“Whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” I said to my travel companions, as I looked down to take a sip of my overpriced West Jet ‘Ceasar’ (It was really more of a Bloody Mary, but I digress…)
“If anyone here repeats that sentence during this trip, they’re getting a punch square in the face”
I continued on.
“If someone says it again after that, two punches. Again, three punches, and so on and so forth”
I think they get the idea.
I accidentally broke my own rule when we landed, while reiterating said rule, but I was able to talk my way out of a punch in the face. The airline stewardesses and our fellow passengers on this flight are now probably very suspicious of us, and probably think I have some anger management and control issues. Whatever, we’re living in a society here, and we need to have these ground rules. I will not have us looking like tourists.
We were somewhere around the Midwest, when those ceasar’s began to take hold. My Accountant, advised my Electrician (the third party on this journey of madness into the desert) to order us all another. This flight is just beginning, it’s only about noon, and we’ll need another round of these if we’re expected to continue.
Once our plane full of white people clapped for a successful plane landing (seriously white people, why do you do this?) We navigated out of McCarran International Airport, and hopped into the nearest available cab.
“To The Flamingo my good man, no tunnel!” My Accountant exclaimed.
City of Lost Wages (Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha I’m so funny) The Desert Goth has landed.
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As per usual, our first order of business was to immediately start polluting ourselves with the finest snacks, booze and cigs that America has to offer.
In addition to the above illustration, we gathered an additional 36 snack size cans of Tecate, another 4 monster sized Slim Jims, 2 more bottles of rum, a bag of Tapicito flavoured Doritos, and 2 packs of Marlboro Reds. This should suffice for the following 5 days. Once you start building a serious collection of shit that can kill you, it’s hard to stop. Of all these items, it was the Slim Jim’s that worried me the most. There is nothing more helpless and depraved than a grown man relying on a strict diet of Slim Jim’s for nourishment. Also, It’s been about 22 years since I had a diet that primarily consisted of Slim Jim’s, and I had no idea what they would do to my now 32 year old insides.
Aside from punishing our bodies with all the junk food, booze, and cancer that America has to offer, the actual purpose of this trip, is a savage pursuit of the American Dream. What that means, and what that actually is, I have no idea. I stole this whole shtick from a book that shall remain nameless.
Once we were checked in to The Flamingo, the finest 3 1/2 star hotel at the bottom of the Las Vegas strip, we went in search of our first hamburger. Hamburgers are the first thing that comes to mind when I think of the American Dream. In-N-Out was naturally the first stop. The little fat kid inside me has been dreaming about eating at an In-N-Out since I first read about the secret menu in a skateboard magazine when I was 16 years old. 16 year old me had very simple dreams.
America. Hard AF
The fat kid inside me today, was disappointed. Bland, and kinda salty. With that being said though, I would squeeze several packages of the In-N-Out spread directly into my mouth and call it a meal if it were socially acceptable. Animal Style is a must on anything if you need anything resembling flavour on your grease. I guess when you hold something you’ve never experienced in such high regard, you’re bound to be disappointed. A lot of girls probably say this about me. Though it’s worth mentioning, this meat flavoured sandwich was still miles better than almost any burger I’ve ate in Canada.
Having been let down once already, we headed to a Shake Shack to try again (after a food coma induced nap obviously)
I didn’t know what to expect, until I saw the burger. I had a feeling once I ate the sculpted work of art you see above, that nothing would top it. Nothing would compare to the perfect ratio of beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato and shack sauce. Nothing would compare to the perfectly double fried crinkle cut French fries. Faith in America restored. I will talk about this meal until I die. I will probably die from high cholesterol.
America. Fuck yeah.
Bury Me In Vans 
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