The Mysterious Case of the Broken Bracelet...

 I live in a city that is and has been morally bankrupt since it's very inception. I believe the same can be said for the world in general, but in other geographical locales, it isn't something that's really encouraged. In Las Vegas, Nevada however, it is not only encouraged, it's very much celebrated. Inhibitions fly completely out the window and judging others for indulging their more taboo of whims is non-existent. As a matter of fact, it is the entire reason people from all over this big blue planet of ours frequent this city on an annual basis, sometimes far more frequent than annual. There's something here that possesses your very spirit and interaction with others where you cease to be the person you were and become something you yourself wouldn't recognize on your best day of sobriety, and this is what happens if you don't live here. Let's talk about some of the choice residents who I've met within the bowels of night.

I have met a ridiculous amount of poor choices and mistakes in the 702. Each one like a snowflake bearing it's own individualism, flaws, personality traits, and often times of the more recent, they are typically stranger and more emotionally dead than the one's before them. It's kind of like walking down a spiral staircase that gets darker and more fucked up as you descend. You hear disturbing voices, unorthodox verbal thoughts, and even weird baby crying noises that you'd hear in a psychotic movie, and you're so curious to see what's behind the next door you continue downward. We have just described my dating circuit and this definitely holds true with this last female whom I experimented with, who will in time, be nothing more than another number on a long list of convenient sexual interactions and late night romps getting me no further in the game of life than the last one did. The whole experience is reminiscent of jogging in place in the hopes of warming up and running a mile or two, but it inevitably gets dark outside and you lose interest and forget what it was you were even doing at the track. On a mental level I think about 98% of all residents here are operating day to day on autopilot. Hardly seeking enlightenment but entitlement as well as merely accepting what they see every day at face value and making a vein attempt of acting accordingly. I'm use to it and haven't had a female actually blow my mind mentally since back when southern California was still part of my weekend stomping grounds. But to be perfectly honest the names and the faces have become so amalgamated and juxtaposed with each other that I feel like I'm viewing the past through one of those fun house mirrors. I don't know who's who, where I met them, what conversations we've had, etcetera, but I do know what it inevitably led up to in 4 out of 5 cases examined. So without further a due, let's discuss the most recent failure of almost epic proportions (you can decide for yourself).

Have you ever really wondered how things end with certain individuals whom you choose to “date” or get semi-romantic with? When I think back on it myself, some of the reasons are absolutely hysterical. Others are just lackluster reasons like usually no longer liking the person, they smell like ass, they act like a dude, they're drug addicts, they have no self-worth, they're liars, cheaters, etc. You either just call it quits or stop calling and taking their calls, period. This one was a little different and due to the shear way of things going down as juvenile as they did, it gets its own place on dudebro. While perusing local night spots and even my own private community where I live, I meet people. Some of these encounters lead to something substantial, others do not. Some of them bring about simple conversation with others, some bring about hilarity, especially with employees of the two most famous jobs in Vegas for chicks, cocktail waitress and stripper. This story is about someone from the second occupation and how she's yet to actually grow up mentally as a person.

This particular individual whom we'll call “Tori” because you know I love pseudonyms, is one such character in my ongoing novel of life. She has been known to call me on the weekend around 2 or 3 in the morning to ask me if I thought she was stupid. She often times reads the stuff I write and will no doubt read this I'm sure. As a matter of fact when we were still on good terms and doing things of a romantic nature with each other I once heard her say, “You're not going to write about this on your website are you!?” To which I replied, “No hun, of course not!” However we were on good terms then, and now we are not and Dom happens to own and operate his own shit talking website. Oops.

I won't get into the actual things that transpired between us during those certain moments of intimacy because honestly they were very few and far between. She said I made her nervous because apparently she hasn't been with a male in about 4 years or so. She was playing for the other team for quite some time but apparently recalled her fondness for penis sometime after hanging out with me. I'm sure she's probably back to playing for that same team once again after dealing with me as I sometimes have that effect on certain people. Some women from my past still love and adore Dominic, whereas others detest my very existence. I try to have a clean exit strategy but sometimes shit happens and there isn't much you can do about it, and I'm at the age where I don't really care about doing anything about it. Unless I ran over your puppy and kicked your mom in the teeth, you'd be hard pressed to really get any kind of emotional response out of me.

