Ode' to the Buffalo Wing

Like any good old American product, you can get ‘em how you want em, you can dip them in a sauce, spice ‘em up, grill them up, soak them in sauce, fry ‘em, use them in an eating contest, nude wrestling contest, put them proudly next to breasts, pair them with a beer, eat them during sporting contests, sex, or in a restaurant…for centuries American men have enjoyed a spicy chicken wing. You may wonder…whom do we have to thank for this great American cooking technology?


According to homecooking.com, there is some dispute about who came up with the original hot wing appetizer, but most credit the Anchor Bar in where else but Buffalo, New York, USA. The historic creation date for Buffalo Wings was October 30, 1964, when owner Teressa Bellissimo was faced with feeding her son and his friends a late snack. Having an excess of chicken wings on hand, she fried up the wings, dipped them in a buttered spicy chile sauce, and served them with celery and blue cheese dressing as a dipping sauce to cut the heat. The wings were an instant hit. The city of Buffalo has designated July 29 as "Chicken Wing Day," and today, the Anchor Bar serves up more than 70 thousand pounds of chicken per month!

Based on that history lesson, I would gladly make love to Teressa Bellissimo…of course with some wings nearby – George Costanza style. For I think we, as men, owe Teressa a round of applause, she had a vision more grandiose than we could have imagined.

I say the Buffalo wing represents the best of American ingenuity; right up there with Thomas Edison should be Teressa Bellissimo. They both have contributed equally to the happiness and future of society and should be commended. Our kids kid’s can enjoy a spicy wing thanks to the hungry stomachs of Teressa’s kids. It doesn’t get more American than that problem/solution: Me Kids are hungry - Solution: get me some wings…the British are coming, lets shoot them…the taxes are too high on tea, lets throw it in the harbor…we don’t have a constitution, lets make one…the parallels with American history are endless.

Too often cast aside as worthless parts of the chicken, Teressa saw something in those little wings - she saw the future of male hunger, she saw the perfect compliment to an ice cold beer, maybe she saw attractive women with large breasts carrying around plates of these wings, or maybe she just got bored. As she set those wings down on the table that night, she might as well been setting down wings for every hungry American male looking for a spicy fix.

Here’s to you Teressa…I like mine with a traditional buffalo sauce, a side of Ranch for dipping, and I wash it down with an ice cold Killians Irish Red. Men – hold your wings up high and thank that cool midnight on October 30th, 1964 for you owe it your life.

Just How Mongolian Is Your Beef, Sir? (Episode I)

I remember it well. It was a cold winter’s day in my hometown, and my family and I ventured out to a new restaurant that everyone in the quiet river city was raving about. Sure, I was simply heading to dinner, but looking back, I was doing much more than that by entering this mysterious establishment. I speak of Golden China, and though it has since closed its hallowed halls to diners, the effects of its profound impact are still felt today (and I’m pretty sure that is not digestion-related). I have the opportunity to break bread regularly with good friends, and we often decide on Chinese cuisine. Yeah, everyone likes Chinese food, but a more important question begs to be answered. Are the American people giving the Chinese buffet the respect which it so unquestionably deserves? Ladies and gentleman, gather ‘round, grab a nice bowl of Lo Mien, and listen as I extol the virtues of the pinnacle of budget ethnic dining, the Chinese buffet.
There are few places that can inspire the sense of wonder and enchantment that a Chinese buffet cam. The Great Wall, the Pyramids, Outer Space, all wondrous yes, but can you walk away from them with a piping hot Crab Rangoon in hand? I think not. The true magic of an excellent “china meal” as we call it, revolves around three key variables – the atmosphere, the food, and of course, the clientele who frequent the place. When these three come together in just the right way, the heavens part, the stars align, and we are treated to a dining experience that simply cannot be surpassed. In this first installment of my three-part epic on the glory that is all-you-can-eat Chinese dining, I explore the atmosphere and setting of the Chinese buffet.

