Cirque du C'thulhu

   Even as we read, the vaunted Cirque du Soleil, which unfortunately still exists, has a new show "inspired by Avatar." The New Las Vegas will have Cirque shows "inspired by Lovecraft."

 There won't be a lot of needless acrobatics in these shows, there will be basically naked women summoning C'thulhu or something even worse, and being "made love to" by it and then being, ya know, devoured, and maybe being excreted if some way can be made to make that look erotic. Which I doubt. But ya never know what creative people can contrive to make boners happen even when you think boners should not be happening. Boner petite!

The Dagon Nightclub

     The Dagon Nightclub at the HP Lovecraft Hotel and Casino is probably not the best place to go for fun and excitement, unless your idea of fun and excitement is standing before a crude depiction of the god of deep sea groupers gone mad and murmuring chants from the Necronomicon in an effort to get it to come to life, or at least to bleed. The people who belong here all know who they are and there is a very good chance none of them are you. The lighting is ominous, the food is questionable and in many cases unidentifiable and the music is samples of distant cries of despair. You do not come here to find a date you come here to prove yourself unsuited as a dating partner. Like I say the people who come here all know who they are. Many of them own comic book stores and a lot of them live with their mothers and not all the mothers may still be alive. Like I say......well, just read the previous "like I say" and we'll both save each other a lot of time.

The Buffet at the HPL H&C

The HP Lovecraft buffet has been described by the charitable as "offputting" and by the rude as "stomach-turning to the point of suicide." Those who actually like it call it "Fa'Taghath Llarglephaggah wharph-than-uggh-fahtaghnah!" And I don't think you can do much better than that.
   The average visitor does not make it past the entrance doors, the walk-up to the place is decidedly
menacing with C'thulhu's groinal tentacles weaving up around the rocks and pillars. Those who do venture into the dining hall more often than not regret they did, the only item visible is what appears to be a deceased raw object on the floor of the room from which a smell like a dumpster made of aged
dog smegma wafts like a motionless hurricane against every surface in the room and coats every visible molecule with the aroma of gutted dairy cows. the buffet does not turn anything close to a profit it only seems to turn stomachs, but on the plus side the waitresses are all naked and attractive and will be happy to give you blowjobs. The Old Ones might be revolting but they are not prudes.

C'thulhu Pop-up

At the Lovecraft Hotel & Casino C'thulhu, like any good evil deity, has many manifestations and these can happen almost anywhere. Even in the bathroom. Yes, you can be in a stall at the Lovecraft, dropping a load of dung into the bowl and this is one of the main ways that you can summon his lordship of the desolation and the abomination. If the highly techichised bathroom detects that you are alone in there the lights go out, projectors go on, and lo, there will be the lord of all things pestilent will loom above you in roar and in anger, almost guaranteeing that if you entered the bathroom constipated you won't be leaving it that way.

HP Lovecraft Hotel And Casino

 

One of the recurring apparitions, or problems, whatever you want to call it, of staying at the HP Lovecraft Hotel And Casino is that the premises are the, naturally,  home grounds of C'thulhu. It's not as though you are not going to be seeing him if you stay there. You know that, right? C'thulhu is very large so he can't just be showing up in the hallways and lavatories of the place. So an underground arena has been excavated for him to run around in. You have to pay admission to go into the arena via the tunnels and coiling passage ways, steaming with foetor. And you have to pay a lot. Plus you will be in there alone. You need to really want to have the shit scared out of you to be in here. At some point you egress a tunnel and you enter a vast, mist-filled humid dirt-packed greenish-ichored-fog-choked empty space with sounds and echoes unearthly and hopeless and then rises up before you, in stench and the smells of rotted oblivion, the great god itself, C'thulhu, ready to reveal to you the reality of your suspicions that your life has meant absolutely nothing and that from this point on only your destruction has any significance to anything: the getting-rid-of you is what actually makes a difference to creation and gives it a justification to stay in existence; your absence gives the universe meaning. This is the conviction that somehow flows through you as if implanted there by some telepathic power of the great ugly squid-brained monstrosity that now monopolizes your vision and your life.
     No two people have the same inner experience from having C'thulhu in all his unaromatic baggage stare down at you as he looms continually larger before you as the two of you share existence alone for this little while. Some emerge having a new appreciation for things they before found annoying or unpleasant. Some on the other hand despair of ever experiencing happiness again. But all are changed. And of course change is good. Unless the change results in your death.

The New Treasure Island

The problem with the old Treasure Island was that the outdoor pirate brawl that occurred for the purpose - apparently - to make traffic on Los Vegas Blvd even worse, the problem was, well one of them, the problem was the women involved weren't naked.


                                 
This won't be the case with the new Treasure Island. Another repair job will be the combatants will only be women and they won't be fighting with each other; they will be fighting you. They will not want to kill you however, they would much prefer to capture you and take you somewhere, preferably on board where you will be taken to a cabin to be savaged in solitude OR you can remain on deck with the other naked men and women. These wanton pirate reprobates don't have any particular preferences for cocks or pussies either, all are welcome into their hands and mouths so don't say you weren't warned. Hey, they're pirates.

Fingerfucking Art

     Fingerfucking art is pathetically ignored in the history books. When it occurs at all it is relegated to "the history of pornography" sections of libraries and theses on the topic. This won't be the case in the New Las Vegas. There will be sculptures and paintings and performance artists a-plenty depicting this never-gets-old cornucopia of fun.  The hand down the pants of a twat-owner is one of the supreme sublime pleasures of humankind, exceeding wine tasting and cigar-sniffing for civilizing excellence. Ah, the wet, sloppy playground of female slittage. It never gets old even when it's old: teen ager and granma alike are qualifying candidates for finger-fondling fur-searchers. Fingerfucking induces a trancelike state in both participants that rave gatherings are in total denial about. Noise on a hot desert playa is a poor meditation substitute for relaxed and never-ending fingerfucking. A moment's contemplation on this produces instant universal agreement, as I am sure you will instantly and universally agree.