Moving on, this girl was notorious for leaving shit at my house. If it wasn't a kitchen appliance for when I made dinner (which I do whether or not a female is here), it was jewelery. Among these items was a bracelet made from a gemstone which unbeknownst to me is very fragile. She left it on my counter and told me to put it somewhere safe. My whole house is safe, this place is like Fort Knox in a lot of ways. But because I blow things off and forget shit constantly, I just left it there on the counter. I wasn't going to wear it or anything and she could come pick it up next time she was over so I just forgot about it. The problem was she was a flake and would rather sleep all day then come pick up her belongings, and on my counter it remained.

I came home one day and found it on the tile floor by my door, broken. Apparently the thing fell off the counter somehow when I was cleaning or when the maintenance guy came over to fix something. I honestly don't know. After not seeing this girl for a week and me arguing with her about flaking for a certain festival taking place we got in a texting argument. (Yeah, an actual texting argument, which is where technology has taken us. I don't even have to yell on the phone anymore, which rules.) She called and said she had a $15 gift certificate for Olive Garden and would let me use it for dinner so we could "make up." I mean c'mon, $15 is a lot of money! I said OK and proceeded to meet her there on a Thursday night. Because I'm Dominic and have a strict rule of actually being honest with people I decided that at the restaurant would be where I broke the news (pardon the pun) about her bracelet. Evidently my honesty and being as forthcoming as I possibly can was NOT appreciated and in fact was reprimanded instead. The girl was pissed. Because it happened during our text fight, (yeah that's what I'm gonna call it, TEXT FIGHT!) she thought I had seriously broken her bracelet thingy on purpose. This is because I have nothing better to do than break other people's shit when I'm upset apparently. I can tell by the look in her eyes she wanted to punch me in the face. I told her that the thing could be repaired and in a very un-assholish gesture, I even offered to pay for it and be decent about it. Again, this was not met with positive feedback. In fact she told me that I shouldn't have even told her about it! But because I love all of you and knew I would be posting this, I have saved ALL of the text messages she sent me at 4 am that morning while I was still sleeping and I will now share them with all of you exactly as they came to me my gentle snowflakes, typos included.

Tori 4:04am- “I don't give a shit. Dnt even bother fixn it just giv it back 2 me. Ill tell her what happened and give her $4 a new one. I can't believe you did that.”

I'm still sleeping mind you. Sound asleep, not even replying.

Tori 4:07am- “U really are an asshole. I dont even want 2 b friends w u anymore. U want ppl 2 treat u a certain way but dnt care about any 1 elses feelings. Ur mean”

Tori 4:08am- “And I know u did it on purpose! Im not a fukn idiot. My aunt is 70 yrs old! Fuk. Ur a dick head. I wud never do that 2 any of my friends.”

Tori 4:11am- “And don't even touch my salad spinner! Ill pik it up 2mro and I dont even want to talk to you when I do.”

I am still sleeping folks.

Tori 4:25am- “I know the maintenance man didnt do it. Like youd really let them in ur apt whn ur not ther. U dont even make sense.”

Tori 4:27am- “dont be even more immature than u already have been n mess up my salad bowl. Im seriouse dom-dont fuk w me.”

Tori 4:31am- “I hate u. Ur a huge asshole. U should spend less time on being so smart w words n writing and more time on how 2 be a good person.”

Tori 4:35am- “God. Ur so into yourself it makes me sick! U hate whn ppl flake on u? I hate whn ppl take my beautiful thngs and treat them like garbage!!!”

I woke up later that day and told her she can come pick up her shit, that I left broken for her because me paying to have it fixed was out of the question because I am an asshole. I did however tell her that she was seriously exhibiting signs of narcissistic rage and that perhaps she should call an 800 number or talk to someone. I'm sure there's steps you can take if you find yourself in such situations in life and once again thought I would lend a helping hand.

This was her response instead:

Tori 11:10am- “Narcissistic rage? Dnt say what I am til I break somthn of urs. Not textn u again until 2nt whn im ther. Hope u wait 4me 2get thr b4 putn it out.”

I did not. I just left it on my balcony around 6pm or something. I thought me being decent at this point was well, pointless. But lets kind of digest the situation here. Dom was accused of breaking something on purpose, when in all honesty I didn't do it. If I actually chose to break it, I would have thrown it as hard as I could against my tile floor and it would have been in a lot more pieces than it was. I would say only ¼ of it's total circumference actually broke. I am insulted to think that if, in a fit of rage, I decided to break that thing Tori, that you honestly thought that it would only have one piece missing out of it. I would have went to town on that thing. I would have shattered it in as many pieces as possible. Then I would have taken a hammer and smashed those little pieces into even smaller pieces. At that point I would have just grinded up the remains with something and turned that bracelet into a very fine powder and gave THAT back to you in a zip lock bag. However I did none of those things.