The Arena

When considering the atmosphere of a Chinese buffet, a number of factors contribute to whether or not the experience there will be an enjoyable one. Location can pretty much dictate the type of buffet you’re about to enter, and I’ve found that there are generally three varieties – the palace, the dive, and the middle-ground. The palace is the type of buffet that just quite frankly goes all out to impress you. Not only does it feel more like a hotel lobby than a restaurant, but every single item is polished to a shine. If you’re actually going to have a waiter during a China buffet experience, this shrine to General Tso is where you’ll find it. Moving on, the dive describes that place you see as you drive home from work everyday, and though you know it involves Chinese cuisine, you’re not quite sure if it’s been closed/condemned or if they are open for business. It’s worth noting that some of the best Chinese I’ve ever had has come from a dive (HAPPY GARDEN!) Finally, we have the middle of the road buffet, which brings em’ in every day. This is where you’ll find your large family outings, questionable sanitation standards, and average cuisine.
The name of the restaurant is crucial, and I feel that I’ve discovered the secret to the Chinese buffet naming convention. Basically, the name must involve one of the following eight words as required by state law – Happy, Dragon, Forbidden, Garden, Panda, Lucky, Wok, and Taste. Additionally, the buffet must be built around or include a mural and/or painting of at least one of the following three images (bonus points are given for a combination) – the Great Wall of China, a dragon with claws spread striking a menacing pose, or a night shot of a busy Chinese city, typically by a waterfront. You also need to see a hand-written sign, usually close to the register, that is trying to communicate something in a form of English that defies all laws of grammar and punctuation. For example, classics from a recent trip to the buffet include, “Closed holiday hour (5.95) chicken stick w/ prok fried rice,” all on one sign, and “Please enjoy drink your own – (left) no refill.” Well said, indeed.
The remaining cornerstones that contribute to the atmosphere of a Chinese buffet are food placement, music, glass size, and the service. If the food placement, meaning the locations of the various bars of the buffet are indeed awry, the experience really is hard to enjoy. For example, let’s keep the American foods away from the Chinese foods. Is it that hard to find room for the fucking onion rings other than next to my sweet and sour chicken? Also don’t put that nasty excuse for pizza, which is only there for kids by the way, next to the real Chinese cuisine. (Look, I’m sorry, lady, that your picky little bastard kid doesn’t like Chinese, but I hear there’s this place where a clown will sell you a happy meal right down the road.) The music can also really add some sizzle to the china experience. Some owners clearly just say “fuck it” and play the local radio station, while others stay true to their roots. Often it is a Chinese vocalist singing a Beijing original, but sometimes, on a lucky day, we hear it. I’ll vaguely recognize a melody, and then yes, yes it’s true…. a Chinese version of Michael Bolton’s “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You” is making sweet, sweet love to my eardrums. Quite frankly, it doesn’t get any better than that.
It’s also important to note the crucial nature of the drinking glass size. We often visit a local establishment, let’s call it Best Taste China Buffet, and while the food is very good, the glass size is small enough to make reconsider stopping in there. Is it a Chinese custom to serve shot glasses with your meal? I understand tea cups, but dammit, when is the last time you went into a 7-11 and bought a 5 oz. Pepsi? I like a decent-sized glass for my beverage, and don’t give me the crap about unlimited refills because there is something unpleasant about getting up for a drink 12 times during one meal. Not only do I have to go two at a time, but each time up means walking past hordes of diners running back and forth and wolfing down food like this may be their last meal.
Finally, the service at a restaurant like this can make or break the experience. It’s an odd relationship, I and the waitress, because the question always arises…”Since all she is doing is clearing the plates, is a tip necessary?” I’m a big fan of the Hispanic fellow at China Buffet in Bloomington, IN who doesn’t even try to work quickly. He simply puts his headphones on, pushes his cart up and down the aisles, and buses tables. When he approaches your table, there is a half-ass attempt at asking if you’re finished, but you just better go ahead and hand-stuff that last bit of lo mien into your face because the plate is going away regardless. It’s as if he’s saying, “Look, we know you’re fucking our bottom line because of how much you’re eating vs. $5.25 we charge, so if you’re gonna play, you’re playing by our rules.” I love hospitality. Plus, the buffet crew is always willing to work with you on the seating arrangements. I’ll never forget the day my good friend Jake Oakman and I visited 8 China Buffet and witnessed the greatest seat change ever, and I mean EVER. A woman storms the front counter workers as we’re waiting to pay and kindly says, “I AM READY TO MOVE! SHE SAID FUCK YOU TO ME!!! THAT BITCH SAID FUCK YOU TO ME, I AM READY TO MOVE!” To this day, we’re not sure what happened. Speculation included everything from this woman encountering a long vanquished rival, her waitress telling her “fuck you’ thus making her “ready to move,” or as I assumed, her lesbian partner said “fuck you” and there was a moving truck outside waiting for her to move. Regardless, she was promptly seated elsewhere, and that’s the kind of service you can expect from a great Chinese buffet.
Next week, Part II – The Cuisine.

