One of the most alluring and infuriating sounds in the universe is the distinctive 'tiddlipoodlitiddlipoodli' of the modern slot machine. It calls to you from every single corner of Vegas, from the airport lounge to the petrol station rest-rooms, there is no escaping its insidious siren song. I hear it tiddling in my mind as I attempt to fight jetlag in my ridiculously large hotel room. I've exhausted the joy of the electric curtains, the telly in the bathroom and the childish, though strangely satisfying action of lifting up the jelly babies, then replacing them just before sixty seconds is up and you automatically get charged for the stupid things. My superb blag/v.important high level meeting in America's own Sodom and Gomorrah, has sadly failed to alter my fortunes (other than for the worse) though it has had a detrimental affect on my waistline. In this town, the carnivorous lard eater is King. The rare vegetables that accidently make it to your plate, huddle in the corner, crowded out and humiliated by the bloodied haunch of cow that takes centre stage. Promenading down the strip, I encountered this other famous carnivore. When I suggested to an awestruck out-of-towner that they should cut the top half of Roy's head off just for the sake of continuity, he looked at me like I'd shat on his golden calf and stomped off into some plastic vegetation. Me and my crazeee limey humour.B
2 comments:
what does Siegfried think of this? "Oh that's a bust of me, my boyfriend and the tiger that almost killed him."
Just when you thought Vegas couldn't get any wierder.
Don't you think you should learn to spell, I think you'll find it's discretionary.
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