ITEM! With all our VCRS, clocks, and calenders (and hopefully our check writing abilites) doing the switcheroo to 2004- I thought I would do things a little differently on the blog: NO PARAGRAPH MARGINS! Yeah, just like they used to do in every bullpen bulletin in those late sixties or early 1970's issues of Marvel Comics.
ITEM! Let's see if it all works out.
ITEM! Of course, if anyone has any complaints or anthrax they want to pass on to me, please feel free to use the restroom facilities at this address: email@example.com
ITEM! Those willing to take their shit personally to the next level and let the stench of it vaporize throughout the entire public ventilation system, here's my yahoogroup - http://groups.yahoo.com/group/depositman/
ITEM! Now for something completely different that may or may not knock your socks off.
ITEM! I was out in Vegas for the New Year weekend. The New Year weekend started on a Wednesday evening where I welcomed 2004 in white trash style at Hollywood go-go bar, Jumbo's. For the link, check out the previous week's entry. On New Year's Day- I got up early to catch the mid-morning bus from that ugly Greyhound bus station in downtown LA and the damn trip took nearly 7 damn hours to get to the equally on par ugly bus station in old Las Vegas where I had to wait for my dad to pick me up for close to an hour (because the bus got in early) and was pestered constantly by husslers and dope addicts. I was hoping that if I waved my studio ID badge like a security cop or a VIP that it may allevate the situation- but no such luck. Like fucking King Midas in reverse, it only enticed them to badger me even more.
After my dad and aunt took me to Outback for dinner, I brought along stuff from home to keep me occupied. Satellite TV can only amuse me for so long, so that's where the DVD sets of Sopranos, Farscape, and Indiana Jones come in. Friday, my whiny aunt came by to pick me up to check out some property she bought in Anthem- where they're erecting senior houses faster than when Viagra can kick into Tony Curtis's system, and then lunch. Then my aunt wanted to check out the floating gondola show over at Rio's where I lost thirty bucks in slots, so I wasn't exactly thrilled about either the place or the show.
SIDEBAR ITEM! I hate it when family members point out things of a sexual nature to me. All through walking the Rio, my fat whiny webble wobbling aunt has this utterly annoying habit of bringing to my attention, cocktail waitresses with their asscheeks hanging out emeshed in nylon. 'I know it, Aunty, I fucking goddamn see it You don't have to point your fat finger at it for me.' It's fucking Vegas. I like to discover that kind of stuff for myself, if you don't mind.
ITEM! So after my aunt dropped me off at my dad's house - I watched some DVDs until my dad came home from work and had something real mind-bloggling to tell my stepmother and I. I'm afraid this is going to take a little setting up: My dad, in addition to designing cartoon characters based on fishing tackle (of which he co-owned a tackle supply store in Sitka, Alaska that sold fishing tackle, t-shirts, coffee mugs, and pillows of his cute fishy characters before Ed Wasserman, the man responsible for ripping off Flipper had his sights on scoring a bigger payday by turning all my dad's creations into a animated show, thereby reaping all the benefits for himself, which in turn caused my dad to self destruct the whole entire business from under Wasserman by filing bankruptcy) has been employed by the city of Henderson, NV for the past two years running a custodian service to the police and fire stations. He's been stationed at the police station for the past week and he's seen some real nutty shit go down of late- with murderers being coraled in and restrained by a mace blast to the face. Some of it even got into my dad's eyes - wasn't a real happy camper about that. But, my dad's been noticing some of the cops have been acting odd over something since Tuesday. Towards the end of his shift that night, he, like all city employees got a memo in their mailboxes advising that all employees and their families to please consider refraining from celebrating New Year's Eve on the Las Vegas Strip. My dad figured with all news media focused on the 'Broadway of the West', there was going to be a wide battalion of police & National Guard patroling around on horseback and 17 or so black helicopters flying all over the city.
Yeah, so it was no secret that Las Vegas was a potential target for terrorists wanting to mark their territory all in the name of Allah's urine scented sweat glands.
But what my dad found out from two detectives at the station was about how close Las Vegas really became from becoming the brand new ground zero of the west.
Without wanting to sound like an alarmist double dipped in a fudgy nutty crunchy bullshit coating, what my dad was told was that apparently there was a car bomb found in the Mandalay Bay parking garage loaded with enough plastique to level a good sized chunk out of one side of the tower on the night of December 30th. They must have figured how to defuse the bombs without alerting suspicion to the media - otherwise, if the Las Vegas Sun got wind of the situation, or the general news media for the matter - Las Vegas would have been a virtual ghost town, shitloads of revenues in hotel and plane reservations would have been cleansed away like a dustdevil enema in the wind. And the city of Vegas certainly didn't want that to happen.
Wrapping shit up: Saturday- all my dad wanted to do all day was watch football and the fights- not being the advocate supporter of the two - I spent the day assembling and putting together his new HP computer that he bought at the nearest wage and 401 K deprived employee retirement package Wal-Mart that morning. Later, after putting the machine together, I went with one of my dad's son-in-laws to piss away $120 on slots at the Green Valley Ranch Casino where I fought a three hour long and hard ardorous battle to try and keep it.
ITEM! Read about the Britney Spears ' 5 in the morning debacle of a marriage in torn jeans, baseball cap and smelly cigarette breath in NORM! 's column in the Sunday Vegas sun. What the fuck did that c**t think she was doing....setting a bad example for Hilary Duff that way?
ITEM! Never eat Panda Express at a bus lay over in Barstow, CA. Not one of my brightest stunts trying to drink a tall cup of Diet Pepsi and eating orange chicken and rice on a moving vehicle -- while trying to read a rare hardbound copy of the FLASH GREATEST STORIES EVER TOLD. My bowels were in excruicating pain as I got off to make my way to the men's washroom at the Union Station.