Hi everyone, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Las Vegas, and I thought I’d give you a little chance to get to know me. For complex reasons, involving the Wild, Wild West (the real ‘old west’, not the horrible Will Smith movie), organized crime, and psychological isolationism, I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere out in the desert. You’ll be strolling around Nevada, near-death, with only your shackled dead friend and a canary cage and all-of-a-sudden it’s VIVA LAS VEGAS! Have a shrimp cocktail and enjoy the pool, sir. Don’t miss the exotic bird show at 11.
But I’m so much more than tourists and bird shows! I harbor what may the most miserable collective populace in the country, yet I don’t let it get me down! I’ve got a bag of sun, fun, and other -un sounding cliches ready to rock ‘n’ roll, and I plan to use them. A block in a normal town is a human-walkable distance. If someone says, “Hey, let’s get a sub sandwich at Lee’s deli, it’s three blocks away,” you’d probably respond, “I’m getting a number one on french bread LET’S KICK THIS PIG!” You’d have to be some sort of batshit guano to walk three of my blocks. I can guarantee one thing, sir, your crotch will be wet when you are through. Pack appropriately.
I have strippers. Lots. I’m sorry to those offended by the female form, would you prefer male strippers? I’ve got those too. I boast more strippers per square capita than any other capita on earth. Sometimes Atlanta tries to step to me, but he is dealt with as all haters are: I send all my hobos there.
I have an economy unique on this planet. People come to me to win money. They don’t, but they have fun trying. A few occasionally manage to come ahead, but my complex network of buffets, exotic bird shows, strippers, and craps tables makes sure they never leave with more than they came with.
I have more wild-animals-that-should-be-stored-in-zoos-but-aren’t than any city except New York, and I’m working on that one. Tigers rule, espcially when they occasionally chomp someone’s arm.
It’s hot here, bring sunscreen.
Listen very carefully: sometimes you can have too much fun; you know it when your teeth ache and you start nodding off at the blackjack table at 4:30am. Retard, that is the witching hour: you should be doing devil incantations or sleeping, not throwing your money into a bottomless pit of greed. Every time you play a Big 6 in craps, the Casino Owner laughs uproariously in his office watching his little surveillance video and then lights another cigar with a $100 bill. You know what he does then? Goes swimming in a pool of virgin’s tears, because he can.
Hope your stay is wonderful! WELCOME TO VEGAS!