I was asked the other day what I loved about Vegas. Well, I said. Las Vegas can be a great way to pass a little time, a whole lot of money, and a weeks worth of your proverbial wad.
What truly amazes me is how clean the Vegas streets are during the day. Then, the second night falls, there are nude baseball cards as far as the eye can see. Now, I do not mind these so much. Freedom of nudity is the one amendment I actively promote. It is that damn palm slap they do before handing one to you that bothers me the most.
What does this even mean? “No need to slap the monkey tonight my fren–this chick will do it for you.” 
I’ll tell you what really makes me wonder, and this isn’t a Wonder Years (television show) type of wonder; but more of a Sopranos, What the fu** kind of thing. What is up with all the people gambling at the airport?
Out of all the beautiful and grand hotel/casinos within this spectacular city, these people have chosen to spend their day at the airport, along with the rest of us broke, agitated, and pissed off souls.
I understand that the saying goes, What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas? However, I must bend the rule just this one time.
All you wives and girlfriends who haven’t seen your husband since last Thursday. Kindly come and pick him up, as I think he’s passed out at one of the slot machines of the Vegas Airport. No thanks necessary-
Just get him the hell out of here.
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