| Say it's Christmas Eve. On a
barstool somewhere in a haze of smoke and jukebox jingles, a sole patron watches his
scotch weep onto the cocktail napkin. Say it's freezing out in the middle of the Midwest,
the snow blowing around the parking lot between a couple of lonesome sedans. The man at
the bar wins a couple of hands of video poker and makes conversation with the barmaid,
looking a little weary in her belly shirt and heels. "What about it?" he'll say.
"What about you and me?" She'll smile in that yeah-right kind of way. "What
about Vegas?" Say they hop on a plane and fly to
the city of booze, babes and Blackjack. He scores a room on the Strip. The hotel's glitzy:
Christmas carols over tinny speakers and a giant pine in the lobby decorated with bows.
It's late, but the buffet is bustling - the turkey trimmed by a Puerto Rican waiter in a
cummerbund. She's famished, craving pumpkin pie and martinis. He's thinking about how nice
she looks in red. They stroll across the casino floor, go for high stakes and make a cool
five hundred at Craps. He takes her dancing. They don't stumble home until dawn, her
stockings in a pile beside the bed. A palm tree out their window.
'Tis the Season
Christmas in Vegas is a winner, like a flute of champagne
over a royal flush. The Strip is bumping and the nightclubs are jumping. The taxi drivers
are softer than in the summer. There is a sense of how stressful and unnecessary holiday
cheer has become everywhere else. Forget mall lineups and mother-in-law misery. Sin City
offers strippers and slots. People here get even friendlier - sardonic, like a bellboy
offering a candy cane with a hint at the hottest escort service. Everyone is lit up like a
tree. 'Tis the season for garland and glamour here in the desert.
Every giant resort/casino offers its own version of holiday
hospitality. Caesars Palace boasts a hundred-foot tree with a million lights, a mean steak
dinner in their dining room and Celine Dion in her grand finale! The tourists, drunk on
lobster and love ballads, issue rave reviews, a far cry from Mom's tired old stuffing.
Next door, in addition to their sparkling fountain shows (now red and green), the
Bellagio's conservatory is festooned with fake frosting and automaton penguins! The
shopping is pricey, the menus are chocolatey. There's a decked hall in the Wynn, a
jingling bell in the Rio and even a phony tree under the faux Arc de Triomphe. Vive la
Ville de Péché!
All this holiday cheer making you thirsty? Ready for a
cocktail or 12 to celebrate the birth of the Savior? In Vegas, there are hundreds of bars
to choose from on Christmas, all of them sporting some sort of gambling device: maybe a
wheel of fortune, a video slot or a mean old gangster in the back of the joint dealing Pai
Gow Poker. You can get wasted and bet your life, even on the holiest day of the year. The
bars vary, from chichi wine and dine to Stage-Door sketch. Anywhere you go you'll find a
friend. The clientele may vary, too. From overripe waitresses-gone-wrong to businessmen
courting courtesans, you can guarantee your Christmas company will be saucy and goosed.
Holiday drink specials include apple pie martinis, candy cane shots and the old, reliable
bourbon.
And finally, as your Christmas comes to a close, you may
need a little XXXmas "cheer" after so much carousing. Perhaps a little Santa hat
and matching thong to suit your yuletide desires? Las Vegas is home of the hard-on, with
thousands of gorgeous escorts and professional prostitutes working year round. These
young, fastidious men and women are well versed in the season's carols and can dress up
like any reindeer to give you anything your heart desires in exchange for cold hard cash.
Want to rock around the Christmas tree without the hefty price tag? The gentlemen's clubs
are open on Christmas night in celebration of slutty dance moves and silicone. You'll be
sure Vegas' finest will be ready to unwrap themselves like gifts under the tree, but don't
forget a giant tip between the titties! From the Santa's little helper number to the old
fashioned North Pole routine, you'll be sure to feel the festive spirit.
So you need a break this Christmas. So you're tired of the
old Midwestern winter grind. Just imagine: You're offering that barmaid a drink, then
another and then maybe a ticket across the sky. Say she says yes to the desert, to the
lights, buffets and bars of Sin City. The two of you are strolling the Strip with a
cool desert breeze tinkling the ice in your scotch. You're nodding a silent cheer to the
lonesome blokes behind the bar. The taxis are trolling to the tune of FM radio, and the
lights are twinkling in a starless sky. And you swing an arm around her waist and whisper
a toast to the holy birthday boy himself. To Christmas in the unholiest place on Earth. To
a town that can't wait for the New Year. |
