LAS VEGAS HAS AN ART WALK – TOO

As I rolled down the strip I knew it was going to be an interesting night…I offered Howard a puff on my cigar.

“I wish I could.”

“Sorry Mr. Hughes, I’ve gotten so used to you riding shotgun that sometimes I forget that you’re…well you know…”

“Dead,” he said finishing my thought as he often does. “Don’t feel bad, I had a good run…It’s amazing how this place keeps growing—slow down for a second.”

I tapped the breaks gently. Howard always asks me to slow down when we’re about to pass City Center—it seems to fascinate him for some reason, but he never says why. I was hoping that he might utter something on this occasion, but just as it seemed like it might happen—the phone rang.

“What are you doing?” asked Isaac.

“Cruising the strip with Howard.”

“Listen I’ve been living in this town for a year and still haven’t made it to First Friday, you want to go?” he asked.

“Sure, I’ll pick you up in ten.” I hung up and turned to face the ghost of Howard Hughes. “Sorry Mr. Hughes…”

First Friday is a combo art walk and rave in the Downtown Art District of Las Vegas. And as a Los Angeles Downtownster I know something about art walks, as Downtown LA plays host to the biggest art walk in the country on the second Thursday of every month. When the weather is nice a good Downtown LA Art Walk can attract close to thirty thousand revelers. I had no such expectation of such an event in Las Vegas, but I had heard some good things about the up and coming art scene in Sin City so I was more than up for checking it out…And of course when dating a girl that suffers from Zombism there’s not a whole lot of places you can go out as a couple and fit in.

I picked Isaac up at the swanky Panorama Towers and headed Downtown exiting Charleston and finding a nice dirt lot to park the SL 500 in, just on the other side of Main Street.

“Nice, I just had them shined,” said I, looking down at my dust covered Gucci loafers.

“Car washes and shoe shines don’t last in this town,” commented Isaiah who was wearing tennis shoes—he’s thirty. “What the hell is that noise?” asked my freaked out friend at the slamming sound emanating from the trunk.

“Oh that. Better step back—I brought my girlfriend along.” I approached the back of the car with caution.

“You make your girlfriend ride in the trunk. You f*cking guys from Cali really know how to treat women.” His New York accent was heavier than usual as he leveled this damning, yet envious comment.

“Trust me this chick likes it…Now the choker chain, is taking her some getting used to…”

“Choker chain???”

But before I could elaborate for my confused friend the Zombie Chick was out of the trunk and the fight was on. She scratched and bit wildly at me as I defended and went for the chain. Alas, chain in hand I gave it a thunderous tug, which reeled her around so that her back was now exposed and then with full choke on we slammed against the trunk. With possibly the best zombie ass in the world bent over the trunk of my car, her Catholic, schoolgirl mini-skirt akimbo, and no underwear anywhere in sight I decided that First Friday could wait a few minutes—and took the zombie vagina ice plunge. (Refer to Vegas Grand Slam blog for more information regarding cold zombie vagina.)

“Should I leave while you finish raping your girlfriend?” asked Isaac.

“Don’t be silly…And technically it’s necrophilia not rape,” I answered, causing her to growl with pleasure and claw the paint off of my trunk. “Thank goodness I paid my insurance bill.” I laughed. “I’ll tell them I ran into a bear up in Yellow Stone.”

“That’s the zombie chick you f*cked in the bathroom while you were on a date with someone else at Mickie Finns?”

“This is a sexual assault asshole, not a deposition, shut the fu…”screamed my chick at my buddy.

I yanked the choker another notch. “What did I tell you about being rude to my friends!” Our bodies slammed together so hard that her knee broke my right tail light somehow.

And then came the final climax, which sent us both rolling down into the dirt, thankfully just as a Vegas Metro squad car cruised by—a few seconds earlier and I would of have had some explaining to do.

With Zombie Chick on a short leash the three of us ventured into First Friday…Art and bands everywhere and seriously thousands of people walking around—I was blown away.

“So where do you keep her when she’s not in the trunk?”

She spit on Isaac. I kicked her as hard as I could in the ass. She turned and smiled.

“Fat Andy’s house has a nice dark basement—I’ve been letting her stay there.”

“Thanks a lot for that f*cker,” snarled Zombie Chick.

I turned to Isaac. “Don’t get me wrong, it would be great if she could sleep in bed with me, rather than a dark, dank basement, but left to her own device she’d rip out my throat with her teeth while I’m sleeping.”

“Well you guys make a nice couple,” said Isaac, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Look it’s not perfect but…”

“He’s with me because he can’t get enough of my cold pussy.”

“Thank you sweetie. I was just about to say that.” I shrugged. “She is right. Once you’ve gone zombie it’s hard to go back. Other than the married midget I’m now forced to have an affair with as an antidote to those pesky little love bites.”

“I’m just into older chicks these days,” said Isaiah, slowly adapting to our unusual dynamic as a couple.

