I’ve been in Las Vegas for the last couple of days. And, yes, dudes, it has been fun.
Fortunately, it’s been the kind of fun I actually remember, rather than the kind of fun I need to piece together by looking at debit card receipts, fuzzy memories and horrified glances at the camera roll in my futurephone. (What? Surely I can steal from a couple of relatively funny movies and a horrifically bad third movie?) Although, this is probably a case of art imitating life because I know we’ve all had that sort of night at one point in our lives.
Rather than the fun, though, I thought I’d talk about the different definitions of class.
For instance, I’m pretty sure that here in Vegas, class is something from which you sip a drink.
See what I did there? Vegas doesn’t know what it is and, instead, mispronounces it as something else? Does having to explain a joke make it funnier? No, probably not. Well, lesson learned. Moving on.
I stayed in the Flamingo, which is supposed to be a pretty good hotel and casino. And it was. The Flamingo’s clean, relatively inexpensive and not bad at all. Still, here’s how they set up an in-hotel lingerie store.
The entrance to the store is surrounded by the appearance of two widely spread female legs wearing garter belts.
Yeah, that’s Vegas class, dudes.
I’m not alone in thinking this is a bit beyond the pale, yeah?
I have to keep reminding myself that, as in all things, it could be worse. It could be worse.