Another week here in the Hell on the Desert. And what a week it has been, sportsfans. Two judges have fallen. And fallen hard, and all in the same week. Judge one went down for domestic violence -- and naturally he sets on the Family Court. Judge two went down for picking up a pro and getting a $50 dollar blow job. He did it in his car, in the parking lot -- and a cop watched the deed get done. Dumb judge. He deserved to go down. (And she did go down on him!)

Just yesterday we had two unrelated cop-involved shootings. One of them was at the airport, a hostage situation. Ah, it's only Las Vegas, Baby.

There have been 15 cop-related shootings already this year.

And I know you saw the video of the . . . mud-people shootout at the Silver Nugget. Naturally, Blacks would be involved. And why not? Most of the violence here is done by and to Blacks. Good people. Glad you, White America, are so quick to stand up for them. Nice of you. Me, I just call those people 'Porch Monkeys' and have done with it. Ah, but you, White America, are so much politer than I. Nice. Very nice of you.

My own life is going swell. The Summer heat here is . . . Jesus! 110 days. It is 96 at eleven p.m. Thank God for air-conditioning. (Thank God for little girls!)

So what are you up to, America? Did you know one helluva storm is brewing out there? Did you know that, huh?

The Chicks and I are doing fabulously. I've tried the menage-thing. Don't much care for it, myself. Did it three different times, though, just to make sure. You can't be intimate when you're doing it with more than one girl. And you can't, then, talk about the chick you did it with with the chick you didn't do it with -- if you're following my drift, here.

I don't do lakes. Too hot here for this. Do my job, come home, watch movies, listen to movies, shop, and enjoy listening to the Chicks rant. Chicks know lots of chicks. Can't believe how many of them come over here. Chicks like to dance -- even with other chicks they like to dance. But it ain't the kind of dancing we guys think they do (or would do with one another). Chicks are basically good people -- except when they're on their period. You do not want to be around a lot of Chicks, America, when they're on their period. Believe this, America. Buy a new house, take a break, get the hell out of there; do anything but spend time around them when they're doing the period-thing. Not fun, that.

My former fiancee is here. Don't know how long she is staying. Probably through most of July. Don't know yet for sure. It's causing quite a bit of . . . stress. Don't ever see your intended once you and she break up. Believe me on that, America. Let breakups be breakups. Don't know if I really want to get back with her -- don't want to let her go, either. Good byes can be for ever. Too long, that.

Thinking a lot about life. Death. I love the language we use to discuss death, as in, for instance, "all the things I will miss after I am dead." No matter one's thinking on that issue (God/no God) one will not miss anything once that person is dead.

Following heavily the shit going down in the Middle East, if only because my dad is always talking about it whenever he calls. Means much to us here: petroleum. And America is a nation addicted to energy.

I can't believe all the crimes we are 'doing' over there. Nor can I believe that Iraq is now nothing more than a football game being played between liberals and conservs, demos and repubs, haves and have-nots, americans and iraqis. Crazy, this whole thing. Well, I'll let somebody else sort it all out.

Thinking about having a kid. Or two. Thinking about starting a family while I am still young enough to know what being young, a kid, and love are all about. Think most of America has forgotten much about being young, being in love.

Keep your eyes peeled for that Storm, America. Bye now.

Hullo from Hell On The Desert. You want to talk about hot? Jesus! This fucking place makes Hell -- the real Hell look cool by comparison. And, by comparison, I have serious reasons for thinking that Hell would probably be safer. But all that for another time.

Been too busy to do justice to this blog, so I haven't even tried. Summer is here, my house is filled with people. Most of them are going to stay . . . and stay, long past the end of summer. Which, I guess, is to be expected. Anyway, when I'm not working or writing, I spend time with the Chicks, which I find a fascinating experience. A chick by herself may or may not be an education. But 7 chicks allowed to be themselves, are. And I'm loving it. What do I love about it? I love what they talk about, the way they turn a phrase. I love that they don't worry so much about rationalizing or justifying what they think. They just let it sound. I love their laughter. I love their ways, even though never getting into a bathroom when I need one (and this is a 4 1/2 bath house) can be a bit of a downer.
I love just watching them be themselves. It is kind of like . . . observing birds, I guess.