“You know there is colder,” said Zombie Chick, snatching at an unattended child in a stroller—thus the short leash.

“Really.” She always knows just the right things to say to keep me interested.

“Yeah, not too far from here.”

So we spent another hour perusing the art scene, grabbed a quick bite to eat at Casa Don Juan’s, some of the best Mexican food in Las Vegas and moved on. I should add here that Isaiah and I ate the restaurant food. And unfortunately Zombie Chick did manage to get her hands on someone’s lost Maltese. Of course I feel bad about this, but if I can keep my bitch on a leash—so can everyone else.

Now I’ve been to some wild warehouse parties before, actually they were my parties come to think of it…Anyway, this party was out of control even by my non existent standards. And the prospects for a vagina even colder than Zombie Chick’s were everywhere. I focused in on a brunette and made my way toward her, dragging along my date. But before I could get close enough to start chatting I felt the powerful grip on my shoulder of a blond fellow about twenty-eight—so handsome I might add that if I were a chick…

“A human with a zombie on a leash at my Coven—Interesting.”

I turned to Zombie Chick. “You brought me to a Vampire Coven?”

She began to laugh hysterically. “You’re so f*cked…”

I turned to the handsome Vampire Lord. “Sorry, but when she said there was something colder than her ice box, I must have started thinking with the wrong head.”

“So human of you,” he said with a sinister smile, similar to my own.

“Well we best be on our way,” I said, noticing that Isaiah was sitting on a couch with four vampiresses that were looking at him like Thanksgiving dinner was served.

“I don’t think so.” His grip tightened on my shoulder. “I think we’re destined to be friends. I see you want to penetrate my sister, perhaps we can arrange a trade.”

I pulled out a bag of white powder from my pocket. “Maybe a little something like this?”

His blood red eyes almost popped out of his head. “You know how to make Blast?”

“I wrote the book, literally,” I answered, making a shameless reference to my bestselling Kindle ebook “Blast” available at the Amazon Kindle Store. There’s a link on the sidebar dear readers and this is how I pay for all of this craziness, so buy away! And if you can’t find the link just go to Amazon and search for me by name.

“You’re Stan Lerner!” The whole party came to a dead stop as eight hundred or so vampires hung on their lord’s every word. “I knew you looked familiar. “Blast” is my favorite book of all time. And I’m nine-hundred-years-old!” He grabbed the bag of Blast out of my hand. “You know humans have invented some cool stuff over the years, but Blast, well it’s the coup de grace. You can have my sister and oh so much more.”

Zombie Chick growled and got another swift kick in the ass by both of us this time. We laughed.

I chatted up Berlin’s sister. That’s his name by the way. And she introduced me to her best vampiress friend who had a tongue at least two inches longer than Gene Simmons of the rock band Kiss fame.

“So it’s a vampire custom that whoever brings the “Blast” takes the first hit,” said Berlin the Vampire Lord.

I pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “Pass the mirror my boy.”

They all laughed. Berlin’s sister Sade whispered into my ear as she tugged at my pants. “That’s not the way we do Blast.”  And then with pants around my knees and several vampiresses holding me face down I came to understand that there’s no need for hundred dollar bills when there’s a vampiress with a tongue longer than those rectal thermometers we generation Xers all remember from childhood.

Let me make this perfectly clear, I do not advocate the rectal use of Blast or any other drug…But WOW!!! BANG!!!KPOW!!! I’ve never been so high in my life. I think I actually scared a room full of vamps and even Zombie Chick was cowering under the coffee table—the top of which I broke just to get a grip on her hair. And so on…

As I chilled with Berlin on the couch, after an orgy of epoch proportions, I couldn’t help but to feel bad for my new pack of soulless friends—not because they’re one step above the devil on the damnation chain, but because they were forced to party in such a second class way in a city that has some of the best nightclubs in the world.

“You’re one crazy f*cking human,” said Berlin, giving my juggler some sex eyes.

“You’re not so bad yourself…You know after watching those crappy “Twilight” movies I was beginning to think vampires were a bunch of sexually repressed faggots, but you know how to party, my boy. And your sister…I’ll give you a pound of Blast a month to keep tapping that…”

Berlin extended his hand. “Deal!!!” He looked deep, deep, deep, into my eyes. “Okay, what else?”

“Bro, if you and the gang are going to start partying with the Stan, you’ve got to let me hook up the venue—I feel like I’m a teenager in this place. And even though I like sleeping with them, I don’t want to be them, if you know what I mean?”

His throat rumbled like a tiger on the loose at a Siegfried & Roy show back in the day. “I really like you…From now on you’re in charge of the drugs and the venue…”

“And DJ,” I added.

He patted me lovingly on the head then pointed at Isaac. “What about him?”

“He’s an executive at The Venetian…Tell the girls to unchain him…He knows all of the club owners in town…”

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