She Who Will Not Be Named and I had an extraordinary time in Vegas. Many seven and sevens were consumed, fake breasts were flaunted and I broke even thanks to a good night playing Let It Ride and having enough sense to walk away when I was up. Highlights from the trip:

• On Sunday night we ate Mexican food and gambled at Caesers Palace. The casino is a dump and most of the dealers are older than dirt, but I did win $100 playing blackjack. Caesers is building a gigantic stadium for Celine Dion modeled after the Roman Coliseum. According to my friend, "They paid that bitch millions of dollars to sing there."
• Monday during the day, we relaxed by the pool drinking Pina Coladas and sleeping. At night, we attended the La Femme show at the MGM Grand after a gorge fest on king crab legs at the Rio's all you can eat seafood buffet.
• Tuesday we went shopping at the Venetian and toured Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum. We also hung out at the pool and took a great two-hour nap. That night, we had an excellent Italian dinner and went to the Spearmint Rhino.
• Yesterday, I turned 27. My parents and She Who Will Not Be Named took me out for a delicious steak and numerous 24-ounce microbrews. It was a nice evening and thankfully I was not tuned up on amphetamines and cutting off my own penis.

One thing being on vacation taught me is that work sucks. I do not look forward to going back on Monday.

Labels: birthday, decadence, drinking, gluttony, she who, vegas

On Sunday, I am off to Las Vegas with She Who Will Not Be Named and I will not return until September 18. I will not be posting until that day. I will be drinking heavily, shooting craps, stuffing money into strippers panties and eating fish at the Rio's all you can eat buffet while you will be slaving away in some godforsaken hellhole carving out a meager wage to support your smack habit. I shall return from my vacation like the Prodigal Son, more raw, sharp and refreshed than ever before.

Labels: drinking, she who, strippers, travels, vegas

Poor Boulder trailer trash. They live in the midst of pounds of bird shit and co-habitate with numerous individuals sporting mullets and driving Cameros with primered doors. I have got two words for these people: rocket launcher. It could be worse. They could live in an African ghetto. Aside from the AIDS, famine and squalor, people are taking shits in bags and throwing them into their neighbor’s yard.

Labels: boulder, poop, poverty, tomfoolery

At my high school we did not need slut teacher aides that molested male students. We had plenty of easy girls that would have sex with you if you gave them a bottle of Boones Farm Wine and a joint. That was the deal closer. Take my junior year Pom-Pom squad for example. Three girls got knocked up in a span of six months. Two were sisters, ages 18 and 16, and they got pregnant within two months of each other. I think their mother committed suicide. Even though my high school was chocked full of depraved chemically dependent sex fiends (myself included), I do not think any of us were caught doing this.

Labels: drinking, drugs, nostalgia, sex

Last night I caught an episode of Trauma: Life in the ER on The Learning Channel. For those unfamiliar, the premise of the show document the events of an emergency room in a major metropolitan city. I have watched this show for about four years now and have seen some gruesome things. The worst stories thus far were a farmer who nearly dismembered himself with a wheat thresher and a trucker who legs were crushed under a semi-truck. Last night's episode involved a who was standing on a ladder to prune a trees, when he slipped, fell and landed on a pile of tree branches. One tree branch was standing vertical and found its way straight up his ass. The trauma team worked feverishly to pull four feet of tree branch out of this poor bastard. The guy survived, is walking a lot slower than before and now has a great story to tell at parties.

Labels: injury, pop culture