Anyway, things are going great. Y has been straight and sober since she quit using. No backsliding.

The resident cutie (she's too young for me to use her name or even an alphabetical designation, I think) is, in a word (or two) totally cute. And totally outrageous. I love having her on board. And if we can get her into school come the fall, I will be so totally pleased.

D. and I are working out just fine. An argument or two (or more) along the way, but nothing to really break us up.

K., D.'s friend from Lubbock is here. She's moving to Vegas. She hasn't yet decided what she wants to do out here. That will take time. But she has become a permanent resident of the house. She is a wonderful cook, if you like a steady diet of BBQ. And I do -- as long as I can call in a pizza, like, whenever, which I can.

R. is here from the East Coast. She brought along a friend of hers. R. is staying here, or planning to stay, past the summer instead of returning to school. R. also brought news: She is the cousin of my former girlfriend. I thought it was over with L. I guess it isn't. Don't know what will happen next.

Anyway, I am still working. Will probably go into something else when current contract ends. Time to move on. Will keep the house here. Let the Chicks have it for their use, if we are still a unit when that time arrives. (On the other hand, I may still be playing parent to . . .)

I can't believe all the shit going on in the Middle East. Murder charges filed against those marines. A friend of dad's is a general over there. I have listened to his observations. Not pretty. Frankly, I don't care if we win or lose over there. Thank God I don't have to worry about ever having to do my duty by a country which I can't respect. And I would not fight or die for any of you. As for as fighting for what this country stands for -- give me a fucking break! I mean, what exactly -- in 2006 -- does this country stand for?! I don't mean what DID it stand for? And as a member of the Republican Party, I can tell you that none expect that America will ever return to the great nation it once was -- and the whole Party mourns that loss.

Anyway, later. Bye!

The winter has come early this year.

Okay, you know it is Memorial Day in Vegas when the gangs, like, go for the big shoots. So, at a block party at Lake Meade and D Street (one of our famous alphabet streets on the West Side), gangs opened up on a crowd of 200, killing 3, wounding 4 more.

Funny thing about Vegas and The Strip -- You don't get local papers in the Strip Hotels. Figure you might think twice before making your next trip out here. Maybe.

From CityLife: "If the tourists figure out there is no way possible for them to win here, we'll be just another ghost town."

And out on Lake Meade -- 4 people drowned. The youngest victim was a 7 year old girl.

Lake Meade is no place for kids, or for anybody else who can't swim, and concurrently wears a life jacket. Most of Lake Meade, the lake as well as the beaches, is wild. And that wildness is part of the major attraction for us desert dwellers.

Took the Chicks to the lake yesterday. Had to show em off. You know the score. Major league hotties are not meant to be cooped up.

And how about Emily VanCamp. Is she a Mega-hottie or what? Like, on Everwood, she is so stoked. Total vixette. Neo-sophisticate. But in real life, she is maxie bourgeoisie. Too bad, cause I would so like to get to know her!

End of an era: Everwood. Been watching it since the campus scene daze. Grew up on it, you might say. Gonna miss it.

To those four way cool cuties I saw on Flamingo and Charleston.

Cutie comments: "My mom wants to GPS me. I said, like, no way! I mean, what if that thing goes off and shows penetration, ya know? It can't show penetration, can it? Not that I allow my guys to do that with me!"

"Nah, I'm about done with this. When I turn 18, I'm going to Europe. Is Europe close to the mountains, ya think? Cause I gotta have mountains."

"What? I've got my learner's permit -- That's the same thing as a driver's license, isn't it?"

