The Benign Sarkovsky Brother

   The benign member of the Sarkovsky clan doesn't fuck the visitors for pay, he has his own show. He doesn't do much, he just lays there with a boner and select, prime, white-skinned gorgeous fodder climb aboard daily and nightly depending on scheduling and they slide up and down Garn's cock. Garn's ghostlike cement-dust skin color is toned down with spray tan so that the porcelain skins of his riders will be more visible by contrast. There are no seats for these performances, audiences are all on their feet and positioned at some acceptable viewing angle near the performance, and masturbating by the men - and the women for that matter - is not only not forbidden it is graciously encouraged. The reckless and inconsiderate ejaculating of semen however is dealt with harshly. There is none of this Monica Lewinsky nonsense tolerated. Sperm onto your own clothing not onto someone else's. This is the New Las Vegas not the new your house or some other dirty place.

The Aryan Hotel And Casino

   All the female personnel at the Aryan Hotel and Casino look like this. The Aryan H and C don't actually give a shit about what you think about racial harmony: if you are not glowing white with caucasian snow-like skin cells on your bodily surface and you are a female you are not going to get a job at the AH and C. If you are a man you can look a lot ruddier. But you better have well defined Norwegian Viking facial features. The Aryan is dedicated and devoted to white racism. You can include supremacism if you want but they don't actually proclaim that. Their opinion - and mine - is that you don't really have to proclaim it: that everyone knows it instinctively; that it is ingrained into the human DNA: "whitey is superior." No one would argue this. Now, if you are a guest at the Aryan - you don't have to be Aryan. The New Las Vegas is not about discrimination. It's about profit. When it comes to accepting the customer's money, everybody's is green. "Nigger 20's spend just as good as honky or chink or slope or moolie 20's." Or so says Rudy the manager.
    Aryan superiority is not overtly expressed at the Aryan. Pure white women are merely displayed for the sake of displaying them, and if you think your little ching-chang shuffling tiny-footed slant-eyed gal or your hottentot-assed 300 pound Ugandan gal is one-up on the white chick goddesses when it comes to good looks, hey, that's entirely your perogative. But be prepared to be quietly laughed at for your stupidity. But your money will be accepted. Just not your advice about anything. Because obviously you can't think. According to Rudy.

The New Billboards

   This is one of the new billboards in the New Las Vegas. Courtesy of one of the artists on Deviantart. If you don't know what Deviantart is and you are not interested enough to research it via a computer search then you  don't need me to tell you what it is. Besides, it's off the point. And we try and stay focused here. So like I say this is an example of one of the billboards in the New Las Vegas. And by one of the new billboards I do not mean that this image is on a billboard. No, this is the billboard. It's an erected construction itself. The ad is on the back of the torso or on the front of the torso between the tits and pussy. You have to almost get out of your car to see what is on the ad if the billboard is by the roadside, but who would have a problem with that? Well, a faggot would. Maybe. To answer the question. Even though it was rhetorical. Buttcheeks, if not the coin of the realm in the New Las Vegas, are certainly what is utilized the most - at least in publicity and advertising and propaganda, to get the coin of the realm out of your pocket and into the pocket of the New Las Vegas entrepreneur and businessman.

Stage Shows

   Stage shows in the New Las Vegas come in one variety: something fucking something else.  The one depicted here is one of the ones that is performed daily in the fixtures section of the New Las Vegas JC Pennys where you don't have to test the beds personally, you can watch others test them for you while they are getting laid besides. As you can see here the lighting and costuming - the costuming being the stockings and head-thing on the human female - are subtle and alluring and not at all like the customary lighting and decor arrangements of the usual JC Pennys. Watching voluptuous human females naked except for white stockings get laid never gets old even when they are getting laid by  cemetery ghouls devoid of blood. He is doing her the courtesy of licking her nipples and not eating them and that alone is something that tends to win you over to his side of the rooting section. If you buy the bed these two usually don't come home with you. Usually.

The New Cirque

      There's circus acts and then there's this one. Who in their right mind would not applaud this. You don't return home from a Cirque do Soleil performance and immediately go to the liquor cabinet, make yourself a drink and then go sit down on the couch and stare at the wall across the room, slowly sipping and relentlessly replaying inside your head what you just came home from. But you do when you see this stunt performed. Oh yes you do, that is for sure. The double penis naked handstand. You don't know who to applaud the hardest, the men with the support boners or the woman using them as newly-configured parallel bars. While exposing her vagina. You are so overwhelmed with amazement that you are almost tempted to overlook the fact that one of the men is a negro. Yes, the amazements just keep coming.