Why would you want to be an official?

Although this is called: 'why would you want to be an official,' let me first get this off my chest. I don't know what it is about you Ed Hightower, but I hate you. I watched you officiate last night during the IU and Iowa game and generally I am pretty objective, but last night you crossed the line and perhaps cost us a shot at winning the game. With 3 minutes left in the game, IU down by 8, Robert Vaden clearly and cleanly stole the ball from a Hawkeye....you blew the whistle because it had to be your time of the month. You just couldn't call a fair game could ya?

Sure, you've officiated your share of NCAA final fours, big 12 games and you were even named official of the year in 1992, but it is now 2006 and your best years are behind you. Hang the bike shorts up and call it a night, Hightower, we as fans don't want to see your out of shape ass "run" up and down the court anymore.

Mike Davis duly got upset during the second half of last night's contest and rather than giving Davis some room to complain, you decided to T-up Mike Davis and storm to the other end of the court. First of all, as a ref, when you t a coach up, go to the scorers table and signal it, as all officials are directed to do. He turned around and put the t right in Davis' face and then "ran" to the other end of the court.

The point is America, I hate Ed Hightower and begs the question why would you want to be referee? Why would you desire to be in a no-win job?

What does a job description for an official look like you may ask? Let me give you a sample of an ad that ref would have to respond to in order to become an official.

"Large, global organization seeking an individual who isn't afraid to run around in tight, no breathe pants for 40 minutes. The qualified candidate will be able to deal with verbal and emotional abuse on a nightly basis and be able to deal with being questioned on every single move you make.

Additionally, the ideal candidate will possess an ability to not get hurt by tall, unruly players who may accidently run their junk over them during the course of a nights work.

Other requirements include:
- the ability to work well within a team, well really its about staying together so you don't get killed leaving an arena
- have proven people skills, including the ability to ignore screaming coaches and fans
- not afraid to show up on the 6pm Sportscenter for blowing a call in the biggest game of the year
- proven ability to remain professional even when a fan may threaten to kill you and your family - close ties to the witness protection program or mofia a plus

We are an equal opportunity employer, send resume and cover letter to: Worst job in america; care of: Idiot who applied for this job.

Salary Range: none, but we'll give you one of those coats wint an elastic band around the waist, kind a like the famous 'Members Only' coats of the 80's....we promise it wont make your ass look big."


Wow, I'm calling off all bets on my current career path. In fact, sign me up for this job, it sounds like a great long-term opportunity and you get yourself a fancy coat.

In fact, when I was little, I told my dad I didn't want to be no successful entrepreneur (flawless!!! - those who watch the first couple weeks of American idol know what I'm talking 'bout - paradise cleaning coming to your neighborhood soon with the flawless tagline: You come home and your house looks and smells like Paradise!), no fighter of fire, and no money-maker, I just want to be a zebra with a whistle in my mouth.



My life-ling dream is about to come true, I just found out I got a second interview for the job listing above. Verbal abuse here I come! Dad would be proud.

In good times and bad, for better or for worse

We, as sports fans, are passionate and sometimes we even get a little crazy about our teams. From your shirtless Green Bay Packer Fan in January, to your guy in a Dress with a Redskins hog nose, to the Jets fan who had too much too drink, and to the Red Sox fan who punched out a Yankee lover. We are passionate to no end and we take it personally when someone talks badly about OUR team. If we could, we would suit up, and happily get drilled by a middle linebacker, if it meant we got a W. To this end, we also must deal with the tough losses, the ones that keep you from watching sportscenter for a couple of days. The ones that leave a bad taste in your mouth and wondering if your team will ever get it together.

This past week, my beloved Indianapolis Colts decided to play like a division 3 college. They didn't show up until the 4th quarter and by then it was too late. I was certain that this was our year; karma helped out by letting the Patriots commit 5 turnovers and lose to the Broncos. What else do we need? Homefield throughout the playoffs, Patriots out of contention, and to top it off the Superbowl is in Detroit in a dome. If not this year then when? When Colts? It leaves a sick taste in your mouth, knowing you have to wait til next year and even if we win every game, in the back of my head I will be picturing our offensive line practicing our matador blocking technique..thats where the lineman craps his pants, falls down and lets the defender go around him. Invest in some depends colts, I am tired of seeing you soil yourself every playoff run. This rant is an example of the interesting dynamic between fans and their teams. One day you love em, the next day you are burning their jersey.