What was shocking to me was that I knew the girl was going to be pissed. I also figured that she thought I honestly did it on purpose, hence the reason I offered to pay for it's repair. But what happens the one time Dom actually attempts to be nice? (And I did apologize surprisingly.) Yes, I am called an asshole, a dickhead, a jerk, a prick and a plethora of other uncomplimentary terms. I felt like I was back in high school or something, but even my girlfriend in high school was far more mature than this one, and this one is 27! Oh what a tangled web we weave when we're too stupid to weave webs.

So here is some quick advice for Ms. Tori:

 1.  I didn't break your stupid bracelet. Your maturity is exactly equivalent to that of a spider monkey who holds his hat out for change from tourists. Instead of having chicks pay you to date you as I was previously told, perhaps you should actually work on growing as a person and realize that accidents do in fact happen. Everybody makes mistakes in life, look at Hitler! But this wasn't even a mistake, the only mistake had here was you leaving shit at Dom's house and honestly thinking that the likelihood of something NOT happening to it in some way, shape, or form was unlikely. Your fault. If it was so important to you, then you should not have left it here to begin with. You could be over here right now talking about pointless and mundane things that I pretend are interesting!

 2.  And this is unrelated but get a boob job. I hear that there are certain establishments like clubs and other places in Vegas where they will actually pay for the surgery upon signing a 3-4 year contract. I have lots of friends out here who are female and do what you do. They make upwards of $3,000 a night when it's slow, whereas you're lucky if you make about $400. You've been in this business long enough to know that there are plenty of other women out there making a killing at strip clubs, and you choose to ignore the obvious. Instead of going back to school, you're going to milk the stripping thing and you're OK with making peanuts for the duration of the time you're doing it. And you called me stupid? Those funbags would be a tax write off! Get with the program and start making some real cash!

 3.  You're not a bad person per se, but you are seriously dumb. I seriously had to dumb down a large majority of my discourse with you because you honestly just did not understand what I was talking about. This ranged from my casual conversations about what little politics I discuss and know about, to educated humor where I was often asked by you, “What does that mean?” and a severe lack of just honest to God common knowledge that any schmuck should be aware of. Go to school. Do something with yourself. Your boobs won't sag when you get older because you don't really have any, but I guarantee you, you won't be a commodity at the old lady club you're currently working at forever. Do something with yourself that has some substance. When you're ashamed of what you do enough to where you won't share it with family members, then you should probably stop doing it at some point. Just saying. And who knows, maybe by moving outside that world of nakedness, drugs, booze and idiocy, you may come into contact with some mildly educated people whom you can actually grow as a person with. Sky's the limit!

 4.  Stop gambling, seriously. Perhaps Vegas isn't the ideal place for you to live if you have gambling problems. I know you've won at certain bar machines before, and pretty decent amounts at that, but you need to stop chasing the dragon. Because of your degenerative gambling disease, you were evicted from your apartment when you constantly kept paying it two weeks late and then you just couldn't pay it at all after that. Another tell tale sign of your maturity is that you called the managers all bitches because they evicted you. What did you think was going to happen? Did you think that because you pay your rent late all the time you were going to be inducted into the “Cool Girl Club” where the rules of the world cease to exist with you? That's actually not what happens. In reality, where I live, they tell you to go kick rocks and also to pack up your shit and move out of the apartment you can't pay for because you fuck off all your money. There's an 800 number you can call for gambler's anonymous. Perhaps one of my swell readers could provide it for you and you can give them a call. I'm giving you gold here Tori, perhaps you should take it for what it is and make some adjustments to your life. The family would be proud, you would be proud of yourself, and your friends would be like, “Damn girl, you gots it goin on baby! How do I get like you?” And you can say, “I once knew this asshole Dominic who actually made me curse the day he was born, but in the end gave me some good old fashioned advice that I applied to my own life and that has made all the difference.”

Lastly I will just end with a quote from a wise man in a movie called “Gangs of New York.” His name was William Cutting aka Bill the Butcher. Sometimes there are just people who have said it better, so why not just end with a quote that says exactly what you're trying to sum up?