The New Las Vegas Wax Museum

   The wax museum in the New Las Vegas is a bit different from the other ones in existence. Everyone is naked. This here is a depiction of Jeri Ryan as Seven of Nine. As you can see, it rocks. Most wax museums you want to leave the instant you realize you have made a mammoth mistake. Which realization comes as soon as you enter the wax museum. And after you have paid the admission price. Which is not refundable. This wax museum however….no way you are going to want to leave. John Hamm will be there, naked as pie, with a boner the size of a box car. Who is going to want to walk out on that. Not me. And I'm not even gay. The stars will be fighting each other for the chance to be in this wax museum because all their pathetic body parts will be enlarged or proportioned to the way they want their fans to imagine that they actually look. When they actually don't. Plus they have lots of wiggle room for plausible denial. Which no one would ever question. But why would they want to plausably deny awesomeness? I mean, do you think Jeri Ryan really looks like this naked? She would kill everyone in Scranton to look like this if the outcome of looking like this was guaranteed. But she doesn't have to do that now. She can look like this without ever even entering Scranton. I mean, talk about a win-win: you get to look like this; AND you don't have to go to Scranton. Forget about murdering everyone. Yeah: the New Las Vegas wax museum. I already have my tickets.

The Twilek Bar

   Twileks seem to be the species of choice in the Star Wars universe, probably because they all like wearing little or no clothing. This coupled with a fearless attitude regarding stalkers - and they have to have more than their share of those - naturally makes them popular with us lesser, inferior species. Twilek hotties have no problem with pick-up lines or even overt attempts at making a pass or even sudden groping attacks. The game is a fifty-fifty proposition, they are as apt to encourage you as they are apt to put one of their fists all the way through your sternum and out your back. It all depends on how they feel about you feeling them up. You might be an arousing sort of dude - or gal - or you might remind them of daddy who raped them daily as infants. I suppose you could ask beforehand: "Um, can I check out your pussy with my fingers?" The reaction odds remain the same: 50-50 that you will live through it and 50-50 that you won't. The good part is that if you live through it it means you are going to get laid and not laid-out.

Underwear Wearing Strongly Discouraged

   Unless you are leaking ebola from your cock or twat, the wearing of underwear - at least among the women - is discouraged. Isn't life automatically better when you can actually see the twat of the hot chick in the tight skirt? Of course. I mean that's the main attraction any woman has to offer and it's basically the only attraction, let's face it, so why not drag the goods out into the open so that the people with cocks can decide if their semen is attracted to it. That's right, there is no reason not to. Nuff said! Thank you!

Let Us Taste Him

   A blasphemous, if that's the right word, version of the Bellagio Fountains will be a featured attraction in the New Las Vegas, only instead of pillars of water weaving into the heavens it will be the stink-filled tentacles of smelly octopus-armlike semen-squirters that roil and writhe above the unholy testicles of C'thulhu. Eventually the unholy testicles themselves will rise into view and you will see what comprises the true and valid essence of filth.  The balls of the deity of this universe, a universe created by C'thulhu to ejaculate upon and defile for the sole sake of turning beauty into ugliness…these are the balls you will see. And then farther down to the left will rise more tentacle arms filled with semen and then farther down to the right it will again be made manifest until from one end of the horizon to the other, right before your eyes, endless ascensions of upward-shooting curtains of turgid chubbed-up tentacles of C'thulhu jizz will be all that you can see and then shall there thus explode the ichor that they contain, now into the air, and now clopping downward all over you and onto the cement where thousands gather and feel the essence of their creator splashing upon them in erratic splashing envelopment and in disgusting unholy love. Then, when the screaming (which will be yours) stops, the tentacles of disgust will slowly withdraw back down below the surface, and people will fitfully laugh in creeping relief as the splooge that so recently flopped upon them quietly dissolves into the atmosphere like sugar in boiling water and disappears.
   All this will be done to music by the way.

