Las Vegas is Spanish for... The Vegas

After spending Fall Break in Las Vegas, the constant bombardment of stimulus has me full of thoughts and observations on traveling, Vegas, and other random things, so I’m not going to waste any time this week with boring concepts like “introductions” and “conclusions”. In the words of 50 Cent, “This ain’t no *#&%)@% 5 paragraph essay, &#%!!! G-g-g-G-g-g-GGGGGuuuuuuNIIIIIT!”

For an extended (and unedited) version of this column, surf your way over to http://meyercolumn.blogspot.com. If you don’t know how to surf, boogey board. If you don’t know how to boogey board, I don’t want you reading my column anyway.

Few things are more uncomfortable than pooping in a public airport stall with a broken lock and a door that’s too far away already. You have to attempt to lean forward far enough to reach the door, but not so far as to poop on the floor (or on your pants around your ankles.) It’s possibly the most challenging event I’ve ever encountered.

Is it possible to go to an airport without seeing someone dressed in a matching velour sweatsuit, and where are these people in everyday life? Why do airports bring them out? It’s kind of like going home for fireworks on 4^th of July, and all the rednecks who live in the woods that you only see once a year suddenly appear to watch things go boom.

No matter how many times it happens, I’m always amused by someone I’m with saying “Don’t worry… I’m a limo driver!” as we walk down the tunnel to get on the plane.

Actual conversations while flying over the middle of the country:

“My God… I have never seen that much flatness.”

“At least there’s a lake.”

“I think that’s a cesspool.”

“Whatever, it’s got a beach.”

“No wonder people out here have accents… they need something to entertain themselves.”

Plane arrival estimated times have more padding than an embarrassed late blooming 16 year old girl.

Vivaaaaa Las Vegas

Whoever had the idea to put a phone in the bathroom is a genius. Think of the increase in efficiency: while you’re pooping out one meal, you can call room service and place your order for the next one. More brilliant than a Guinness ad.

Lewis Black is angrier than Student Life after I make roofie jokes in a column.

Las Vegas is basically a 24/7 Floralia, but with a hell of a lot more lights. Exhibit A: walking down the sidewalk at noon, beer bottle in hand, and strolling by two cops who just smile and wave (which, by the way, made me feel more awkward than Hitler giving a guest speech in Boca Raton.) Exhibit B: waking up and going to breakfast before 10 AM, and ordering chicken tenders, mini cheeseburgers, and a 24 oz. beer… and not even drawing a strange look or any hesitation at all.

If I had to sit in one room for the rest of my life, it would come down to two places: either Jessica Alba’s bedroom, or the Mandalay Bay Sports Book. There’s too much about it to put in words, but I will say that few things are more entertaining than watching an entire room of grown men erupt in ecstatically joyful applause at a touchdown in a football game that still had a 9 point difference with 12 seconds left, just because the betting line was 9.5 and their bets were now covered by a meaningless score.

Despite popular belief, Sean Paul does not speak English. I will not argue this fact.

I always thought that the way casinos worked was the young attractive girls became cocktail waitresses, while everyone else became dealers, security guards, and cashiers. Then I went to the MGM Grand, where I saw two waitresses who were older than my mother, but still wore the skimpy cocktail waitress uniform. Which brings up the obvious question of “what the fuck?” Did the MGM Grand not get the memo? I hear they also don’t put cover sheets on their TPS reports.

Suicidal people should be taken to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse so they can realize the joy and happiness of life, in the form of a gigantic juicy steak. Unless they’re vegetarians… in which case, good riddance.

The World Carnival Buffet at the Rio is so big, even Kobayashi can’t eat the whole thing… and that’s saying something. And speaking of gigantic, did you know that Caesar’s Palace takes up more space on a map than the USSR did in the 80’s?

The cabdriver told me that Las Vegas is the #1 city in the world, and I just kept waiting for him to say “It’s a fact.”

At one point this weekend, Michael Jackson came on the casino speakers. I immediately shifted all my roulette chips and bet everything on ODD. And just in case you were wondering: Billie Jean is not my lover.

I’ve noticed that the word “cashew” is simply a combination of “cash” and “ew.” Therefore, I propose that from now on, we call communists cashews, since they don’t want money.

Some people have two first names… and then there’s Anderson Cooper, who got stuck with two last names and no first name.

What’s up with restaurants that have incredibly good-looking servers in the front, but when you go sit down for your meal, your waiter is a 60 year old man? It’s eerily reminiscent of seeing the awesome trailer for X3, only to arrive at the theater for a huge disappointment.

“Dry heat” is bullshit. I don’t care how dry it is; 90 degrees is fucking hot.

While watching football this weekend, I noticed that the only starter smiling in his picture was a man named R. Kelly, proving that Fox employs 14 year olds as their photographers.