Imagine if you will, that SATAN gorges himself on rancid prunes, prunes and more prunes, along with BUSHELS of rotting fruit. (I refill my palette with a yellowish-green color) He fills his bowels to BURSTING with brown broccoli and cauliflower that someone forgot about in the fridge. THEN he grabs his THREE FOOT LONG BEER BONG AND SUCKS IT DOWN to dregs, waits till the blend starts to gurgle and seethe, then finally, when he can feel the witches brew is steaming with sulfur, he drops his pants, squats down and aaaaaallllll of the people in Las Vegas notice the sky darkens. They look up and see a GINORMOUS FARTING RUMP HOVERING OVER THE CITY, WHICH ERUPTS AND SPEWS ONTO THE PEOPLE BELOW!
But they don't notice, because it's been done before. They're wallowing in it already. The streets are filled with it...diarrhea courses down The Strip in the form of pornography, scream and thud music and gray faced gamblers staggering out into the light of day, shielding their red eyes while they light up another cigarette and proceed to urinate against the nearest building. And everybody just sludges through...covered in runny feces, because as one well bread woman belched out, "WHAT'D YA EXPECT? YOU'RE ON THE STRIP!" And she scratched at a portion of the enormous gut hanging out of her tube top, causing a mole to bleed. Priddy.
And we WERE, people. We were on the strip. And can I just say...oh. my. word. I can't ped-egg scrape at my eyes long enough to remove the filth and debris that is called Las Vegas. No amount of Bon Jovi or Phantom of the Opera can fix what ails that town. There is not enough Barry Manilow or Donny and Marie to camouflage the state of being. And the slogan? The only thing that stays in Vegas is your soul. And your cash. The disease is yours for the taking home and keeping, honey. ALL YOURS! Re-infect to your hearts content! BTW, I thought of a new slogan..."Bob! Geez! Look what you stepped in! The Strip!"
Something else we noticed is the aroma. We kept thinking we'd find a pocket of fresh air somewhere~twas not the case. We did, however, get to choose between two fragrant choices~Smoke or Fart. And sometimes you would get two in one with smoky-fart. We just walked through the entire city with our shirts pulled halfway up over our faces. And yes, we could have been more discreet if we'd just breathed through our mouths, but can I just say that farty smoke is NOTHING you want stuck to your tongue.
So blinded by the flashing lights and gross was I, that I had a hard time keeping my footing. I mostly just pin-balled my way through every casino, bouncing off the throngs as I tried to grope my way out. But out was not a relief, as it meant you were back on the diarrhea Strip and Satan had probably just finished up his lunchtime meal, which consisted of sushi, corn and crab cakes. And another beer bong.....and no, the darkening sky is NOT refreshing rain.....
Thus, you can see, that I had a temporary lapse in sanity. For which I apologize, friends. I know I threw you under the bus as I bid you farewell the other day. And telling you to build me a snowman while I got a suntan? Well, that was just freakin' arrogant! And I shake and lower my head in shame.
Let me just leave you with the words of our Savior, which seems a little bit blasphemous, considering the tone of this blog. But truth is truth, no matter where it's sandwiched...
"WICKEDNESS NEVER WAS HAPPINESS."
(Oh, yeah, Bon Jovi was good.)