The C'thulhu Experience

   All of us who are actually awake on this planet, which is about 1 ten-millionth of the global population, realize that C'thulhu is actually real and that when his day comes it will spell the biologically engineered return of humanity to a worm-like state, only we will be a bit larger, perhaps the size of European wild boar-sized worms, and it will be our job to be food for the Great One's attendees, who themselves defy description even though their lord and master himself can to some extent be described. The C'thulhu Experience will be a thrill ride that will take the visitor through the massive labyrinths of R'lyeah, the eerily-lit gigantic passageways through which the slumbering C'thulhu, in his slogging, wet, splashing crawling, sploshing temporary delirium wanders unconcious in foodless, unbreathing sonambulistic foulness and endless clouds of emanating steam from the 140 degree engine of swamp production that is his foetid body temperature. The cars will quietly and almost relaxingly take you through the waterless world beneath the Earth's ocean where C'thulhu awaits the alignment of the galactic rotation to the fixed spot of the "place" the big bang occurred which C'thulhu himself did create from his separate dimension of putrid expanses far far huger than our comparatively puny and spacially restrictive universe; our universe which he created for himself to cover and drown with his own unholy semen, piss, shit and drool all for the purpose of seeing it collapse into useless and meaningless parsec-spanning filth. None of this of course is explained in the ride. In fact nothing at all is explained in the ride. You go on the ride in your roller coaster-like carlets, and as you slowly weave and rise and fall through vast arenas of rock and drippage that makes even more rock, nothing is said. Only the essence and sleepy absolute dominance of C'thulhu in his temporary realm of cold mist and hot steam and subterranean vistas greets your eye and from somewhere back 5 billion years in the memories still held by your busily dividing cells when C'thulhu created them for his eventual unholy disgusting meaningless purposeless pleasure you somehow sense and understand what it all means and you sense that what it all means is that you have no meaning and only C'thulhu is actually real and only C'thulhu has an actual meaning.
   At the end of the quiet, clacking journey of steel wheel upon steel track you emerge once more into the normal world above ground in the hot arid expanse of a portion of the Las Vegas desert and you look up at the merciless sun beating down on you and you softly weep because the merciless sun is actually vibrant exciting healthy life compared to where you just were if for no other reason than that there is no eternal endless curtain of unholy steam and stench coming off it.

What The Fuck Hotel 2

   They've got all the bases covered in this little swah ray depicted here. Part man, part woman, part critter. The only thing missing here is the kitchen sink and some abandoned farm machinery. And if Chelsea Handler shows up that will more than make up for the kitchen sink and the farm machinery not being there. Sights like the above are common at the What The Fuck and so far no one has ever complained. They just say "What the fuck….." So the What The Fuck can't be cited for being named wrong. There's no mystery or confusion about that at all. In fact after a stay or two that's the only thing you don't say "What the fuck" about: their name.

The Sarkovsky Brothers

   The Sarkovsky Brothers, some of whom being pictured here, love to fuck. They will fuck anyone or anything with a hole in them. Male, female, animal vegetable or mineral, it just does not fucking matter,  these boys will get seriously involved with it because they are the Sarkovsky Brothers. You don't even have to pay them, they will pay you. Many people ask "Well, who are the Sarkovsky Brothers?" Well, that's hard to say. What we do know about them is that they paint their lips and fingernails black. We do know that. We also know they never wear clothes. We know that and we can figure out why. As for why they paint their lips and fingernails black, that we don't know. We also know that those who have been fucked by the Sarkovsky Brothers say that it was the best and most fantastic experience of their lives. The theory is that their secret is their unfailing enthusiasm. They don't speak, they only make horrific disgusting noises but they manage to convey to their subjects a conviction that they are being worshipped as much as they are being fucked. Many people don't even remember the fucking. They only remember the feeling that they were adored. Since the Sarkovsky Brothers do not wear makeup and since travel to other planets is not a part of Earth's idiom, no one knows where the Sarkovsky Brothers actually come from. Other than from their cocks and apparently they come from those a lot.