After the colts lost on Sunday, me and a couple guys embarked on a common journey among men - a trip to a Chinese Buffet. And when we walked in it was clear something or someone had died. As Kenny G blared in the background, and then I saw him in all his glory...I noticed a portly man sitting with his wife, and wearing a Marvin Harrison jersey. It was at that moment that I realized I was no fan of the Colts compared to him. This guy looked like he had just played in the game. We was limping to station 5 - the chicken section of the chinese buffet - shaking his head in disbelief. He ate his General Tso's in anger and destroyed his sweet and sour chicken with the vigor of a growing lad. It was a depressing sight to say the least but it made me realize that just when you think you are the greatest fan, you meet someone who is more die hard than you and it relieves the pain.

When you think about it, your sports team can be compared to a marriage - obviously on a very small scale. There are times when you love her more than ever, and then there are days where you fight with her and don't understand why she is so moody. You don't get why she is yelling at you for leaving a dish out for 30 seconds or forgot to take out the trash, even though she would never touch or go near it. You may not understand why she talks to you during key moments of sporting contests. But regardless of how bad it gets, you must stick by her in good times and bad, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do you part.

So Colts, today I renew my vows...I am with you in good times and in bad, and this casual Friday at work, I will slide my Peyton Manning jersey back on, and trudge through the murky waters of the off-season. I will be there for game 1 next year, and I will think about the day I saw that portly man wearing his Marvin Harrison jersey and how much his misery helped me move on. Thank you good sir.

Thank.
You.

Go Colts!

Keith Jackson, tend to your depends

In the aftermath of one of the greatest college football games ever, I have images of Vince Young running all over the field against the maligned USC Trojans. I see the Texas burnt orange and white and the Trojan famed maroon and gold. Then it happened, I hear Keith Jackson yelling "Yippee! Its time for football," right before the kickoff. I can't help but think that olde' Keith is falling victim to life. I was excited too, but come on...yippeee? Are we gettting ready for recess? Or did teacher give us an extra snack?

For the record, Keith Jackson is one of my favorite commentators of all-time, no one belts out Alabama or Michigan quite like he does. But Keith, its time you hang up the microphone and start taking some modern medicine. I don't want to say it but this game should be Keith's last - he just doesn't have it anymore. John Madden needed to go a long time ago and Jackson falls right into that category. Could you imagine Jackson and Madden announcing a game together?

Would go something like this:
Jackson: Well, John, we have two teams ready to do battle, you have the speedster from Miami and a rough and tough defense. All we know is the team that scores more points wins.

Madden: I couldn't agree more, boom! The offenses are fast but not as fast as the squirrel I saw run onto the field during warm-ups. Lets cue the replay...(circling the squirrel) what you have here is a squirrel who likes to run, much like the running backs in this game. Except the squirrel has less moves. Keith back to you.

Jackson: As the olde' saying goes 'its like shooting fish in a barrel down by the river.' Now, its time for the game...lets go down to my butt buddy Jack Arute for analysis. Jack you see any fish down there?

I think the last straw was when I listened to Jackson say last night, regarding Vince Young, "He's the Texas quarterback and a good one." Wow Keith, I am floored by that outstanding commentary, next I will want someone to explain to me why Keith's wife forgot to put out his pill box the morning before the game and why the earth is round.

I didn't think he could possibly make a dumber comment than that, but then it happened..."As an old defensive coach once said, 'He ain't got no handles,' but he led the country in passing this year." (special thanks to Bill Simmons on ESPN.com for remembering the confusing phrase).

I need a translator pronto...what the hell does that mean? Are we talking about football? Is this some sort of military code for a new opertation in Iraq? Thanks Keith, it seems you need less fiber in your diet because after that comment, I think your Depends need some tending.

To only add to the awful commentary, we had your beared Dan Fouts in the booth, who enjoys long walks on the beach when he is not peddling a line of beard trimmers and beard dye's. Has his beard ever changed colors?

