I wouldn't want the responsibility either

I need to get across the street so I walk over to the crosswalk and push the little walking man button.  It begins beeping to let me know that this is an audible cross walk.  When the flashing lights in the street turn on, a little voice speaks up to say "Proceed with caution, cross traffic may not stop."  

the "Shaft" of public service signals

At first I'm annoyed thinking the American's with Disabilities Act is wasting my tax dollars and won't let me cross the street in peace; then I start to think about the poor blind man who this is designed for.  Let me repeat the words of advice doled out by this electronic voice of hope, "Proceed with caution, cross traffic may not stop."  If I'm a blind guy I'm thinking "Oh good, I was afraid they were going to let me know when it was safe to cross."  The blind man already knows the cross traffic may not stop, I assume he's been dealing with that his whole life.  

Naturally he gets hit by a car and takes his case up against the city for providing an unsafe crossing environment for the disabled.  But the city has a lock-tight defense.  "Look, we told you the traffic may not stop."  They weren't taking any responsibility in the first place.  Next week, they're putting up release of liability wavers you have to sign before you cross the street.

Veags for life

When people think "a day in Vegas" how many times does "I gotta get up early cause I gotta go to Lowes" usually come up? That's right, my days in Vegas are just a little different than the one's tv and films would have you believe are the quintessential. I decided to live in Vegas, and when you live in Vegas, you never really get to LIVE Vegas.

When living in Vegas, as opposed to just visiting, you have to use what's know as rational thinking. Rational thinking......... in a city that prides itself on being irrational. Rational thinking in situations were everyone else is going purely off of there baser instinct. Hot, big breasted women are dancing to Rock You Like A Hurricane, the dice is white hot and everyone's screaming and laughing cause they won a measly 12 cents on a Pennie machine. They are doing Vegas man, doing it like all the commercials would suggest you do. And yet, here I am making sure to keep my ATM card in my car as a precaution to avoid the very gambling and strippering and drinking that makes this town what it is. Sick, unnatural male thinking for sure, one might even argue inhumane. I'm getting a lap dance at BaDa-Bing and giving her the hook 5 minutes in cause I just realized my car payment is due today, and not the 15th as I planned on. Viva la rational!

Everyone deserves a place to get crazy, a vacation hot spot to let loose. Sadly, Vegas disqualifies itself when you live in it. I'd kill to be one of those wild, uninhibited people. I want to experience the shows and gamble every last dollar while sucking down cocktails at a rate that would make Lindsey Lohan jealous. But I can't, cause I'm using damn responsible boring rational thinking. Rational thinking in Vegas, ugh. Everyone's gambling it up, going to Fat Tuesday's for some athletic drinking, stepping out of some club with some girl and getting a rude awaking from the sun at 6 am. But I can't do that, no no. Cause I have work at 8. It becomes increasingly hard to escape to Vegas when you're already there.
I encourage you though. Please, enjoy your time in this beautiful, fun and unique city. Just be sure to tell me when your finished, so I can turn off the lights. The electricity bill is a bitch here.

After a hazy night of free martinis and 70's rock in Las Vegas...

...the comedy fighting duo teams up to embarrass themselves further on the internet.

I landed in John Wayne airport at 8:10am after a good 45 minutes of sleep on the plane.  I had to ride home with the worst hang over of my life on the back of a rumbling Harley Davidson in a tight helmet because I lent my car out while I was in Vegas and it was justly driven into a refrigerator on the freeway.  I get home at 8:30am and I am only able to account for one of the two hand stamps on my hand.  I lie in bed for another 25 minutes awake because my stomach won't allow me to fall sleep.  Kiersten promptly shows up to drag me out of bed and dress me.  After which I spent the next 10 hours driving a u-haul, carrying beds, and assembling Ikea cabinets.  For all of this I blame Las Vegas, I blame you, I blame spyonvegas.com, and I blame Steel Panther.  I am never going back.

fat Bret Michaels haunts my dreams