I Survived My Vegas Vacation: Day 1, Part 3-A Night on the Town

With both legs of a journey so nightmarish that it made the Trail of Tears look like a pleasant spring hike behind me, I was ready to finally enjoy some of what Las Vegas had to offer. Given I’m a social retard (which, in Vegas, one must pronounce “ritard”), clubbing and pool parties weren’t too high on my list. (Especially pool parties. My body’s gross and I view the entire thing as a private part to be covered at all times.) Here’s what I did want to do while in Sin City:

–Eat at every fast food chain I didn’t have back East (In-N-Out Burger, Fatburger, Jack in the Box, Del Taco) at least once. I find fats and carbohydrates delicious, I’m cheap and I hate cooking. The role of fast food in my diet is similar to that of rice for an Asian, meaning I tend to eat it just a bit.

–Walk inside every casino on the Strip and look at all their exterior touristy crap. Be it the the sphinx at the Luxor or the volcano at The Mirage, as lame as it sounds, I wanted to say that I’d seen it all with my own eyes. People were beginning to suspect the veracity of my tale about watching the Bellagio fountains after Matt Damon, George Clooney and I robbed Andy Garcia blind. It was time to make some real memories.

–Play at least one table game and make a sports bet at Caesar’s. I’m not a big gambler. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not because I’m virtuous, it’s just that losing money sets me off like Malcom X getting called the n-bomb. But if you can do something legally that you can’t elsewhere, well, you do it. Maybe I’d find out I really enjoy gambling. Because that’s what I need in my life.

–Visit a ‘gentlemen’s club.’ On average, I’m good for one visit to a strip joint every 12 months. I feel that number is above the perv curve, but not so much that I need to put signs in my front yard. It had been two years since I last savored the deeply spiritual experience of paying a stranger $30 to disinterestedly grind her holiest of holies against my halfhearted erection for the duration of “Pour Some Sugar on Me“, and I figured that Las Vegas strip clubs had to be brimming over with coke-addicted showgirls and failed Los Angeles starlets, meaning the talent would be impressive.

I reasoned that the easiest goal to accomplish right out of the gate was to shovel some In-N-Out Burger down my yap, so once my closest local friend picked me and my brother up from the airport (for what is friendship but the ability to inconvenience someone far more than you could a stranger?), we requested to dine there. Now, I won’t play elitist food snob and scream that In-N-Out produces food that nothing we have out East can compete with, but they do make a tasty burger, and, after several hours without food (the equivalent of weeks to a normal person), it hit the spot. Will, my brother, was also sated, and it didn’t take long for him to make the next request: He wanted to see a strip club.

Now, as previously mentioned, I have nothing against strip clubs. Will, however, is something of an aficionado. Remember how I mentioned that, on average, I go to a nudie joint once a year? The date of that visit tends to coincide with Will’s birthday an awful lot. At least the man knows what makes him happy in life. My friend/indentured servant was more than happy to oblige Will’s whim, and off we went to the one establishment she knew of. Upon arrival, like a pig hot on the trail of a truffle, Will barreled inside, only to come out 30 seconds later (before I had even entered), a look of consternation upon his face. “It isn’t sleazy enough,” he proclaimed in his trademark baritone. “We need to find another one.”

It’s a fine line between inconveniencing someone by asking them for a ride and forcing them to live out the plot of Collateral, so I insisted we instead call it a night. Will shook off his disappointment and the two of us were dropped off at the only establishment fit for royalty of our caliber: The Hooters Hotel and Casino. In my next article, I’ll get into the wonders of our temporary abode (oh, do I have some stories) and how I managed to fill the first full day of my vacation.

Tagged as: Fast Food,  Las Vegas.