Yesterday I returned from a weekend in Las Vegas with the family. The last few trips I've made to this Sin City have been with friends, for a weekend with the guys, and a couple years ago for Paul's Bachelor Party. I guess I prefer the partying and debauchery of these weekends, replete with their excuses
for excess. And while I didn't waste large sums of money in strip clubs, or lose my shirt for the week on blackjack games, I can confidently say that I'm not into the Las Vegas scene. I'm annoyed at the mostly Mexican workforce that lines the strip. While illegals populate the best kitchens and farms in the rest of America, here they pass out playing
card sized advertisements for escort services. It's all I could do to walk down the street ignoring the cards thrust in front of me as I passed every casino. Yet, even when I don't take the cards, every woman who isn't wearing floral patterns and the orthapedic shoes of tourists, seems to be emulating these images. It's like if Barbies were a
race of skin tanning zombies, out to turn women into human blow-up dolls. Thankfully, I don't live in L.A. and I'm not into the whole Clubbing (see and be seen scene). When I'm in Vegas
with the guys, I can feed off of the testosterone and indulge in the fantasy. When I'm in Vegas with the family I remember why I live in the Northwest, because I don't blur the line between
reality and Debbie Does Everything Not Nailed Down.
Instead of posting Vegas photos or random Vegas videos to punctuate my rant, Here's a video I found about St. Patricks Day in Mobile. The tie-in you ask? Everyone wants money, and everyone can be suckered into strange fantasies.