The Anti-Amazon Hotel and Casino

   You probably have been thinking from what you have read so far, not that anyone actually is, that Amazons are the ruling party in the New Las Vegas. Not by a long shot. And certainly not at the Anti-Amazon Hotel and Casino. Here the cock is king. And women are its devoted servants and worshippers. That thing at the center of the picture that looks like a hoofed horse's leg is the mascot of the ruling party here: men. The unofficial motto of the place is "my penis right or wrong." You can come here with your wife if you want but she is basically going to be ignored by the staff, all of whom are female. They are not going to be rude to your wife. In fact they are not even going to notice she is present. All they will see is you. If you insist that they talk to her at all you are going to have to inform them that she is there. For you are all they are going to see. And can you blame them? You have a penis! And they are not going to care what kind either. Big small black white bifurcated de-balled triple-balled de-scrotumed soft hard square or triangular, it will make no difference to them: you are the man!

The Breeding Chambers

      Needless to say there are no actual human females like the ones pictured above in existence.
      You know, Hitler gets a lot of bad press, but if you draw aside all the blood and the 20 million combat-related deaths, he really was an enthusiastically inventive guy. And human breeding farms were high on his cheery and upbeat fun-to-do list. Strangely, his emphasis seemed to be all over the place: noble, handsome warriors, and trim, fertile females devoted to having more noble handsome warriors.
   The future breeding farms of the New Las Vegas, however, will be devoted to creating new and exciting sex-obsessed orgasm-fixated wonder-dolls that live and breath just like us. While the two beauties pictured here are spending some time with a big black-dicked monstrosity, breeding those latter  things, or anything even close to them, will be out of the question. Jurassic Park comes immediately to mind and I think you know where I am going with this. Like we don't have enough problems in that arena. However, long-tongued females are never looked upon with scorn and perfect beauteous ladies with forked, two-foot-long pliable glans-envelopers will come at a premium price-point to the tourist looking for memorable penis-related adventures. And of course there will also be a long long line of vagina-owners and nipple-possessors who will not look the other way at the prospect of entering into new realms of oral excitement and gratification. But all that's down the road. So make sure you spend a lot of time at the gaming tables, citizen! The money for this enormous biology project has to come from somewhere!

Intimate Dining and Dancing

   Intimate dining and dancing in the New Las Vegas means "feeling someone up in a serene, mood-inducing, public environment with an intimate designer-driven ambience conducive to foreplay." Or you can just eat. Actual "dancing" is always, at best, more of a prelude to fucking than it is an actual exercise in dancing, especially in America where dancing for white Anglo Saxon Protestant Christian and other Christian-American subsets is considered wrong. At best it is considered gay. In reality it's foreplay. And since most Americans can't dance - most men at least - why not just do actual foreplay and call it dancing and dining? Even though its closer to feeling-up and drinking. Dining and dancing, feeling-up and drinking…..feeling-up and drinking is a lot more honest and a lot less annoying. Meanwhile, pictured above are two women, one with a penis - or maybe they both have penises for all I know - doing some dining and dancing: dining on each others' saliva and dancing with each others' erogenous zones. I call it dining and dancing. you call it tomahhto. Who really gives a shit as long as it's hot.

The Pillars of Peckers

   The Cirque du Soleil, as mentioned much earlier, will be back in France where they belong when the New Las Vegas comes into existence. Their personnel, however, some of them, or people just like them, will remain behind, if they have any sense, so that they can live more productive, far less strenuous lives entertaining the New Las Vegas visitors, by doing things a lot more enjoyable than crawling around like pensive, wary lizards while wearing skin tight unbreathable costumes for hours at a time night after night for years until, at the first sign of weight gain or physical weakness, they are suddenly replaced by a duplicate lizard impersonator without warning and without fanfare and with no difficulty in finding a replacement from the deep and bottomless circus-bench of European acrobats who could not conceive of any different way of life than to be in a European, depressing, god awful, blow my brains out right now, circus.
   Nope, in the New Las Vegas all you will be required to do, at least if you're female, will be - among a very select few other-varieties of simple tasks - to pretend to be suffering and in anguish upon the Pillars of Peckers. That probably won't be their final nomenclature of course, but I think between the two of us we can take a few liberties in the interest of clarity and getting to the point.
   The Pillar of Peckers will be small towers of columns or man made stalagmites with writhing, coiling, enveloping, gripping, oozing, pulsating, squirting latex penises which - in the manner of Japanese Tentacle Porn - which is a bonifide variety over there, God bless 'em and their little fucking-obsessed brains, which tells me that being nuked is good for you - that our struggling hapless naked hot 18-30 year old victims have to contend with, much to their sad sad agony.
   Parenthetically, though not depicted here, a variation of the pillar of peckers will be the mainstay of the gymnasium areas of the various hotels, specifically the climbing wall, which will not have epoxy and resin and acrylic and plastic hand and foot holds of oddly-shaped amorphous blobs sticking to the climbing wall, but rather steel, flesh-colored erect human boner replicas of various sizes and lengths. Climbing shorts will be small and with leg openings larger than necessary with a no-underwear-worn policy so that strangers can stand below and look up at the climbers' occasionally revealed gonads. It's all merely a perk to promote good health, the prurient aspects being merely……Ok, actually the prurient aspects are the main whole point, I admit it. You caught me.

