Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Las Vegas- Part Dos.

Las Vegas- Part Dos.

Likely I am flawed in my Logic, but if you can’t afford a baby-sitter-chances are you can’t afford to be in Vegas. Who brings their the children to Vegas? Morons.

Vegas tried to be kid friendly by making amusement parks at the casinos. It didn’t work. Vegas was designed for gamblers. Not strollers and rides on the god damn spinning Tea Cup. ‘Mommy mommy, I frew up my buffet on the Pirate Ship! I want more cotton candy!’ What the hell is going on? Oh and being hungover at a breakfast buffet and having adorable little Johnny keep cutting in front of me, and touching and coughing on everything just turns my arterial screw one notch tighter. Shut up and eat your pancakes you little turd. You are four years old and nobody cares what you have to say so quit talking and squirming and sit there – peacefully.

I can’t get mad at the kids as much as I want to. I do feel the desire to slap the parents around though. What are you thinking? Or not thinking? Drunk, chain smoking, sleep deprived people trying to enjoy or lose themselves for a weekend do not want to trip over your kids, or have to hear them screaming when we are eating.

Parenting Tips From a Childless Contractor ( Some Comments stolen from other rants)
1) Your child is special- to you and you alone
2) It is not cute listening to your child belt out Barney songs at the top of his or her lungs in any restaurant. Thank the gods that civility still reins or your little tone deaf soprano would be wearing risotto and osso bucco and possibly scalding hot coffee
3) When I am on vacation and there is any type of bar or cooler around filled with delicious alcoholic drinks, do not even consider asking me to, ‘Tone it down’, or ‘watch my language,’ or ‘Please put some clothes on!’ there are children around! They are not my children. I have enough sense to know people like me will likely be at the places I go to. Be prepared for little Billy and Samantha to be well versed in hydraulic power and the word ‘fuck’.
4) I know it is a sign of the times but please teach your child some table manners.
5) I reserve the right to yell at your child if they mouth off to me. Your child will know fear by the time I finish.
6) Your child is not ADD or ADHD or any other AD_____. They get away with so much that they have not learned to focus. Proper beatings will cure your child of ADD or any other Bull-hit disorder they may contract.
7) IF you say your child has ADD most people think your kid is retarded. Unless they have to read books upside down and backwards- your child does not have ADD.
8) If your child is hyperactive-tie them to the lawn mower and have them push cut the entire neighbourhoods lawns. After a week or three of this they will learn not to be so hyper.
9) Children will eat whatever is put in front of them. If they do not like what is being served they are welcome to not eat and go to bed hungry. They will eventually eat. It shouldn’t take more than 3-4 days for the child to finally admit they are hungry and come to their senses.
10) A size 9 or greater boot is a great way of getting and keeping a childs’ attention.

Back on the Street

When I trip over your child, swear and fall into a flower bed, please have enough sense to run away or at least sashay away at a moderate pace. There will be swearing and possibly overstated posturing.
Who on gods green earth thinks it could possibly be a wonderful place for a child on the streets of Las Vegas at 1:30 in the morning? Really. What trailer park did you just roll out of ?
I also need to ask why you have to walk down the centre of the sidewalk. You make it impossible for anyone to get by you and you generally move one half of the speed of people who only possess an IQ of 75.

Here’s another idea. Take your kids to Circus Circus. There is an amusement park there. When it closes at 9 or 10 pm – go back to your hotel – and stay there.

I don’t think I am the only person who thinks you are retarded for bringing your children to Las Vegas. I do think I am the only person who will go out of my way to write about it.

Enough With the Kiddies

The second day in Vegas is usually spent at a trade show. Something glamourous like ‘CONEXPO,’ or ‘World of Concrete.’ The shows are huge and usually take two days to see every piece of crap being offered. Companies will try the sex appeal thing by hiring over chested bimbos running around in spandex with rock drills or caulking guns in their hands. I am ok with this. It takes away from the monotony of seeing Asians climbing over every display with cameras and tape measures. Pretty subtle those Asians are.