“Here's the thing. I don't give a ten penny fuck about your moral conundrum you meat-headed shit sack. That's more or less the thing.”

Sometimes one Dom isn't enough...

There are certain individuals in this world who just bring insanity and drama with them wherever they happen to go. If anyone has ever hung out with me on a night of steady to combative drinking, you would know that something fucked up usually happens to me or to someone I'm consorting with shortly thereafter. This night was no different.

I have a good friend out here in Vegas named Dominique, I know I usually don't use real names but it's just too uncanny. Seeing we didn't engage in anything illegal I figure it should be ok. She was actually my next door neighbor for like a year or something and the girl is a sweetheart. Dominique is your typical hot little 23 year old that every guy loses his shit over. I'd put a picture up so everyone could see what I'm referring to, but she has enough problems with men shadowing her as it is. She has a plethora of celebrity friends that blow her phone up constantly, had 3 separate birthday parties at 3 separate clubs in Vegas this year, and just about every hot chick in this city is friends with her. You can get in free anywhere just for being her friend, it's a pretty dynamic situation. Yes, she's “that” girl. The severity of her male following is actually quite real though. So real in fact that last night I was trying to convince her to buy a firearm for herself. She's got a very generous amount of stalkers, not to mention the new influx of nutbars that make her acquaintance when we want to go out and poor alcohol into our face. They're everywhere and for whatever reason always appear to be multiplying. Albeit, the lovely Ms Dom often times subconsciously (or even consciously) eggs it on with her seductive verbal phrasing and body language. You girls know what you're doing when you go out, so therefor you know what I'm referring to.

Dom called me up last night to give me her new number (I think it had to do with stalker issues or something as I mentioned before) and we got to talking.

Dominique- “What are you doing?”

Dom- “I am getting fucked up and about to go to the spa.”

Dominique- “I want to get drunk in the spa too but I need company.”

Dom- “So come over.”

Dominique- “I have my daughter.”

Dom- “Fine, I guess I'll have to come over there.”

I should've known that although her intentions were to chill out and drink in the spa, that it wasn't going to happen. In fact, I don't think I've ever just kicked it with her and not gone anywhere or done something relatively big on the spur of the moment. Ten minutes after I arrive we were apparently going to some shithole bar called the “Cactus Cantina.” I should've fucking known what was to come just from the name. Also, I do not have my wallet with me because I am retarded and left it at home, which is just something to make a mental note of at this point.

And so begins our story...

It is myself, Dominique, and her brother as we enter this bar that etiquette and style forgot. It was mostly filled with those wanna be rapper types, both black and white respectively. You all know what I'm talking about. Big stupid bright colored shirts like yellow, orange, green, and purple, paired with equally ridiculously colored pants with Timberland boots. It was like a big ghetto clown show, all that was needed was the funny car and some make up. I even overheard some of these anthropoids having freestyle contests and such. And let me just interject with something here real quick for those of you who actually do this in public. You all suck. Seriously. I have been listening to hip hop since I was in fifth grade and I can tell you that there is a very real reason as to why none of you have albums. Again, it's because you all suck. I truly wished you would just go home and kill yourselves but you won't. You keep infecting my watering holes with your idiocy, not that this place is necessarily “mine” it was just something close by I guess but you all need to die.

Moving on, the three of us migrate to the back of the bar where we won't be bothered by “a tribe called quest”, and order some drinks. Words were spoken:

Dom- “Jack and coke please.”

Bartender- “We're out of Jack Daniels....”

*record skips; life as we know it pauses*

Dom- “What?”

Bartender- “Yeah man, we're actually out of Jack.”

Dom- “Are you fucking kidding me? How does a bar in Las Vegas, Nevada run out of Jack Daniels? How is that even a fucking possibility? How do you sleep at night?”

(at this point the bartender becomes the lowest human being I've ever known, plus as we'll find out later, he's also fucking stupid.)

Bartender- “We have Jim Beam.”

Dom- “Yeah, well I don't like Jim Beam. Just give me a crown and coke then. You do have crown don't you?”

Bartender- “Yeah, last bottle.”

Dom- “Big surprise.”The bartender looked like Bruce Willis bald, but with down syndrome.

