Bloggy Haywire and More on Vegas
• Tracy's flipped her wig again, offering a link to Jesus Christ's personal ad webpage. It's a very strange site worth a look.
• I figured out all the "sir" shit I got this weekend. Michele, my haircutter and former girlfriend, left what look like sideburns on my head. She usually trims them toward the top of my ear, but this time she left them looser and they have grown to the bottom of my ear, not connected to my head per se, just looking like they are.
So yes, I was walking around in Vegas looking like a fucking Elvis impersonator. Like a hunka-hunka burning sir. I must plot my revenge.
• Downtown Las Vegas must spend zillions of promotional dollars trying to attract a Pacific Rim, Asian clientele. I learned all these handy Hawaiian phrases while I was there:
-Ooka nooka pooka: You lose again, sistah
-Ookie bonka zikka binka oinka: Look at that bitch eating that ham steak!
-Nanka winga nadda: That chick with sideburns is a total loosah!
-Betta genna fooka manna: Bet a little more, sir
-Moka taka laka: Thanks for the money, chump
-Kahana maka spam wikka kona? You want Spam chunks with that ice cream cone?
-Datta maka fiteen, manna: Two Cokes and one small apple, that'll be $15, sir.
• For the Blog Con Vegas attendees, don't expect prompt and flowing free cocktail service while you're gambling. Service is slower, drinks are smaller and attitudes are a little crappier. Cocktail waitresses no longer resemble Playboy bunnies, either. Now they look more like retired school teachers who moved to Vegas because the dry heat helps their arthritis pain.
• More for Blog Con artists: Evening gamblers don't dress up anymore. Just leave on the sloppy T-shirts and baggy shorts, nobody gives a damn. Also don't bother thanking the cashier people, they never say you're welcome and they hate your guts and wish you were dead anyway.
• Please don't buy those fucked up cigars they sell in Vegas. They are cheap and they stink. Their only useful property is clearing out a row of slots you want to play. If you want to clear out a row of slot machines without cigar smoke, squeeze in and chat with the people on either side of you. Tell them to look when you almost hit a jackpot. Tell them to look when you hit a tiny jackpot. Ask them open ended, personal questions. Tell them you came to Vegas to celebrate the doctors finally getting rid of your fungus infections. Ask for a sip of their drink. Light up a clove cigarette.