My favourite display was the pneumatic hammer display where the sales team got the crowd ooohing and awing that there breakers had a lot of energy and where still light enough for even small women to use. Not to my surprise up came a tiny little woman from the crowd to ‘test’ the product.
Here is the blow by blow.
‘Mrs Tiffany Ballbreaker grabs the breaker in both hands and is impressed with the size of the shaft. She mockingly does curls with the breaker and decides to get down to business. Oops, you have it upside down there Tiffany, there you go, pointy end down sweetie, that’s right. Outfitted with a hard hat, safety glasses and earplugs she’s ready for work. One more set of earplugs please, Mrs. Ballbreaker thought they were Chiclets.
She places the point on the concrete slab and pulls the trigger. The sound resonates thru the show area. It sounds like 10 machine guns spraying the area with cover fire. Tiffany holds on to the surging beast. She is being shaken and rattled and pushed around as the hammer bites into the concrete. It appears that resonance has been located and Tiffany’s breasts are the metronomes. The pulsing of the breaker has dislodged her breasts from her bra and the sizable endowment that Mrs. Ballbreaker possesses is starting to dance to another drummer. I imagine if her shirt was off, the movement of her breasts would resemble two single bladed windmills turning in unison. Thud. She has broken of a large piece of the concrete slab. Tiffany releases the trigger and slowly puts the breaker down. She asks for a cigarette and if the company builds a breaker that knows how to mow the lawn. Sorry Mrs. Ballbreaker but you’re going to have to keep the fat ass you married.

Juvenile? Yes. Good, cheap entertainment? Hell yeah.

I stop for a $5.00 bottle of water and a cigarette and I have the opportunity to people watch. It is easy to see that everyone, except the North Americans are dressed in business casual. The North Americans are dressed in the typical white trash ensemble. There is a time and a place for shirts that say, ‘I am Here about the Blowjob.” This isn’t the place. Women wearing tank tops and showing off their tattoos seems to be the norm. God Help us all.

Most of the people here simply want free stuff. Hats, pens and rulers are their mission. Logically they could have stayed home, saved the $90 entrance fee and bought pens and rulers but what do I know.

Enough for today. I start to walk back to my hotel or at least some off the main drag beer joint for a happy hour pick me up. I refuse to wait in line with contractors for a ‘free’ shuttle bus ride back to my hotel. Contractors are an unruly and untrustworthy bunch. After a couple ‘pops’ I slowly walk back to my hotel. Ahhh! Air conditioned splendour. A quick shower feels great.

I meet up with my brother and we both head off to the ‘Steakhouse’ at Circus Circus. Feeling rather spiffy in our sport coats we are seated right away. People in ball caps, torn jeans and t-shirts mumble about my brother and I getting seated right away as we pass. In my head and possibly with my outside voice I think or say- ‘Douchebag’ as I pass. These restaurants never used to let anyone in if they were not wearing at the minimum a sport coat. Now they seem to let anyone in due to the economic climate. The restaurants still give preferential treatment to people who don’t look like they just rolled up to the doors in a Winnebago.
This is another way of life that annoys the piss out of me. What the hell is wrong with at least putting on a dress shirt and a pair of pants without holes in them when you go to a nice restaurant? What manner of fiendish turd could possibly think it is ok to wear a god damn NASCAR hat in a restaurant? Beat up running shoes? I can see the holes in your sock ya ass! I am sorry but the friggin’ soup here costs ten bucks and if you have only one drink you are still not escaping this place for under $75.00 per person. If you have enough money to eat here, chances are you have enough money for socks. Moron! And please take of your fucking hat. Nothing screams loser as much as a loser who won’t take off his loser hat inside any building let alone a nice upscale dining establishment. Oh I know you want to be seated over in the nicer part of the dining room, but you will have to notice that everyone over here isn’t dressed like a trailer park turd. You will sit over in the turd area with the rest of the turds. Maybe I am somewhat elitist in matters like this, but I know damn well the people with manners, common sense and traditional values are pleased with me as I sit over in the nice area of the dining room. And get your fucking elbows off the table! You sir are the Turd King!

I do have the advantage that my wife is very pretty so when we go into places, any places, I generally go unnoticed. On the slim chance the waiter may talk to me I want to look presentable. Put a suit on, impress your wife or girlfriend. Actually look at the wine menu, and touch your chin like you are pondering a very important decision. Say please and thank you like a human being. Don’t be a lazy crap weasel and present yourself like you just rolled out of bed and decided to grace everyone with your stylish flip flops and ‘Who Farted?’ t- shirt. Loser!

Resuming our dinner we order our dinner and drink a few glasses of wine while we BS each other. Our meals come out and I swear to Neptune that I have half a cow on the plate before me. OH MY GOD! I have found the best prime rib I have ever had in my life. Sorry mom but this one has yours beat. Barely able to finish we roll out of the restaurant in the bloated euphoric state that can only be enhanced by cont’d drinking and gambling.


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