I turn to Dominique and tell her this bar sucks. I also state this to her brother, whereas he laughs. I am officially in an alternate realm of reality where Jack Daniels ceases to exist, I'm surrounded by G Unit, and the only hot chick in the room came with me. WTF? Plus I don't have my wallet so she's picking up the tab, which I of course tell her I'll repay, where then she exclaims, “shutup and drink!” Who am I to argue with this logic?

[sidenote: Dominique and her brother were actually robbed by two moon crickets (that is my uncomplimentary term for black people that I do not like) that afternoon for about $400 or so. It's one thing to honestly forgot your wallet but I felt extra bad borrowing money from friends when they were just robbed hours prior.]

The drinking continues and we are now drinking Jager bombs, primarily because they are good. I throw about 3 of these back and am having a good time somehow. Dominique also throws about 3 of these back and we order more. Her brother decides we should play some pool so we go grab a table. It's one of those shitty tables that isn't even regulation. With the fact this place didn't even have Jack behind the bar, I was completely impressed when I found that the balls on the pool table actually rolled like balls were suppose to.

I walked to the restroom and as I was returning the bartender calls me back and gives me the next round of Jager bombs.

Bartender- “That'll be $6 bud.”

Dom- “Can't you just charge it to the table or tab or something? I don't have my wallet on me.”

Bartender- *gives me a look like I'm one of the other fellow degenerates populating his place* “Just pay the $6 man!”

Dom- “Are you fucking stupid? No, you know what, don't answer that. I just told you I don't have my wallet. Dominique is picking up the drinks for now, and she just tipped you over $40 for the first 2 fucking rounds (even though I told her not to) and you're gonna talk shit to someone she's here with over $6? You have got to be the dumbest fucking bartender I have ever met. These 3 Jager bombs should be free. I'll have her brother come back and pay for the drinks, you can no longer speak to me.”

I walked away just staggering from the mind-blowing ignorance that goes on at some of these places. I got this old ass bald headed fuckstick getting the red ass because he's incapable of starting a tab for the three of us and would rather openly badger me about six fucking dollars. It was at that moment that I felt like punching him square in the face making sure to have his nose explode with blood, but I decided not to because I try to act my age when I can.

Then it happened. One of the urbanites decided to come over and attempt to “spit game” to Dominique even though he had none. This is one thing I don't understand. Just because you may happen to be black does NOT mean that you know how to spit game. As a matter of fact, I have heard some of the absolute dumbest shit come out of the mouths of these hip-hopians than just about any other group in society. Upon my return I was treated to these tasty gems:

“Yo what up ma? How much to get wit chu da res uh da nite ya herd?” (apparently he wanted to compliment my friend by calling her a hooker)

“Aye aye shorty, what I gotta dew tuh call off ur bodyguards yo?”

“Gurl, whens u first came up in huur I said I gots ta just lik dat pussy.”

Yeah, seriously. Not only was this fucking jackass incapable of creating a comprehensive statement because he was one of those down south moon crickets that talked completely fucked up, but he honestly just came out with the most insulting things you can probably say to someone in hopes of pissing them off. Except that he was actually trying to get laid with what he was saying. I have very little doubt that this kind of shit might work with HIV infected Shaquanda back in Podunk, Kentucky but with any other normal human being it will inevitably end in epic failure. I thought it was at this point that I would have to fight him and champion the human species yet again, but despite all that, Dom's brother and I are diplomatic and just decided that if he put his hands anywhere on Dominique we would annihilate his existence. To my disappointment he did not, so he still is living and breathing to this day. If anyone sees him, please feel free to beat him mercilessly or fire a high caliber projectile at his face. He likes to wear white jackets and has one of those gay tattoo tear things that apparently mean you've taken life at some point. I am not impressed.

Then he tried to wager a $400 game of pool with me. I knew he was talking out of his ass and was just trying to start problems. I knew this piece of shit didn't even have $400. You know how I knew? Because he was a piece of shit.

Dom- “Let's see the $400.”

Eggplant- “Iz in muh car dawg.”

Dom- “.......let's see the $400.”

Eggplant- “yo, I sez itz in muh car dawg.”

Dom- “So go fucking get it!”

Of course he walks away and doesn't return for like 20 minutes and when he does it's just to talk to Dominique again. Although saying “talking” would be giving him far too much credit on the evolutionary scale. This was one of those individuals whose mother you want to punch in the vagina merely for giving birth to him, (Maddox would call this the "ovarian delight.") by accident I'm sure, but I still blame her anyway. It was right around this time that I just felt like shooting everyone here and putting them out of their ignorant misery.