Okay, America, chicks know chicks. And when you know even one chicks, you know dozens of other chicks. But when you know two chicks, you know half the town already.

Had a quiet part yesterday at the house. Had a few friends over. Let the chicks invite some friends. Then we had dudettes, cuties, chicks, and chickettes by the dozens.

Let me tell you this about chicks and cuties and dudettes. They do not eat and talk like normal people. Like, no steaks and chops, totally hogged out on burgers and dogs. They ate yogurt and melon, cottage cheese and soft serve. Drank gallons of fruit juices -- real fruit juice. They like Zima, imports, and sweet wines. Don't need to open your wet bars, dudes -- they don't do mixed drinks.

And, like, while only 1 in 10 words made sense, it was super-kicks listening to them sound off. And chicks can dance. But nobody dances like a cutie. Trust me here, fellows. So we had a great little thing. Way cool!

Okay, on Vegas, what I do here and so on: I figure this gig can last until my current contracts runs out (a year). Then I gotta go. Okay, I like the money, I like the applause, I love the attention. But I can't do this when I turn 25. It's already downing me. I want to move on to something else.

Okay, this: Things change big time when your girl moves in with you. Really they change. I mean, at first she had her own room, but now that we're sharing real space, the whole relationship has amped up to . . . like being married, or something. And that ain't all bad. I kind of like it. I like having someone in my bed when I get home. I like knowing there is someone there, someone in my life.

But now I can't think about me, anymore. Now I gotta think about US.
So, I need to get US another car. With three people in the house driving, I can't keep relying on cabs and the work 'mo. Went out earlier, looked at SUVs with D. Told her, like, I'm getting another car to haul the boat (which we haven't gotten yet) back and forth to the lake -- and we're gonna need a car because of all the company we're expecting for the summer (which is sorta true). But I can't find it to just come right out and say, "I'm buying the car for you." Because that makes our relationship so permanent.

And I'll have to drive the SUV. I'll give D. the MB to drive.

Mom does not like D. Says she isn't our class. Mom thinks I should get back with L.

Maybe D. isn't our class, but she sure smells good. I like her voice. And I'm feeling very attached to her, very protective of her. And I don't care about finding the greenest green grass.

Later, America. I'm going to the Stratosphere to shop.

Hi, America, it's me! Yup. Right here on your computer screen, it's me! How about that, America? I mean, like, is that a miracle, or what? Yup. Anyway, we gotta lot of things to talk about today, class, so get out your pencils and paper. Are you ready? Good. Then let's begin.

First off: To LVCHICK -- Hello. Never met you. But if you are anywhere near as hot as your ride, we gotta! I see your car every day on the strip. And I work at the casino where you park on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Come on in and ask for The Dark Prince. I'll buy you a soda! -- And you just can't beat a deal like that, LV CHICK!

And kudos to the cops out in Henderson, who wasted no time in apprehending the three men responsible for the murder of two young women on U.S. 95 and Wagonwheel.

(What's with Vegas? Seriously, you won't believe the number of murders which just HAPPEN here.)

To Amy: We're going to miss you, Amy. Here's to your eternal rest. Amy, 20, and a dancer here at the Tropicana was murdered by her father. She was a beautiful, sweet kid with her whole future before her. She deserved better.

Here's to Swuave Lopez -- You little fuck! You got what you deserved. No tears for Swuave, he killed his best buddy, shot him three times in the chest and stomach. Swuave had to have his friend's ride. Swuave, while handcuffed, tried to run from two police officers -- Swuave took two rounds in the back, dying on the spot. Tough shit, asshole! Your buddy, the one who set fire to that kid is going to burn in the pen! Ah, the two of you will be together for all eternity.

Seriously now, folks, I gotta get out of this town: It's turning me into one hard dude. Yup.

And this: Why do Chick lotions, those they use by the pool, always smell like coconuts? That stuff makes their most personal parts smell (and taste, more to the point!) like a friggin desert island. Actually, it makes that place smell really nice -- but it really weirds out the taste.

