Searchin' Sin-City for the Seven Deadlies
page II

After greed, LUST is probably the second most visible sin in Vegas. It's everywhere! And it's a helluva lot easier on the eyes. No matter where you go, or how hard you try to hide your peepers, you see lust raise its beautiful head and tits into your view. Yes, lust is so powerful in Vegas that it cuts open your eyelids and makes you watch it! It needs your gaze! It wants to be visually groped and felt up by you! Don't ever let the police tell you otherwise!

A prime example was the sheer amount of titty shows that the strip had to offer. Every hotel had at least one (sometimes up to three) nudie dance performances nightly. And in order to study the sin of lust and better understand it, the Wolfman and I made it a point to hit all of them twice. Wait, "twice" means "5 times" right?

Some were fun, some were exotic, and some were even worthy of salute, but unfortunately a few were pure crap. All that the shitty ones did for entertainment was have nekkid women trot around the stage for an hour and a half while singing lame 90s pop songs by Madonna and Prince... poorly. Now, I hear you saying "But Rossman, isn't bad naked dancing better than fully clothed yet great dancing?" and the answer is "yes". But when bad naked singing and dancing costs $40-$50 a pop then the pendulum swings on back to "no".

Those Kennedy men sure knew how to live!Lust, lust, lust, lust, lust, lust, lust, lust, wonderful LUST!! Probably my favorite sin if I had to choo-choo-choose one.

See, without lust, I wouldn't have gotten to meet Marilyn here. And without lust she more than likely wouldn't have massaged my back and meaty arms and legs with her feet. But most importantly, without lust I probably wouldn't have done the mattress mambo with her till we broke 5 hotel beds that night and turned the swimming pool into a sauna.

Granted, that last part only occurred in a very fulfilling and vivid night-pleasure, but what is reality really? Some would argue that dreams are our true dimension and that the world that we live in right now (the one that you're at your computer trying to hurry up and finish my page so that you can get to your daily porn faster) is fantasy. Lord knows I'm all for that! That means that my real-life girlfriend is a 6'2" Scottish babe with 4 separate bodies that look like Nicole Kidman, Kirsten Dunst, Halle Berry and Sung Hi-Lee with boob jobs. It also means that I'm king of the world and president of all cool things that will ever happen and have ever happened in the past and in parallel dimensions.

So I guess I can just tell you guys to piss off and it wouldn't matter much now would it. I mean, my real life quadruple-babe feature would forgive me.

Some burlesque shows were well worth the price of admission. La Femme comes to mind over and over again..... and again........ Give me some time, people.




Oh yeah... But others, like Midnight Fantasy su-ucked, and most assuredly not in a good way. That one even had some half nude dude doing some really gay Michael Jackson and James Brown impressions half way through the show! It had a comedian too, but that guy was at least talented. The impersonator didn't even do anything new or different. He just sang parts of songs and shook his ass in the first row's faces. First of all, did a topless revue honestly think that gay men were going to be waiting in line to see it? Second of all, did they honestly believe that if they did they would get to the theater doors 2 hours before showtime in order to get front row seats so that Steve Urkel could fart in their gaping mouths? HELL NO! Give us titties!! That's all we expect from our ta-ta productions. Well, that and making sure that hot chicks are the only ones showing their racks.

Other than those nipple numbers, lust appeared in the many pamphlets and prostitutes that lined the main street. There are actually newspaper-like distribution bins that hold dozens of ads and free magazines that tell you how to order whores to be delivered to your hotel room in 30 minutes or less! Speed delivery sin! God bless Vegas.

Not that the Wolfman or I actually called for one. We had to live in our hotel room for a few days, and we really didn't want it infested with herpes or crabs or lobsters. That would not have been fun to explain to Michelle and Laurie when we got back home. I guess I could have come up with a good story that would have entertained many souls for hours upon hours on end as to why both the Wolfman and I were covered head to toe in STDs, but the charm of my tale would have grown old pretty fast and I really don't like sleeping in my car.

Oh Tromeo, Tromeo...After I experienced too much LUST (and went into lust-overload) I cracked a little and got a taste of another sin: ENVY. It seems that I saw some poets and medieval wenches waltzing around somewhere and got jealous of the cool threads that they were sporting and the sweet iambic pentameter that they were spouting. But instead of just grinding my teeth into nubs on the sidelines while I visualized stepping on their feather-hatted heads I got serious and forced them to let me join them in their Shakespearian foolery.

It wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be and in the end I was actually heckled away by the short ugly man with the mustache. I got back at him later by making the Wolfman screw his ugly sister that night. Or was it his mother? Or his aunt? I really don't remember, but the truth is I just told the Wolfman that the ugly lady was some sort of relative to that prick in order to make myself feel better. It worked.

Right after I was done with all of my lusting... I mean, right after I was done witnessing all of the lusting in Sin-City I noticed that there was a whole lot o' ENVY goin' on too. Everybody wanted what everybody else had. For example, the poor morons who blew their entire wads on a spin of the roulette or on which cup held the ping pong ball, envied the rich morons who won $5 on the slots. And those semi-lucky fuckers envied the really rich morons who could afford to blow millions at the sports betting bar. And those rich mother fucking rapists were totally jealous of me and the three potatoes I had stuffed down my briefs. It would have been a heinous cycle had I been envious of anyone myself.

I did notice that the Wolfman was envious of me too. He wished he was me and that he had all the smooth moneys that I had. Actually, he already did have those moneys. I stole them from his wallet when he was busy watching a spank show in the back alley. Soooooo, in reality he was truly just envious of himself.

Whoa... That's pretty deep.

Wrath be the name of thy FIST!Here we can see the Wolfman in the middle of New York's Slot Exchange District. It turns out that all of the money that the Wolfman thought he invested into the newest Las Vegas casino really ended up in some fat Puerto Rican chick's pocket. He kept asking her questions about stock prices and expectations and shit, and she just kept saying "BULLcrap" and "kiss my BARE Hispanic ass!". We both thought she was referring to the highs and lows of the market.

When the Wolfman realized that he had been taken for $45,000 (that he was saving up to buy those blonde Russian triplet mail order brides with) he lost control of his WRATH. He went all berserk and started to rip the heads off of tourists and casino clerks alike. I got him calmed down when I told him we'd see The Amazing Jonathan that night in Old Vegas, but we still had to clear the fuck out of the casino we were in to stay out of jail for at least one night of our stay in Sin-City.

Now I know that you've seen all of those Discovery Channel specials on Vegas and you think that we would have easily been caught for the "murders by rage" we commited/participated in, what with all those security cameras and all, but that's what's so cool about the Wolfman's evil anger. When he gets pissed, he sends out some sort of radioactive disrupting waves that cause all the electrical systems in a 100 yard radius to go kablooie. I had my camera specially modified to withstand this phenomenon years ago. All it takes is a thin coat of orange marmalade. And after around 12-14 episodes of anger the camera is nice and toasted and ready to eat. That's the circle of life in practice.

The sinfest continues... Page 3 >>

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