The Cauldron of Cock

   The cauldron of cock is a meandering sidewalk presentation that can often also be found also in various hallways and arcades leading to one place or another and features a buxom hot witch and her buxom young apprentice creating a potion that results in a large cock slowly emanating from the froth. The apprentice is then suppose to - all confused - follow the witch's commands in mollifying the apparition in order to make it return into the bubbling murk. I don't suppose I have to tell you how this mollifying operates. That's right, she has to appease the thing. The show has no other purpose than to be a dirty little presentation. Period. Gifts of currency after the apprentice completes her task are never refused or scorned, no matter how small; it's not as though either one of them worked their asses off to give this show. However hot naked women eroticizing pretend cocks in cauldrons for your eyes and memories is worth some cash if you stood there and watched and if you're not a fucking prick. It's not complicated. Hey, it's better than some little fucking Peruvian illegal slapping a business card with photoshopped stars over the tits and pussies of the chick on the card and a fucking phone number you're supposed to call so some nightmare from the public dumps in the Philippines or some beat-up Muslim grandmother from Iraq can show up at your crappy motel room and shoot you in the belly and take all your stuff. Yeah, fukkin A I'm right, sparky.

Hell Hotel Consierge

   The Hell Hotel is nothing if not service oriented. While it would befuddle the employees there should it happen, it is possible a guest might have an issue he needs resolved. Customer dissatisfaction is taken seriously so your mediator is calculated to make you less ill at ease than other things in the hotel might be failing at. Or will be failing at, actually. The Hell Hotel does not actually expect to turn a profit. What it expects is that you will commit suicide. Still, some sacrifices have to be made in the direction of  normal expectations, so that is why "Summer" exists. That is Summer above. She's actually a delight. Your meeting with Summer will be alone. She does not permit herself to ever be outnumbered. Actually the management doesn't permit it. Summer sees being outnumbered as a challenge. Not much of one but certainly more than a mere one on one combat, which she finds demeaning. To her. So, you will be alone with Summer and you will explain your dissatisfaction. And she will decide what to do about it. And she will do something about it. What she does depends a lot on you. On your attitude, actually, more than on your complaint itself. For example, you complaining about tarantulas in your room and doing it in a polite and excusatory manner will very likely get her to nod and assure you quietly that it will be handled to your satisfaction. On the other hand you complaining that the do not disturb sign keeps falling off the handle and complaining about it in an abusive tone just might get you immediately and ferociously dismembered, your body devoured, and your whereabout denied by one and all of the rest of the staff. For their own good, if for no other reason. Hey, it's called the Hell Hotel. It's not called Mother Gooseland.

Futanari Follies

    God bless the Japanese, they are one insular band of isolated, non diversified mother fuckers, and when they focus on something they go at it with a frantic enthusiasm, and one of the things those little monkeys focus on the most is imaginative erotica. And one of their cultural creations is futanari; hot chicks with dicks fucking each other in cartoon form. They won't be cartoons though in the futanari venues and restaurants featuring these antics. Now it has to be remembered that a true futanari critter is solid female. Not a man with tits. But a woman with a cock. That's very important or it would be…well, weird. And who needs weird. Not the New Las Vegas! Is there such a species? Well, there is in Japan and no one is having a problem with it. Postpone the chromosome testing until one of them commits a murder is my philosophy. Just leave well enough alone. And jizz them tits!! WOO HOO!!