Dominique- “What should we do Dom, this guy is scaring me.”

Dom- “Yo, don't be scurred yo.” *I throw up westside for fun*

Dominique- “No seriously, I think he's going to try something.”

Dom- “He might, but I think your brother and I can take him without incident.”

Dominique- “What if he has other people jump in?”

Dom- “I don't know, you're the one who wanted to take your car. My car has lots of guns in it for just such occasions like this. Pull one of those things out of the console and we can steal these people's clothes and burn them!”

Dominique- “Damnit, we shoulda took Dom's car!”

Quick focus point:

If any of you have ever seen the news on why so many urbanites get shot all the time by their own people, this is how it starts. I am white and was ready to shoot everyone here in a matter of less than an hour, mostly just for being stupid, ignorant, or saying asinine things and trying to infect me with it. Right now I hate everybody and feel a murderous rage is imminent.

Ok, so her brother and I decide that we're just going to walk out and see what happens. Before doing so, her brother decides to tell the bartender to walk outside with us. I wasn't quite sure what that was going to do, but whatever. We get up and proceed to walk outside and without skipping a beat, buckwheat gets up and starts to give chase. I stretch my neck and get the duke boys ready (those are my fists), however the Neanderthal bartender actually did something and senor Cricket never made it out front. But the damage is done, Dominique is plastered and is on her way to downward spiral of mayhem.

I can tell you that the next part of this epic tale consisted of us going to a gentleman's club called “Penthouse” here in Vegas, although I think it's Crazy Horse III now according to the sign. Nothing of any literary substance transpired here except for the fact that I am still in my board shorts and sandals with a tshirt on and they let me walk right in due to the company I was keeping. It's truly amazing sometimes what the right person within your entourage is capable of attaining for the group. We went here to visit a friend of hers, it became very anti-climatic, and we vacated shortly thereafter.

And now comes the aftermath. Dominique's bill was coming due for her impetuous drinking and it was to take place at the Chevron station up the street.

Dominique- “Pull over, I feel sick.”

Brother- “Ok, hold on, here's a gas station, we're good.”

We get out of the car and she is still sitting in the passenger seat. I would estimate that about 3 seconds later the vomiting pyrotechnics arrive in a beautiful orange calamity of what looked like thick, orange tang. Please remember dear reader, that I am standing relatively close, still wearing my reef sandals, and pretty much barefoot aside from that. I thought I was going to be getting intoxicated in a spa this evening, but what you're reading was the inevitable result of something entirely different. The vomit is misting my feet and it is gross. Shortly thereafter Dominique arises from the passenger seat and begins bracing herself on the door, I am unsure as to why. I am watching her preparing for any subtleties that may preclude her for continuing to stand on her own and then it happened. Faster than I could react, the girl falls onto the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Dominique- “Dominic! I broke my leg!”

Dom- “You've done no such thing you just cut yourself on that rock right there.”

Dominique- “No, I can't move it! I am paralyzed!”

Dom- (I start laughing at this point) “Honey, you're fine, seriously. You cut yourself, it's a baby gash, just get in the car.”

I don't believe that anyone on this planet could've caught her in time to substitute the loud thud she made after crashing down. Of course, her brother and I helped her up but the hyjinx at this point are just too full of hilarity.

Dominique- “I'm taking my skirt off, its all dirty now.”

I can assure you that miraculously there wasn't one speck of dirt on the skirt she was wearing, but that was of no consequence. She immediately removed her skirt and threw it on the ground for lack of a better place. My friend is now standing there in a parking lot wearing a G string, laboring to get back into the car. I threw the remnants of her garments back in the vehicle when I realize that if any law enforcement entities were to arrive, it would be unavoidable that her brother and I would be going to jail for what would appear to be “date rape.” I immediately recommend that we make haste in our departure and save jail for another night. (The breakfast there sucks.)

We arrived back at the brother's apartment and Dominique is still walking around in her panties refusing to put her clothes back on. I decide to hang out for a few minutes to make sure she won't be needing medical attention. She didn't, and as I was attempting to leave, she got mad at me for my untimely departure, but the party has long since been over. I went home and climbed into bed realizing that I am starting another whole chapter of debauchery in a city that is truly a hybrid for making you forget your name and wondering how you lost your dignity the night before. Since I've moved here I believe my dignity has been lost about 5 times already. I just put ads on craigslist for it.

I love Vegas.