Sucker punch
The DayDrinker of all people should have known better! Really, two optimistic Vegas posts in a row was really just begging the Vegas devils to put me back in my place and boy did they ever, and in a way that I never in my wildest dreams would have thought. As I told the other person involved “I guess I need to have wilder dreams now that I’m in Vegas, cause man there are so many ways to get screwed that I just never imagined.
I’m not generally into self censorship, frankly I find it appalling that Comedy Central would cave on the South Park situation, but in this particular case, I will withhold details only because they would hurt someone for whom I care a lot. (Call me for details though!)
After the shock of the initial betrayal wore off, okay who am I kidding, after I calmed down enough to drive, I got in the car and headed to the Brett Wesley gallery for some soothing art and a free glass of crappy wine.
The art was fun, artist John Bell bringing a sort of Rauschenberg redux to the wall with some clever facebook commentary- “The question is, now that we’re in the future, do we have enough minutes for everyone’s 15?” Do you “like” that? (btw, if you haven’t already, fuckin’ like me, will ya? the button’s at the bottom of the page) and the wine was crappy.
As was the Thai BBQ restaurant to which I scuttled after the show. Serves me right, I guess for eating- after looking at Jana Cruder’s photos of real life Barbie girls. I think she’s trying to make some sort of commentary on the whole Barbie thing, but of course, it just makes me wonder why my hair never seems to curl that perfectly.
By this point, there was absolutely only one thing to do: Double Down.
It was punk rock bingo night and the joint was jumping, the ass juice flowing, and the bar tender’s hands were hurting from popping open so many PBR cans.
I downed my beverage, vowed never to let Vegas get the better of me again and watching Andrew S. from Swing Shift Side Show move his heart below his rib cage so it was beating in the middle of his torso, I thought yes, what an apt Vegas analogy- you’d better be able to move your heart, otherwise watch the fuck out, Vegas will stab you right through it.
And in typical Vegas double down fashion, for those of you wondering what ass juice is, word on the street is that it is what’s left at the end of the bottles dumped into one big jar, repackaged as ass juice and sold for $5/shot. (While there are those who swear by the stuff, I must say, they DayDrinker can’t help but be partial to the Bunkhouse’s version affectionately referred to as blue windex.)
