Q: So tell us about that time you were in Vegas.
A: As I semi-stumbled to my elevator too late one night at a surpassingly reasonable hour a dude with a large tattoo of a heart on his neck approached and amiably offered me some coke. Politely, I declined. On the plus side, you seldom fear for your life in Vegas: there’s ample security and there’s too much money at stake, for all involved. On the less positive side, even if you survive you still have your soiled soul to contend with. And that’s best case scenario, assuming you remain semi-secluded in one of the nicer properties.
Once you’ve been to Vegas more than ten times, it becomes the same trip. In part because you’re always there for business, or else why would you have been there so often? (If you’ve been there more than ten times and you’re neither rich nor part of the Rat Pack, it’s time to ask yourself some uncomfortable questions.
Adult Disney? Maybe in the ‘90s. Now Vegas is the playground for wanna-be playas, catering to the nouveau-riche or soon-to-be-in-debt D-bags. And families too! The only place in America where smoking is not only still permissible but encouraged if not obligatory. And those are only a few of our favorite things.
As we know, Hunter S. Thompson did some heavy lifting here, but even he, in another lifetime of narcotic nightmares, could never have imagined the ways this city has super-sized itself into a human happy meal. It’s less a city and more like a million-pound pig that had a small ocean of cheap yet toxic perfume dumped over it, dropped from helicopters piloted by Donald Trump clones blaring Fat Elvis singing “Viva Las Vegas” (duh).
Put another way: did you know Donnie and Marie were still alive? Did you know they still have a running gig here? So horrific, so perfect. So Vegas. I’m already fear&loathing my next visit, when Housekeeping brings up my self-portrait that they keep, Dorian Gray style, in the catacombs beneath the craps tables. See you there?
First published in The Weeklings on 3/11/15.
