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Tag Archives: las vegas
Check Out This Scumbag
(That is a picture of Elvis on his shirt. He wants there to be no doubt: He is Vain Elvis.) Where? Ellis Island, the premiere locals casino of Las Vegas. The playing floor is roughly the size of your living room. The dealers are ornery and underfed. The steaks in the restaurant are still four bucks and loaded with more salt than Shamu’s twat, the price and the product both survivors from 1970. A thin haze of cigarette smoke and regret hangs over the whole establishment like a ghost from A Christmas Carol 2: La Vida Perdio. Still the unassuming lounge in the back is packed to capacity nightly, because of a little equalizer they call “karaoke,” and a short menu of microbrews that put the national standard to shame. Who’s This Scumbag? The last of the great Elvis impersonators, I guess. Vegas has eschewed all that goofy Elvis and mafia crap years ago, instead favoring the classier Paris Hilton disease exchange pool party at Wet Republic, or Zowie Bowie’s “I Always Thought He Was a Chick Bash.” But this scumbag has hung desperately from the dream like a 65 year-old motivational kitten, dutifully glopping on the pompadour and five-dollar Fremont gift shop sunglasses (not to mention a sweat-shirt with a screening of the king, an homage to early-90s drugstore Halloween costumes, I imagine) day in and day out, though literally nobody has asked him to do it. He certainly isn’t paid to do it, except in condescending smiles, because here’s the best part: he has never even heard an Elvis Presley song in his life. I swear to Christ, we have been hanging at the Ellis Island karaoke lounge for well over a year, and whether its Thirsty Thursday or Mind Your Business Monday, this guy is never not … Finish reading this sumbitch!
Tyler Perry Is Tearing Us Apart!
People don’t watch Tyler Perry’s brand of chocolate milk-and-water bunkum, you say. Studios just keep producing his “films” and television programs because Perry keeps laying out scripts, they’re cheap to make, and nobody watches TBS before 11PM (or after 12, unless they want Lopez to not-funny them to sleep). They produce them because there’s this vague idea that’s captured our cultural subconscious that it is somehow racist not to, you say. At least its not “One On One” or “Homeboys In Outerspace,” or whatever that hysterically racist program was called. Black people don’t go into space, dude, for the same reason they don’t jump out of planes. They’re too smart to do that shit. You ever see a black family on a roller coaster? They’re freaking the fuck out because they are far more aware of their mortality than peroxide-haired thrill seekers. Anyway, you’d be wrong. About people not watching Tyler Perry. Black people actually eat that shit up, like its made entirely of deep womb orgasms and Maury Povich baby daddy reveals. As Samuel Chapman, third of his aristocratic name, attempts to point out above, this is without question entertainment not made for my pale ass. Black people feel a need to support things made just for them, and I get that. It’s why they unflappably support Obama, no matter how he personally screws the city they are living in, and puts their individual jobs in danger. On the surface, it is a solidarity thing. On the other hand, I do speak English, and I do follow the more interesting aspects of black culture, and I am definitely positive Tyler Perry is not funny. Most of it is retreads of relationship bullshit that was covered in mainstream, non-race biased media thirty years ago, and wasn’t even really comedically relevant … Finish reading this sumbitch!
How Much For Waylon Jennings To Narrate My Life For One Day?
When one witnesses an event that can be described as out of the ordinary, one can usually deduce the series of events that led these people to arrive at the given situation. This is a law for which Las Vegas often seems like a black hole. With cultures from around the globe centralized in a booze addled, no-rules party town, one can see a strange situation every day, if one looks hard enough. And the continually entertaining and baffling thing is, you cannot always figure out what happened. How can one be certain one knows their environment enough when there are things happening in the background that one is not only not aware of, but incapable of comprehending? Case in point: a traffic event my coworkers and I witnessed on our way to lunch this afternoon. You will want to sit down for this. On Fort Apache, headed toward Charleston, the General Lee passed us going in the opposite direction. That’s right, a bright orange 1969 Charger with the familiar 01 racing number emblazoned on the side, speeding down Fort Apache. This is not a strange incident in itself: what with the prevalence of rednecks in this town, fandom is guaranteed to rear its toothless head from time to time. No, what was strange about this situation was that two undercover police SUVs were doing their best to chase the General Lee down, and failing. It was a (relatively) high speed chase, the closest one I have ever been to that I was not personally involved in. Now, the jokes and jibes abound when applied to this situation. Freeze frame, enter Waylon Jennings: Now them Hazard boys ain’t much for gambling, but they were about to play some high rpm roulette with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Smokeys. Boss Hogg is … Finish reading this sumbitch!
Perspective
(Tour Arizona’s scenic Sonoran Desert! Resort pickup! Van adventures! Shoot jaywalkers!) My fiancée and I have recently returned from a spectacular weekend spent with a recently transplanted buddy in Phoenix. It was my first visit to the land of John McCain, NBA Jam era Barclay, and leathery retirees so sick of people that they handily eschew Florida, where their grandchildren are more likely to visit. I am pleased to report the sprawling urban experiment, made of stubborn desert landscaping and held together with the glue of moral fortitude, still stands. I ‘report’ this because, if the spin mills are to be believed, that particular section of the Sonoran Desert has gone all Fertile Crescent with violent crime, kidnapping, and unabashedly brown births being carried out on any given street corner. Arizona lies on the front line of an invasion, and every day its people feel the burden that Obama refuses to shoulder. Indeed, what is it about the world’s deserts that American Presidents can’t seem to keep healthy of biblical crises? We exist in a nation divided, and a disproportionate length of fault line lies in the jurisdiction of an immigration law designed for a place that, if we are truly honest with ourselves, we have never even visited. In the internet age, it is easy to forget just how immense our country is, and just how misplaced outrage can get when dramatically different ways of life are happening a couple hundred miles away. If the concern over SB 1070 is that all Arizonans – not just the differently colored ones – are at risk of a domino effect, stripping the state’s residents of their humanity and civil liberties – – if that is the concern, we can send that worry the way of the Native American infestation: those blankets … Finish reading this sumbitch!