Keith, you need to hang it up, please I am begging you! You had your glory last night, you had your catheter hooked up in the booth, you had your prune juice, and you stayed up way past your bed time....you can't top it Keith. Please, go home to your wife, or join Madden in his cruiser...soon to be re-named the Madden Cruiser, sponsored by 'Staying Regular.'

And again, I love old people, but there comes a point where its time to hang it up, especially when you are in the public eye.

Enjoy Your Haggis Guy Code Violator

On July 4th, 1776 our founding fathers created the most famous document in these United States. Perhaps the most famous phrase from the Declaration of Independence is "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

How can you not be inspired everytime you hear those words? It sums up our way of life and were it not for a group of people who decided that enough was enough, I would be sipping tea and eating crumpets on Sunday's rather than watching football players try to kill each other. Instead of a nice Bratwurst, with some hot mustard and a cold beer, I fear I would eating eating Bangers and Mash with Yorkshire pudding with a side of some nice Haggis...yup America, Haggis - imagine eating a sheep intestine stuff with meat. You take your sheep intestine, stuff it with some meat and veggies and you got yourself some Haggis.

I may be taking the long way to get there but the Declaration of Independence relates directly to baseball. America's national pastime has allowed Americans to get through tough times, such as war. It has trancended generations, dating back to the late 1800's. When man was in need, he had baseball to make him happy about his life and liberties.

This week, I feel that my life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness was violated. Now, I am not of the Red Sox faithful, but Johnny Damon my friend, you have disappointed Thomas Jefferson and all our founding fathers. They all simultaneuosly turned over in their grave (I done heard 'em) when they heard that Johnny Damon had been traded to he Yankess of all teams. I'm not here to blame Red Sox management or say that the Yankees stole Damon...all is fair in the free agency war. The real losers here are the founding fathers and all those who believe that pursuing happiness should be the only goal in life.

I am pretty sure if the founding fathers were alive today, they would live by the guy code. The guy code can be summed up with 2 rules...if we all followed these 2 simple rules, our lives would be enriched.

1. We hereby decree that we are all born with certain, unalienable rights, including: when possible man must avoid peeing next to each other.

2. We hold this truth self-evident: No one should get traded from the Red Sox to the Yankees.

Johnny Damon - you are the guy who walks in the bathroom with 12 urinals and you choose the one right on top of me. You are the guy who got traded to the Yankees. When our founding fathers drafted this grand Declaration they could not have possibly envisioned a world where Johnny Damon could be traded to the Yankees. We can't blame them for leaving that Amendment out of the constitution...they certainly could not have seen this coming.

Not only have you disappointed Red Sox nation but you forgot about our founding fathers. What would they think of such treachery? A modern day Benedict Arnold...following the guy code one day, looking over at you and smiling when peeing, the next.

Hear me now fellow man, we cannot continue down this path, we need to stop the madness and correct this clear violation of our Declaration of Independence. We will rise up if need be...our generation of men may seem uninvolved in politics and happy just playing our X-box, but make no mistake, when you violate the guy code related to sports, you are taking a shot at every American who has fought and died for the freedoms we enjoy today. We will rise up, oh yes - out of the dust of Pumpkin Oakman, General Douglas MacArthur, FDR, Reagan and others, we will end side by side urinals, we will end such treachery as a Red Sox players being trading to the dark side.

We'll look down at you from above Johnny Damon, for hell is only half full. I hear in hell they serve Haggis....that's right Haggis....enoy your filet mignon now because once you leave this earth, you will put your bib on and enjoy some stuffed sheep intestines because that's about all you deserve. Say hi to Benedict for us while you're at it, you guys can think of more ways to screw over our founding fathers.

I'll Drink Where I Want and There is Nothing You Can Do About It.

editor's note: this is the final installment of a 3 part series.

Adventure. The mere word conjures up images of our cinematic and literary thrill seekers: Indiana Jones, Robinson Crusoe, James Bond, Edmund Dantes, and Luke Skywalker are just a few of the characters that come to mind. And those are just an extension of the great adventurers of our history books. Magellan, Columbus, Armstrong, Lindberg. Man loves an adventure. More so we love the idea of an adventure, for few of us anymore will discover new worlds or reach celestial bodies, not to mention that will we not out run large boulders, spend years in prison plotting the ultimate revenge, or fight the Empire in a galaxy far, far, away. And given the opportunity, how many of us can honestly say we would do that? We have become a society that makes children wear full body armor to ride a bike. However, somewhere in the deepest cockles of our soul, we still yearn for an adventure, a little danger, a splash of excitement, and the romanticism of world wide travel. Enter Las Vegas. The city that provides it all, risk, excitement, international travel, and the only risk to you is bankruptcy and/or a virus or two!