Pool of the Cock Turtles

   Ah, the pool of the cock turtles. The fun sensation that will be an enthusiastic draw at all the pools in the New Las Vegas will be the remote controlled cock turtles. They will be operated by the guests, and the ladies - or, fuck it, the men too I guess - will appraise the different operators of each device and if she so chooses will coyly permit the cock turtle operated by whatever fetching cock turtle operator catches her fancy, she will if she likes make herself coquettishly available to it, as we see the desperately in love bather doing here. But what if an errant cock turtle wins the day, one operated by a geek? Ah, then the hijinx begins. However cock turtles are easily avoided - hey, they're turtles. They ain't marlins. Imagine the hottie you like laying back and spreading her legs for your turtle! Ah, the erotic thrill of it all. surreptitiously fucking a complete stranger without even using your own dick! This is where reputations are born. The adept turtle operator will gain a reputation difficult to surpass in any other arena of life. Adroitly manipulating your cock turtle into providing a memorable orgasmic experience on a total stranger who has chosen your turtle to fuck her!…..oh my. Oh my!!!

Pole Dancing

   Yup, you're one step ahead of me. That pole ain't brass, and any acrobatics she is going to be doing on it wont be very complicated. They will be pretty rudimentary. Mosly repetitive. Probably involving sliding and not much else. And it's very likely she will do all that she can to keep the pole on the outside of her anatomy. The animatronic she is dancing on is not particularly animate. Only the cock moves: straight up or hanging down limp. On amateur night contestants' movements against it are the deciding factor on whether or not the cock is hard or limp. Actually the employee who is paid to operate the cock decides. He decided this by his estimation of the ardor the dancer applies to the cock. The applause and cheering of the audience does a lot to help him make a decision. At some point he can make the cock squirt. Or ooze. Oozing is good but the squirts are pretty impressive and at the end of amateur night a winner is decided and she gets a prize commensurate with her efforts. It's always a good one. The fake semen is actually edible, so if she decides to make a complete erotic spectacle of herself, even if she doesn't go home the winner at least she won't go home hungry.

The WTF Hotel

   Sometimes you just don't know where to begin. Having to describe the What The Fuck Hotel is always one of those times. It's enough to say you'll be paying attention, whatever it is you see when you get there. You just won't always know what the fuck it is you're paying attention to. You might not know what but you will know why: because there will pretty likely be tits and ass involved; some of it human. What exactly is going on here, for example, is partially understandable. And that would be what is happening in the foreground. As for what the deal is regarding what's going on in the chair in the backround…..I mean, what the fuck? It appears to be insectoid, but it also seems to be obscene. I can only assume it's cock comes out of its mouth. So technically it's not gay. If it was going in…..well, frankly, I don't even know how to end that sentence. Whatever the fuck is going on it's all being very excellently presented. So you can't fault the Hotel for being slipshod and indifferent. That's got to be worth something. Just not something with an explanation.

The Buffets

   Frankly you're not going to be wanting a lot of food. The New Las Vegas is not about food unless its semen, or pussy juice, or, in the Lactating Lounges, human-baby milk. You have the option in the buffet rooms, if you insist on calling them that, of being the food provider or being the food recipient. There are only two customers here today, strangers to each other as are most guests at a buffet, and one has chosen to be on the selection table - which turns, in case you want a different selection to come into view, and one has chosen to be the selector. Once he has made his selection he stands upon the running board, as it is called, and they both circle slowly until the meal is finished. He may also choose to feed while being fed off of. All he has to do to do that is bend forward. Payments are voluntary and usually there is never a problem offering it. Making change is considered bad form. So don't ask. Don't be a dick. Just have one.

Animatronics, New Las Vegas Style

   I believe it was Disneyland that introduced the world to the animatronics experience. Abe Lincoln, as I recall, the man who declared war on his own country and has as a result been hailed as America's greatest President, was animatronick'ed into action at a venue wherein he held forth in a droning listless announcement to the effect that…well, I don't remember what he said but I think the idea was to convey the message that if you are unenergetic enough and pretend to be weighed down with the weight of your own stupidity to the point where you are even too exhausted to speak quickly and lively or from some other emotional zone than deep clinical depression you will be considered to contain liberal amounts of distilled greatness. There was also another animatronic venue as I recall call Bear Country Hoedown, or something, featuring a fake bear singing in a deep slow drone "There was blood on the saddle. There was blood all around. And a big black puddle of blood on the ground." The word "blood" was recited with a definite special emphasis every time. This was back when Disney was cool and not cute.
   The animatronics at the New Las Vegas will be a little different. There will be bearlike creatures but they will be much more humanoid, and they will be getting their dicks sucked. They probably won't be singing. And the only puddles anywhere will be animatronic semen. Probably on the ground. And all around. And in the saddle of the blowing female's ass saddle. If the brute depicted above ever takes his thumb out of it.

