Holiday v1.0 didn't really get going, if you get the, err, drift...
But one month later things are looking up: the plush Las Vegas Trump International is big, bold, and - by the fact our room is ready at 10am - just about bankrupt. Why just like the big fella himself. Only without the hairdo.
A TV in the bathroom! What are the chances it's pre-tuned to Celebrity Apprentice? Hey, they've got to boost the ratings somehow.
Time to hit the strip. First stop on Casino Row - the impressive Wynn. Time for some quick math, if we win 100 bucks per Casino, we'll be up a grand by the time we reach the southern end. Too easy!
Too much fluffery, not enough blackjack.
Humpty Dumpty was sitting pretty on a Wall... St. Then he geared up 50 to 1, gorged himself on financial trickery, and when he fell he just about took the whole world with him.
What are you, like 80? Where's his blue screen when he needs it?
Time to load up on the McSlot combo. Spin the wheel and you have a 1 in 360 change of getting something that actually tastes like beef in your burger.
The Flamingo Casino has seen better days. These days you need a better theme then a flock of pink birds out the back in the dilapidated habitat that gives the Spring Valley subprime swathe a run for its money (or what's left of it after the second mortgage payment...)
Paris without the snotty Parisians. Also without the good coffee, artistry, history, culinary flair, French babes, etc. etc.
Holding up well in the desert sun. Must be all those artificial colors and flavors.
The strip has seen busier days one suspects. When the big trucks carrying the "Babes Direct to Your Door in 20min" signs outnumber taxis, you know there is a supply and demand issue. And we're not talking demand-side economics here.
This boat never featured in Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean. For the obvious reason.
The Venetian looms in the background. You can buy Gucci and ride around in a gondola and eat pizza. Authentic Italian, right?
Rock looks bemused at the selection of drops on display. Which one houses the fine high fructose corn syrup drop?
Psychedelic baby!
Ladies and gentlemen, the Caesar is in the palace!
How about you spend less money on the roof decor, and more money on upping the payout ratio on your slots?
The botanic garden in the Bellagio. A welcome respite from the ka-ching - or lack thereof - of the slots. And the smoke. One grows spoiled living in a state where the mayor decrees the exact number of salt grains permitted per meal.
If I win a million bucks I'll buy a giant flower pot too.
Somewhere under the mushrooms...
It's Paris. Complete with annoying American tourists looking for McDonalds.
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it yet another Wolfgang Puck concept restaurant?
The gates to enlightenment. Also known as Bar Masa Westside.
A funky setting is a must for any celebrity chef thinking of launching on the strip. The clientele can't taste the difference between your loving crafted confit of Alaskan salmon infused with a jus of papaya and truffle oil, and the leftover Fillet-O-Fish they microwaved this morning. So you need to wow them with the setting to get them to part with their grubby fistful of dollars for the $120 tasting menu. Heck, that will practically buy you a house in these parts.
It's like Europe. Except without that crappy Euro.
Rock has clearly been cleverly duped by the cunning set design. So duped that he thought it would be safe to wander the streets with a handbag... Hitch up the Harley and switch on Fox News man, this ain't the flowery streets of West Village.
Speaking of Man Bags...
Which way to the Pharaoh's ransom?
What happens in Vegas... lives forever on the internet.
Honey, we're home. Corner of Broadway and 55th never looked quite so... bogan.
Ah ha! Rock found a way to avoid the taxi home... and then spend the rest of the evening complaining about the 9 somehow juxtaposing its way onto the red line.
Sit on a plane for five hours so you can fit your whole city in one photo. That's money well spent.
The strip by night. Rock's still wondering if he gets to see Manpower strip at night.
The view of from the "Eiffel" Tower. Not quite the Champ de Elysee, but still quite impressive.
I wonder if this version of Venice is sinking too? It probably is, but under a mountain of Dubai debt instead of fat tourists. Although the later applies too. But this one was designed with them in mind.
Hangover cure. The cup of coffee, not the bizarre green volcano in the background. Everything about the new City Center complex is avant garde, including the price of breakfast.
Homeward bound. The fact this photos exist means we didn't strike it rich. After all, would you be writing a blog if you had a million bucks? No you wouldn't, but odds are this sucker still would.
