Welcome to the Thunderdome.

Approximately three weeks ago, I pulled up stakes and moved down to Las Vegas in an attempt to chase fortune and court fame. I’m a writer, creative developer and general ne’er-do-well that’s let his talents lay fallow for effectively the entirety of the last decade and am now ready to start over again, square one in a new city and a new situation.

After wandering around the city, taking photographs and talking with people, I’ve come to one grand realization about this city:

Vegas Fucking Sucks.

This place is depressingly cynical in the way it manipulates its transient population. Every casino, hotel and attraction is carefully designed to inspire as much awe and wonder in rubes as possible.

Rubes, hillbillies, people who have never in their lives seen a slot machine or a neon light, let alone a showgirl revue or those blackjack tables that also serve as table dance shows.

People flock to this city, they come in droves, planes full of idiots, eager to throw money into a hole in the ground and excited to participate in something that’s deemed “sinful” or “naughty” wherever they’re from. The city’s advertising campaign over the last decade has vaunted “Whatever Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas.”

Aside from herpes. That shit sticks around.

So, without much further ado, welcome to Vegas Sucks, a journal of my time spent here in this city amid the teeming crowds of anonymous nobodies all acting like complete shitheads in the City That Never Sleeps.

Stay awhile. Stay forever.

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