The Consierge At The Amazon Hotel

   The Amazon Hotel and Casino can be a bit intimidating to the average male visitor, but it's designed to separate the men from the worthless unworthy earthworms. Despite her environs her job is to help you find the things you are looking for in the New Las Vegas. All she asks, and I am being a bit ridiculous using the word asks, but all she asks is that you have a clear idea of what it is you want before you ask her where you can find it. Otherwise she might be telling you where you can find your dick, since you won't have it any more. This is not to say she's a bitch. She's just busy. A lot of people want to talk to her, or at least think they do when they first get a gander at her. So she is willing to give them all a moment's benefit of the doubt. But she has to actually get to them all in order to do that. Which she can't do if you're standing there drooling gibberish, not knowing whether or not you want dinner or a hot black cock up your ass. Keep in mind that she's not surrounded by skulls because death creeps her out. And she's not buckass naked because she's easily embarrassed. So you might want to think carefully about trying to shock her with your questions about whether or not she would like to experience your undoubtedly phenomenal lovemaking capabilities. She's there to do a job. Not give you one. Vermin male.

Gratuitous Vaginal Penetration Murals

 
   Elves, God bless 'em, are pretty much the go-to guys when you need to abuse and take advantage of someone. They have virtually no defenses, and if Tinker Bell is any example, they're all cuter than pixies. Well, what the fuck, of course they are, they are pixies. Where the fuck is my head. For all the abuse you never see one of them in anything even close to resembling a bad mood. They are either astoundingly resilient emotionally or else they are so fucking hearty that what we see as abuse they see merely as a weekend of skiing in Vale, all expenses paid. So what is there to be troubled about by seeing a smooth naked elf being acrobatically penetrated by what can only be something five times her size and weight. The cock is going in and I don't see any blood, and besides, it's just a mural. True, it's not the usual hallway  or corridor or dining room mural of Aztecs and peons and union laborers on the railroad working together dutifully for a better tomorrow and raising shovels and garden hoes high in salute to a New Deal where everyone will be equally busy with 15th century back breaking farm labor in a global spirit of agrarian reform. No, it will be elves getting huge cocks thrust up their pussies, their naked bodies bent strainingly in sexual ecstasy. Same difference though. 'Cause they're just murals and they're by definition not anything important.

Restaurant Decor

   Before you come to any conclusions about what you see, you can relax in the assurance that this is nothing more than the other side of a booth and table inside one of the many French restaurants in the New Las Vegas. The French of course are the most disgusting and simultaneously annoying people on the face of the planet. The food they serve to each other is not fit to serve to pigs living in an underground French sewer. However the site of one of the menu items copulating with a woman whose naked ass and one naked tit covered in centipede sperm are fully visible has the effect of tempting one to investigate a little further this nightmare experience called "French Dining" and of course experiencing what the New Las Vegas is all about, even if the new thing being experienced is French cooking. Xenomorph ahpehteet!

The New Las Vegas Security

   This is one of the security personnel in the casinos and restaurants and performance venues - which is virtually every square inch of the New Las Vegas. The headgear is fetching, no? It is designed to be both attractive decoration and also a reminder that she can kill you and send you to St. Peter for final analysis before you even know you are in eternity. But that is not her primary function. Her primary function is to be always close enough to you so that you can see her tits…and even touch them if you like! Yes, that's right, she is not at all prudish. She will even spray rubbing alcohol on your hands before you do. The charge for this service?….showing her your dick and jacking off for - but not on - her. Hey, I told you the New Las Vegas really kicked ass. But you actually have to cum if you agree to this bargain. And within a reasonable amount of time too. Five minutes, tops. And if you don't? Well a deal's a deal and you broke your end. There's  a hundred dollar fine. You say you don't want to pay? Oh, I did hear you wrong? Yes that's what I thought.

