Fuck yeah. My room at the Bellagio in Vegas is like my condo... except classy. Remote control curtains, a shower big enough to fuck in, two queen size beds for mid air stripper to escort transfers, and internet access costly enough to rival my mortgage. My laptop is hooked up and I'm already checking my email, updating the blog, and downloading pirated music and smut.
My wad of cash is made entirely of stripper supplied funds through my work at Montego's. Each Portland stripper supplied dollar bill smells curiously like an absentee father, broken dreams, and trace amounts of cocaine; which is funny, because that's what the entire city of Las Vegas smells like.
Viva Las Vegas... indeed.
goochout.
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