 Happy Tuesday everyone! It’s your favorite (or, in some cases, your most concerning) blogger, coming to you live from Vegas Baby!
You know the great thing about his place? It’s not the booze. It’s not the gambling. It’s not even the Vegas Baby! mantra of “what happens here stays here”. Nope, it’s that if you can hang here long enough, something will fall into your lap. Such was the case yesterday afternoon. I was tired of hanging around the Wednesday night debate site, hoping upon hope to find someone from the Trump’s savage narcissistic entourage and/or the Queen of the Unindicted’s pack of pantsuit wearing fiends that would talk to me. No luck there. So I left the campus of UNLV and started back downtown. It was mid-afternoon and although there are cases upon cases of booze in the Southern Living suite (the virginal vegan Hodensack has restocked following the “night of the Elvi debacle), I decided to sit in the bar downstairs for a while. While there, I met a guy from the American Association of Political Analysts (AAPA) who was in town for his association’s convention. It’s a representative organization for people who appear as talking heads on TV news programs. I asked his opinion of this mess that we’re still trying to pass off as a proper rite of democracy. He sat back on his barstool, looked around, and reached inside his suit jacket. He produced a plane ticket for Kingstown on the island St. Vincent in the Caribbean. The flight is due to leave JFK at 11:30PM on November 8. He tucked the ticket back into his pocket and told me that he plans to fall off the edge of the Earth once the election returns begin coming in. He said that he is scheduled to be a panelist on Fox News’s Election Armageddon Central 2016 on election night. He figures after spewing the network line for the better part of the evening, it doesn’t matter who wins. We’re likely doomed. St. Vincent is the best solution he can come up with for disappearing. I considered his position for a bit, but just became depressed. I mean, what hope is there if the political analysts, those people we’re already sick of listening to, are all planning to vanish to obscure rat-infested islands once owned by the Dutch? Who will fill our heads with their specialized random wisdom that they pass off as keen analysis? It begs the question, don’t you think? As I sat there trying to think of some new direction…perhaps a spirited discussion of the third-party candidates…my phone rang. It was Cousin Fred. Thank God, a (marginally) sane person to talk with. He announced that he is in Vegas Baby! and needed to know where our hotel is this trip. Turns out, he left the Francesca to drive back to Oklahoma from Colorado and he flew in. I gave him the coordinates and told him that the virginal vegan had staked out her bedroom in the suite long before I even arrived. She got the best room. I got the best of what was left. I told Cousin Fred he was stuck with the smallest bedroom, though I pointed out it was still bigger than Hellkat One’s trailer back at the Compound. As I hung up with Cousin Fred, I was watching a news story on the TV in the bar. It was about some guy who took the whole zombie apocalypse thing too far. Friends, as a public service, allow me to inform you, unequivocally, that there are no zombies. They don’t actually exist (outside of Hollywood). Oh, sure, I know, the guy on the all night knife channel will tell you there is a zombie apocalypse coming. They sell a line of knives made especially for killing zombies. Seriously? Who the hell would want to get close enough to one (if they did exist) to slash or stab a stupid walking dead person? That channel even throws in a Federal Zombie Hunting License (no bag limit, no expiration) with every order. Judas priest people are stupid sometimes (present company excluded, of course). So anyway, it seems some 24-year-old knucklehead in St. Paul, Minnesota was out in his neighborhood at 5AM hunting zombies…with an AR-15 rifle (no doubt, a certified zombie gun). He supposedly “spotted” a pesky zombie shuffling down the street (most likely one of his drunk neighbors) and took a shot. Now then, for those of you unfamiliar with the firepower of an AR-15 round, it’s a hot round. A high velocity bullet with a lot of punch behind it. After all, it’s made to kill people. But, I digress… So, Zombie Bwana’s errant round penetrates the wall of a home (always check what’s in the background of where you’re shooting) zinged past the homeowner’s head, who was lying in bed, and ricocheted around the room a few times. Harry Homeowner calls the cops (imagine that). The cops show up. Fortunately, Zombie Bwana gives up the rifle and surrenders to police. He tells them he was just trying to keep his neighborhood safe. On his person they find ammo marked “Anti-Zombie Ammo”. Did I mention that Zombie Bwana still lives with his mom? She of course tells police that her son isn’t crazy. The cops arrested him on a charge (believe it or not) of being ineligible to possess a firearm. Huh? That’s the best police in Minnesota could come up with? What about illegal discharge of a firearm inside the municipal limits of St. Paul? Or, reckless endangerment with a firearm (Harry Homeowner). Or, just being (obviously) batsh*t crazy. Nope, they stick him with being ineligible to possess a firearm. Why, you ask? It seems he was arrested last month for making terroristic threats. Well, isn’t that special? Could be worse, I guess…he could have been out hunting morons in killer clown outfits. Dumbass. That is all. Comments are closed.
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