What You Rape In Vegas Stays In Vegas

A month ago I went to Las Vegas to attend a Britney Spears concert. Technically, I didn't go to the concert, but the four people I carpooled with did; I just took the ride and resolved to drink and gamble while they were at the concert. I didn't take into account that this situation would mean listening to Britney's entire oeuvre in the car -- twice even. I wouldn't have minded a little more variety, but I suppose it was fine. Besides, I kind of respect the fact that half the reason they wanted to see the concert was in the hopes of seeing a repeat performance of this incident in Tampa:


"My pussy is hanging out." What I want to know is why is there a microphone on at all? She's not singing for real, so they're just asking for trouble.

If nothing else, the car ride was bearable because en route we spotted a woman older and worse than death smoking and speeding. Attached to the back of her car was one of those motorized scooters with a vanity license plate that read "BINGO." I tried to take a picture, but she was going more than 90 mph and zoomed past us too quickly. Who can blame her, though? She's got places to be and bingo to play.

While everyone else watched Britney lip-synch, I made over a hundred bucks and had a good time wagering alongside some friendly strangers. After Britney finished her concert, pussy in place, I met up with some of the friends and we returned to our hotel, the Imperial Palace, the same hotel I had an awkward yet hilarious time previously. The decor was still cruddy, the elevators still didn't work, and I awoke to the sound of a family yelling at each other in Mandarin in the room next door. I suppose that last incident is just some genuine Asian cultural immersion, so I have no grounds for complaint.

In the post I linked above, I had also referenced how the balcony windows include a sticker that warns you that the door can lock behind you, which is a fun prospect when you're on the seventeenth floor. This time we got a photograph of the sticker to prove how hood the Imperial Palace really is. Further proving the hotel's ghetto character, the second part of the sticker, "PLEASE DO NOT DRAPE ANYTHING OVER THE BALCONY RAILING" was defaced:


I don't care if it's juvenile, "PLEASE DO RAPE ANYTHING OVER THE BALCONY RAILING" is the funniest bit of vandalism I've seen in ages. I mean, if you're locked out there anyway, you might as well occupy yourself somehow, you know?


Besides, it's not like I'm not entirely juvenile as well. Shortly before going to sleep, Kim, Lindsay, and I spotted a body lying in the hall in the distance. After some initial concern that the guy might be dead and additional concern that this hotel was so hood that no one would come to clean the body up for another week, I moved in for a closer inspection. Fortunately, I could hear the guy snoring. That meant that he was alive, and more importantly, that I didn't have to feel bad for doing this:


If you pass out in a Vegas hotel hallway, you're practically asking for someone to pantomime sexual acts over your body. All right, who wants to rape him over the balcony next?