But one month later things are looking up: the plush Las Vegas Trump International is big, bold, and - by the fact our room is ready at 10am - just about bankrupt. Why just like the big fella himself. Only without the hairdo.
A TV in the bathroom! What are the chances it's pre-tuned to Celebrity Apprentice? Hey, they've got to boost the ratings somehow.
Time to hit the strip. First stop on Casino Row - the impressive Wynn. Time for some quick math, if we win 100 bucks per Casino, we'll be up a grand by the time we reach the southern end. Too easy!
Too much fluffery, not enough blackjack.
Humpty Dumpty was sitting pretty on a Wall... St. Then he geared up 50 to 1, gorged himself on financial trickery, and when he fell he just about took the whole world with him.
What are you, like 80? Where's his blue screen when he needs it?
Time to load up on the McSlot combo. Spin the wheel and you have a 1 in 360 change of getting something that actually tastes like beef in your burger.
The Flamingo Casino has seen better days. These days you need a better theme then a flock of pink birds out the back in the dilapidated habitat that gives the Spring Valley subprime swathe a run for its money (or what's left of it after the second mortgage payment...)
Paris without the snotty Parisians. Also without the good coffee, artistry, history, culinary flair, French babes, etc. etc.
Holding up well in the desert sun. Must be all those artificial colors and flavors.
The strip has seen busier days one suspects. When the big trucks carrying the "Babes Direct to Your Door in 20min" signs outnumber taxis, you know there is a supply and demand issue. And we're not talking demand-side economics here.
This boat never featured in Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean. For the obvious reason.
The Venetian looms in the background. You can buy Gucci and ride around in a gondola and eat pizza. Authentic Italian, right?
Rock looks bemused at the selection of drops on display. Which one houses the fine high fructose corn syrup drop?
Psychedelic baby!
Ladies and gentlemen, the Caesar is in the palace!
How about you spend less money on the roof decor, and more money on upping the payout ratio on your slots?
The botanic garden in the Bellagio. A welcome respite from the ka-ching - or lack thereof - of the slots. And the smoke. One grows spoiled living in a state where the mayor decrees the exact number of salt grains permitted per meal.
If I win a million bucks I'll buy a giant flower pot too.
Somewhere under the mushrooms...
It's Paris. Complete with annoying American tourists looking for McDonalds.
Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it yet another Wolfgang Puck concept restaurant?
The gates to enlightenment. Also known as Bar Masa Westside.
A funky setting is a must for any celebrity chef thinking of launching on the strip. The clientele can't taste the difference between your loving crafted confit of Alaskan salmon infused with a jus of papaya and truffle oil, and the leftover Fillet-O-Fish they microwaved this morning. So you need to wow them with the setting to get them to part with their grubby fistful of dollars for the $120 tasting menu. Heck, that will practically buy you a house in these parts.
It's like Europe. Except without that crappy Euro.
Rock has clearly been cleverly duped by the cunning set design. So duped that he thought it would be safe to wander the streets with a handbag... Hitch up the Harley and switch on Fox News man, this ain't the flowery streets of West Village.
Speaking of Man Bags...
Which way to the Pharaoh's ransom?
What happens in Vegas... lives forever on the internet.
Honey, we're home. Corner of Broadway and 55th never looked quite so... bogan.
Ah ha! Rock found a way to avoid the taxi home... and then spend the rest of the evening complaining about the 9 somehow juxtaposing its way onto the red line.
Sit on a plane for five hours so you can fit your whole city in one photo. That's money well spent.
The strip by night. Rock's still wondering if he gets to see Manpower strip at night.
The view of from the "Eiffel" Tower. Not quite the Champ de Elysee, but still quite impressive.
I wonder if this version of Venice is sinking too? It probably is, but under a mountain of Dubai debt instead of fat tourists. Although the later applies too. But this one was designed with them in mind.
Hangover cure. The cup of coffee, not the bizarre green volcano in the background. Everything about the new City Center complex is avant garde, including the price of breakfast.
Homeward bound. The fact this photos exist means we didn't strike it rich. After all, would you be writing a blog if you had a million bucks? No you wouldn't, but odds are this sucker still would.
1 comment:
I am soooo jealous. What a fantastic holiday.
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