My Goose Is Cooked

I had survived six days in Vegas, and about to work on my seventh when I crossed the “Vegas Threshold of Pain” and my goose was officially cooked. After finding ourselves homeless, with every hotel in town booked solid for the upcoming CES / AVN Show - it’s was time to actually make like geese and get the flock out of Dodge. The maximum amount of time anyone should attempt to withstand such a town – spiritually, mentally, or financially -- is five days, after which you are only causing unneeded damage to your liver, brain, and wallet. Dan, Jay, and Paul are left to fend for themselves for the final 24 hours in Lost Wages; before they continue on to San Francisco; where business will hopefully not concern hamsters, lube, or PVC pipe. While I enjoy San Francisco, I have no official business there – plus, I avoid places more gay than Atlanta, where the latest rage is “gifting parties” (that’s right – parties where people knowingly exchange AIDS).

Yes, even more proof that being gay is gay.

Why did I ever agree to stay out in Vegas so long? I already know Internext is a sordid affair, held in the city of sin, with some of the most self-indulgent people on Earth. Only made even worse by the fact it is held in the height of flu and convention season, bringing in exciting new germs from all over the country. Was Howard Hughes an eccentric, paranoid, germaphobe, or just practical? With every sneeze, shiver and cough I see, I start to think the latter. Over the past week I have gone through the process of acquiring, fighting, getting over, and exchanging at least a dozen colds. My intake of booze, ecstasy, and weasel dust didn’t do much to boost the ole’ immune system either. Between sleeping short durations in deep, Xanax-induced drug comas and grinding my jaws and teeth -- I have managed to chew up so much of my tongue, it now looks like a lump of regurgitated beef jerky. Not to mention, my persistent cough has made my throat rawer than a Max Hardcore video.

So what really goes on at these conventions? Well, it’s a good forum to make new contacts and hammer out business deals. While in Lost Wages, Paul and I formed a new company: Bitch Management Solutions, where our motto is:

WE SLAP BITCHES SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO

During a series of high level business meetings, it was decided I would be CEO Chief Slap-a-Hoe, while Paul would head up the dirty arm of Bitch Management Solutions: The Ugly Webcam Girl Consulting Firm. For a nominal service charge, we will show up at some nasty looking webcam chick’s house and lay an Agassi-sized backhand on her. Paul and I see each other almost every day - such a project could have been easily hatched from the affordable confines of my office, but to do such a thing would have just been completely impractical -- and not nearly as expensive or fun. Other than our new companies, herds of hot sluts, wild sex parties, free drugs, and harassing forty year-old hookers around the hotel bar over the price of nuts, doing the windmill, we quite wasted our time in Vegas.

And remember: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.