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As climate goes, last night was as perfect as Las Vegas gets.  It was so nice that I couldn’t contain myself from walking.  I’m technically not supposed to walk long distances for at least two more weeks, but there are plenty of cold and windy months ahead to sit at home and surf porn with a morphine drip.  Hell, now that I’ve vocalized it, I’m kind of looking forward to those days.

Anyway, since it would have required about 20 minutes of standing, I wasn’t able to jump on the Deuce so I called a friend of mine to take me Downtown in his supercool Dodge Neon rental.

I did this for two reasons.

First of all, I cannot drive right now lest my knee give out when it’s time to brake, and second of all … nothing, and I mean nothing makes the ladies drop their panties like a Dodge Neon.  They’re the Cadillacs of crap.

In about a half hour we were cruising north and I struck my best gangsta lean as we headed toward Fremont Street.  When you’re rolling on 14” rims with plastic hubcaps, it would be a waste not to look the part as well.

After parking in Binion’s and taking the world’s most frightening parking garage elevator to the ground level, we hit the canopy and proceeded to check out the action.

Obviously, mid-October crowds are seasonally weak, but it was anything but deserted.

There was a fair mix of tourists and locals, and the vibe was very positive on the street.  There were kids playing, adults dancing to the stage band, and Halloween costumes have already begun to make an appearance.  Since I have spent the last several Halloweens on The Las Vegas Strip, I will probably take to Fremont this year.

After being absent for much of the themed summer, Carl “Safe Sax” Ferris, was back in action.  One of these days I’m going to ask the guy to show me how to be risky with a sax.  I already have a few ideas, but it’s probably better to consult an expert on such matters.

Binion’s is now running a “Haunted Casino”, and I was offered several $3 off coupons from a monster.  Since kids are allowed in this attraction, I pocketed the coupons and promised to return with my sprogs, which I plan to do.

The night wasn’t all pleasant, however.

The Mermaids ladies are a little cranky as of late.  I used to get a photo of them every time I went to Fremont, but these days they are hustling for tips a little too aggressively.

I used to take a photo and slip them a dollar or two on previous trips.  It doesn’t sound like much, but I’ve probably paid $100 out of pocket over the years for slightly different versions of the exact same photograph.

The past two times I have waited in the photo queue, one of the girls has approached me and said “we work for tips.”

I am not oblivious to the economic realities of Las Vegas, but I find this new practice annoying.  At this point, I will probably no longer ask them to pose.  It’s nothing personal, but I just don’t have a need for 101 closeup photos of the Mermaids ladies.

The girls are now working the Hollywood Boulevard angle, and it’s a bit of a turnoff.  If an establishment puts showgirls on display to lure people into the property, you shouldn’t get shaken down when you yank out a camera.  On the flip side of the coin, I feel bad for the girls because they must be hurting to have to resort to these tactics, but I don’t know if I am necessarily doing the right thing by supporting it.

Vegas has always been about the money, but now it’s a bit more in-your-face.  It almost feels as if you can’t walk down the street unless you are clutching a fistful of dollar bills ready to grease everyone you come into contact with.

Pretty soon our cops are going to start accepting tips for providing directions, and they may very well start charging for every bullet they pump into your rear window.  If you “exchange words” with them frequently, the costs will really add up.

I hate to say it, but it feels as though there is desperation hanging in the air at times.  It’s hard to explain, but you can almost feel the recession.  Everyone was laughing and happy a few years ago, but now you can see the pain, worry, and lack of enthusiasm in the face of many casino employees.

It’s not a critique, just an observation.  When life sucks, it’s hard to fake being happy, and I don’t blame them in the slightest.  I wish I had the power to make things better, but the economic problem is far bigger than any one person.

I’ll probably cave and pony up Mermaids Girls tips next time.

Anyway …

We did some gambling in Binion’s, and I even played the Big 6 wheel with a small Asian woman with improbably large breasts in proportion to her stature.  The cell photo is overexposed and they are hard to see, but if you find yourself on Fremont in the near future, do yourself a favor and check out this chick’s melons. They are spectacular.  She’s also quite friendly, and the entertainment value of this combination will mask the shame of playing Big 6.

After a couple of hours of gambling and walking, we headed back to the elevator from hell which delivered us to the Pimpmobile.

While cruising the Boulevard on the way home, I noticed what appeared to be a woman swinging back and forth under the Talk of The Town marquee.  She was smiling and waving to passing cars.

“Am I just tired, or was that a real lady waving to us?”, I asked the Neon Commander.

“She looked real to me”, he replied.

I asked him to go back and we hung a U-Turn on the Boulevard, made another left to come full circle, and pulled into the Talk of The Town parking lot.

The lot was ominous and creepy, but sure enough … there was a live woman swinging back and forth in a swingset.  Beside her, a man sat nodding off next to a makeshift mechanical bull.  You can’t make this stuff up.

We looked around, made a comment about knowing how Alice felt after falling down the rabbit hole, and I finally rolled down my window and said “Good evening, can you pose for me, I’d like to get a quick shot”.

The lady looked at me, and then waved to a man standing near the door of Talk.

The man came walking purposefully over to her, and I could not help but notice a large bulge in his pants.  Not the kind I have in my pants, but on the side.  Either he was packing or he had one hell of a tumor that needs treatment ASAP.

The woman spoke to him in a volume that I could not hear, and then he approached my window which was still rolled down.

“That will be five dollars”, he said in a thick Eastern European accent.

“Five dollars for what?”, I asked.

“For a picture”, he replied.

“Are you kidding?”, I asked.

He gave me a steely glare that told me that he wasn’t joking in the slightest, and he stood by waiting for me to pay.

Before I knew it, my head was pinned to the headrest as the car shot forward and our tires made a telltale “squeeeeeeeeal” when we pulled out of the parking lot and hit the Boulevard.

“What in the hell are you doing?”, I asked.

“The guy was reaching for his gun!”, he screamed.

“He didn’t reach for anything”, I yelled … pissed off that I now had whiplash.

My friend went on to explain to me that he could tell that the guy was in the Russian mob, hence the accent.  I tried to explain that we were not going to get shot by the Russian mob for declining to pay for a $5 photograph, but he disagreed because he “saw something in a movie once”, and that pretty much ends all rational debate on the spot.

I screamed and yelled that we didn’t live in a Martha Focking movie, but once something is committed to film, it may as well be fact to 90% of the U.S. Population.

The irony of this entire episode is that the lady was swinging under a marquee which openly bragged about being a location in the movie “Hangover”.

Reality in this town really is stranger than fiction.

Anyway, when the Mermaids girls and the supposed Russian mob is shaking people down for $5 photographs, you know the town is in trouble.

Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to go get loaded on “Roofilyn” and kidnap a naked Asian man to put in my trunk.

Apparently, you can do that here.

I saw it in a movie once.

Update: I went back to Talk of The Town about half an hour ago to get my shots, but neither the swinging lady nor the mechanical bull operator were present.

I did get chased away by two other “entrepreneurs”, though.

Since I have no philosophical objection to the trade, I will not elaborate on who they were or what they were doing, but let’s just say that What Happens in Vegas, Happens in the Talk of The Town parking lot.

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