference to hookers and floozies, but an old wrinkled woman???? Nasty....I'm officially going to start going by Christina. Wait...that's not much better these days. Poo.

Tina is also the name of the Llama in Napoleon Dynamite. So you've got that going for you...which is nice.

I'm screwed.