And why we're at it, why do chicks make all those little nosies (cute though they may be) right before they drop off to sleep for the night? I mean, is it their way of saying, "Guys, if you want it, get it now, because I'm closing up for the night." I mean, come on, already!

To Y. (because I know you will be reading this): I am proud of you. When you said you were quitting, you meant it. Great show of resolve. Love you for it. I told you you're a strong person. So listen now: You don't need anyone but yourself. All is always the all; ever and forever the all. The Eternal All. That is truth, Child. And, yup, Chickstuff, when I finish up with this casino gig, I just may start my own church. I'll call it Forever Darkness, and I'll let people figure out what THAT is all about.

Okay, to those of you writing to Enterdarkness6666@yahoo.com. Okay, good. I hadn't expected so many of you to respond. And I am noting I am getting emails from a lot of people who do not have accounts with Blogstream -- what is this all about? And this to the cutie who sent me her picture: Don't do that anymore! (But I liked your pic. Loved it, in fact.)

38 billion dollars -- The amount of money Las Vegas made off gaming in 2004.

1,000 -- The number of teachers SHORT Las Vegas and Clark County are for the next school year. Yup. Teaching here just doesn't pay. And you can't moralize here in The Valley. Nope. Can't tell your charges that gambling is bad for you, or that you shouldn't pick young girls up with the intention of butt-fucking them. Being serious, America. This is Vegas, Baby. And sex and gambling are just fine here in Glitter Gulch. You betcha, honey!

A sign seen here in The Valley. "You can come here if your money comes with you; but when your money is gone, the goons will be around to tell you to go home."

And Jimmy Hoffa, where would Las Vegas be without you, Baby? Thanks for all the money -- out of them pension funds -- which you loaned to the hometown boys here in Vegas.

A thought: Only in America can an uneducated fuck make $28.00 dollars an hour for tightening one lug nut after another on a new car. Yup. And all the numbnuts has to do is go to work on the assembly line and then join a labor union -- And, America, you want to know why you pay so much for your new cars!

Hey, America, I say "Let's put some of them illegals to work on them assembly lines. I mean, shit, you don't need good English to be a hardhat!"

And, America, who do you think is meeting here in Vegas at the Cashman Center this weekend? Why, the Minutemen, of course.

Atlanta and Detroit -- who the fuck needs em?

Great places to hang: The Nefertiti; Pure; The Zone; Hard Rock Cafe; and Jimmy Buffet's place, all of the above are either out on or just off The Strip.

Oh, yeah: Almost forget -- the ratings are in and Las Vegas is one of the most dangerous places in America to drive.

Cutie remark of the week: "Put two more with that and I'll let you kiss my sweet little ass!" And, ya know, I should have taken her up on that offer: Cause she sure did have a cute little behind.

And you can't come to Vegas and call it home unless you go out to the Palamino Club. It's under new-management, the hostesses are always . . . nude. And it's a great place to water yourself either before or after a hectic day at the gaming tables or slots. (Jerry's Nugget is just across the street if you really just must combine your sexual pleasures with your fiscal pleasures.)

Okay, America, we need a 12 Step Program for dead people. Meaning, we need a 12 Step Program for all of us before we actually get physically dead. True, America. Because until we come to terms with our demise, that's all we can be: Just the walking dead. We're gonna be talking more about this, cause I'm serious as all getout about it. But right now, I'm running out of time: Meaning my girlfriend just got out of the shower -- got it?

Anyway, I thought I'd center my 12 Step Program, rather than in a God-Concept which ain't gonna take nobody nowhere, in Death, itself: I thought I'd let Death be my higher power. You got that, America?

Well, gotta go. Got a Chick to get sweet and neat with. See ya, America -- And don't forget to write me --------

Right here in Las Vegas, Baby!