We've talked about the sex. We've talked about the artwork. We've referenced religion, history, and pro wrestling, but in this final installment of our project, let's just break it down to the essence of my beloved Las Vegas. It is escapism at its finest. It is where we go to do whatever and whomever we would like to do in our real lives, but are unable because of societal constraints or family obligations, or not wanting to have it burn when you pee. But that is the beauty of Vegas. You can do what you want. You can travel to Venice, Paris, ancient Rome, Monte Carlo, ancient Persia and everywhere in between. You can see naked ladies and not have to buy them dinner. Moreover you can have sex with them and not have to buy them dinner. Hell, you don't even have to listen to them. They're called whores. Ladies of the Night. Women of ill repute. Prostitutes. Working Girls. Libertines. Sluts. Harlots. Jezebels. Tarts. Call Girls. Hookers. Camp Girls. Loose Women. Midnight Cowgirls. Streetwalkers. Strumpets. But I digress; I don't want the people to think I am preoccupied with the whoring.

Perhaps you have a more civil sense of adventure. There were some who fulfilled the need for excitement with something as simple as touching the Sensei Fountain in the Bellagio. IT'S ONLY WATER, PEOPLE. Not everyone has running water, I reckon. For a number of other folks adventure was the rodeo. Imagine my surprise when I saw, literally, thousands of men and women in cowboy hats that weekend. You see, the Super bowl of the rodeo was in town. Nothing says adventure like riding something for eight seconds. Reminds me of my first time with a woman. I didn't wear a hat, but spurs were involved. Still more people have their sense of adventure fulfilled by taunting an exotic feline with a shopping bag. Seeing the white lions and tigers at the Mirage was interesting and, for a split second of my life, I wanted the cats to have the ability kill people. All they needed was opposable thumbs. Be it betting a small amount on the Colts game (small to some is $5,000. Too bad the Colts didn't cover the spread) or taking a friendly gondola ride through the chlorine cleansed canals of Venice, Vegas offers all the adventure you could want. It fulfills our human instinct to dream, explore, and discover and it does so at little real risk to life or limb.

The sense of adventure of me, and my friendly travel companion (who runs a pretty damn good website) was a little mundane. In fact, imagine the absurdity that overcame both of us when we couldn't figure out what to do with our final hours in this great city. We debated the merits of riding the tram connecting the Bellagio and the Monte Carlo for an hour or so vs. returning to our hotel room and watching TV. TV won out and we spent our final moments together watching the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. Fear not, friends, for all was not lost. This weekend was an adventure indeed, the pinnacle of which was the single greatest half hour of my life.

Saturday Morning. The Bellagio. Indiana University thumps Kentucky in a huge win for my beloved Hoosiers. I won $9.10 on the game. Things were going rather well for me, but they would get much better. I had to leave the Sport Book to make a phone call and as I was milling about the Poker Room, I saw him. I didn't believe it at first, was the great man walking amongst mere mortals? I was not mistaken. It had to be him. Shirt unbuttoned showing off chest hair that Magnum PI would be proud of, cigarette dangling from the mouth. Smooth skin the color of a burnt sienna, letting out a fine musk of casino and garlic. Graying hair receding at the sides. A handsome, if somewhat short man, but a giant in the poker world. I speak of Sámi Farha. My hero in the poker world. I met him, I shook his hand, I had my photo taken with him, I returned to my seat. I didn't think things could get any better. That was until the buxom cocktail waitress brought me another beer and my friendly travel companion and I decided to move on to our next destination. Never one to waste malted hops I drank in, on the sidewalk while walking to the next casino. Imagine the rush I felt knowing that I could drink on the street without fear of persecution. In 30 minutes, I watched my alma mater crush their rivals, met my favorite poker player, and drank on the sidewalk at 1 in the afternoon in front of children. I weep at just the memory.

I read somewhere that "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," and that is why we love it so. The city allows us to do all the things we have wanted to do but couldn't. What’s further is that, allowing for the aforementioned law regarding actions within the city limits, there are no consequences once you leave (that means I am not really married). Does anyone now doubt my love for this fair city? God Bless you Las Vegas. I shall return for another adventure soon.