Stop that.

Right, well the comic thing kind of died out. I tried to work a few more out, but when you do something and you can't even make yourself laugh... time to hang it up. Maybe at some point I'll go back to it. I was reading some of my older shit. I mean, 2005 shit. And decided that for once in probably two and a half years, I should write something in here when I'm not shitfaced. Alright, not sure if anyone knows but I live in Las Vegas. Also known as the big pile of dirt in the middle of nowhere where some guy had the bright idea to make a city. I think my most common curse phrase next to "son of a whore" is "GODDAMN CITY FOR NO REASON". But there is a reason. It's stupid people. People who are shitty at math. For some reason people are under the assumption that they build big-fuck buildings with gold and diamonds and shit hanging off it as a monument to a big-ass free cash machine. If you're coming to Las Vegas, just let me tell you one thing so you're not confused. IT'S NOT A MULTIBILLION DOLLAR INDUSTRY BECAUSE EVERYONE WINS MONEY. I've gambled probably 3.5 times in my entire 1.5 years here so far. And as far as I could tell, I would've rather taken a piss on a 5 dollar bill and lit it on fire. Or in reverse order. Probably lit it and then pissed it out. Whatever. Point being that the smell of burning urine is more fun than gambling to me. I feel dumber for having done it. Exactly the same way when you're drunk and you piss on a campfire, and a split second to late you think ahhhhh this is gonna smell terrib... OH SHIT. And then it hits your nostrils. That guy knows what I'm talking about. The real point of Vegas is getting fucked up. You can't argue that. Almost any form of mind and body altering substance can be procured in this shitass made-up city. I'm not into drugs. I just like to drink. And there isn't an alcohol available on this planet that I haven't been able to find in Las Vegas. Which segways perfectly like a gyro-stabilized two wheeler into a story about my brother's 21st birthday. Actually it's not a very good story. We had huge foam cowboy hats, and walked around Vegas shitfaced out of our minds. To be honest, I can't really recount any specific moment of the night. You should just believe that it was fun. I still have the hat, and apparently a fuckload of those mardi gras beads. We ran quite the Danny Oceans maneuver to procure all of those. And my brother almost knocked over the entire bead podium trying to get them out. Also I ate a piece of a deep fried twinkie. That was... interesting. Writing is a lot less interesting when I'm not hammered. Run with it. Still warring with question marks after all these years. How can you not. For old times sake.

Peace up.
A-town down.