Superheroes In The New Las Vegas

 In the New Las Vegas superheroes such as Batman and the inexplicable existence of Catwoman will be presented in a more honest manner than before. Their genitals will be showing rather than inferred from bulging halter-top skintight uniforms and bulging codpiece gonad coverings. Plus, instead of performing superfeats of heroism they will be copulating. In dynamically presented scenic settings as depicted above. And Hopefully Batman's penis will be more erect.

The Coque du Soleil

   The Coque du Soleil in the New Las Vegas will be the upgraded version of the ubiquitous and annoyingly French Cirque du Soleil that now basically is the sole money maker of Nevada, with the possible exception of the female pussies on the prostitutes. Unfortunately the Cirque, while popular, is very annoying. The comedy clowns are something from preindustrial Gaul and the humor level is garish and rude without being amusing. The costumes on the women are teasing and frustrating, and, well, it's fucking France France France France France France France up the fucking ass and down the fucking gullet and coming out your rectum, vagina if you have one, and pores.
   If you have to have that fucking entertainment comodity known as the Cirque then have them right in front of you, a few at a time, not 100 at a fucking time, have them naked rather than teasingly dressed and have them doing what everyone seems to think the French specialize in doing, which is fucking. And since the Cirque is festooned with talented costume makers, have the costuming be x rated and demonic. That's what EYE say. Walking along the many corridors and venues of the lush hotels and having to pass by two muscular troglodytes fucking a red hot naked elfin Amazon is - unlike the Cirque's usual fare - not going to annoy anyone.

The Electronic Card Reader

   This is the card-reading device on the doors of the Twilek-themed venues and for all credit card transactions. Can you figure out where the card gets slid at? No, not at the suction cup nipples, yes, that's right, down farther, in the cunt lips, or labia majori, or the double hills of thrills.  Yes, there is nothing quite like a pussy to take your money, don't you agree? We just take it to the logical extreme, we make it so's there's no ambiguity about what is going on, you are losing your money to a pussy. But  then there's worse ways to lose it, which would be all the other ways. The slot is a two way slot, you can slide the card back and forth or up and down. She responds equally fully to both, assuming your card is legitimate. If it isnt, syphilis bacteria drenches your card with an invisible microscopic film and the little Twilek machine will say to you "Lick the card and try again, tiger." This gets the bacteria into your system, hopefully, and even more hopefully teaches you a lesson: fuck in the New Las Vegas but don't fuck with it.

Self-Performed Penis Massage

   One of the features of the many Twilek Lounges in the Several Disney-Lucas venues is the self-performed penis massage which is what one tends to perform when watching one of the many Twilek waitresses rubbing her naked twat while you're either waiting for your drink or trying to decide what to order. Waitress chairs are situated all over the lounge and customers are advised not to sit there - in various polite ways - and why would anyone want to, that will only result in a drink-girl who could be rubbing her twat languidly in front of you wandering around instead, her pussy practically invisible and being pissed off because her twat needs rubbing! Why would you want that. Wouldn't you rather be jacking off in a public environment? With other women and men staring at your cock and cum? Yes, I thought you would say yes.

Twat Du Soleil

   In the New Las Vegas the Cirque do Soleil will actually be enjoyable and not annoying. There won't be any twat teasing in the costumes of the Twat du Soleil, it will be cameltoe heaven for your bulging eyeballs and your even more bulging dick. Vaginal crackage will be loud and clear. You'll know more about the performer's cunt than she does herself cause you will have seen more of it than she has. And this business of "no photos" will be bullshit from a lost and forgotten past. There won't be any reason to claim "it's for the safety of the performers" because the most complex thing any of the performers will be doing is 69ing each other and/or doing the sort of elbow stand you see above. Any acrobat who gets distracted by a flash doing a fucking elbow stand needs to go down to Circus Circus in the old Las Vegas while it's still there.

Coffee, Tea, Or My Two Succulent Breasts?

   One of the more rattling - in a good way - aspects of the New Las Vegas is the experience of having your lifelong frustrations regarding your cock eradicated over and over a hundred times a day even without you doing anything to make it happen. Where in the past inside the casinos, hot - and often not hot - cocktail gals would approach you with a tray of free drinks, in the New Las Vegas female personnel - all of them hot - will approach you with their tits. "Care to suck on these or cop a feel, sir?" To put things another way, the notion of "tease" or "frustration" will not exist within city limits. Just get used to it.