What happens here...is of little consequence.

Everyone knows Vegas from the commercials, right? The ones those defenders of all things decent, the National Football League, don't want anyone to see during the Super Bowl. Fucking hypocrites. I want to make those commercials. I want to script, cast, shoot, and promote those commercials. I want to show the real stars of my adopted hometown: hordes of douchebag Califorinia dudes who saw Swingers eight years ago and pollute our streets with puke and retard testosterone; corn-fed, big-tittied girls from the midwest who jiggle their wares in front of the velvet ropes of every overrated nightclub in town, only to be shoved aside by the middle-aged, balding schlub whose cousin saved the bouncer a few bucks on his new condo; dumbass cowboy types to whom life is one big monster truck rally and it's always SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY!!!; L.A. girls who fly in on Thursday night and make thousands of dollars sucking tourist cock until their planes leave Monday morning; starfucker locals who'll stand in line for hours and get treated like pouches of fuck-juice in their own hometown just to get a glimpse of the third-runner-up from "Who Wants to Finger My Sister" and the arena football player she's dating; and people who wonder every day of their miserable lives why they moved to this hellhole but find it hard to leave it behind.
That's why you should visit Vegas. You can get drunk, start fights, have sex with strangers and marry undesirables where you already live. What you can't get where you live is the sight of so many people in one place for so many wrong, fucked up reasons. The Strip is a car wreck, a wretched, bloody, limbless corpse of an accident, and you won't - middle class upbringing be damned - be able to look away.