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.