Ah, Vegas.

So my cousin decided to get married this past weekend at a nice little resort about twenty minutes outside of Las Vegas. So the family Hose Monster shipped themselves out to Sin City for the weekend to witness the nuptials and engage in a little innocent entertainment.

They must put something in the water there in addition to all that pure oxygen they pump into the casinos. Amusing things just seem to happen there.

For starters, the groom at the wedding had the delightful name of Juan. He’s also white as bleach and hails from Mississippi. A constant source of amusement for my family, but no big deal. However, we learned this weekend that Juan’s father John named his two white sons Juan and Jaques. Just for the record, the mother also traces her roots back to western Europe.

Objectively of course, this has nothing to do with Vegas. But somehow amusement such as this could only happen in Vegas.

Then the constant fake boob patrol that we engage in out there. Again, you could do this somewhere else, but really, it only works in Vegas. Out there you find them, bigger, more noticeable and frequently adorned with leopard print.

Watching Paul Kariya just get the absolute shit knocked out of him by Scott Stevens Saturday with a bunch of drunk people in the Mandalay Bay sports book and then inconceivably coming back ten minutes later and scoring the crucial goal in the game on the prettiest shot you could ever hope to see. Doable somewhere else, but taking on more epic proportions in Vegas.

Where else can you wake up hung over, be soaking up searing sun rays by 9:30, spot a woman composed half of silicone, collagen and plastic sitting next to someone sporting a NASCAR one-piece, with the kept woman drinking a beer and the NASCAR girl with a strawberry margarita in hand, find more than five different Nieman-Marcus shops within a two-mile radius, catch a world-class show, eat at a loaded buffet for under ten bucks and close the evening by bonding with an 80-year old man wearing seersucker pants and a salmon colored shirt with a navy sport coat over a deck of cards?

Only in Vegas, I tells ya.

So I sucked it up on the tables, I only broke even on the video poker, I didn’t drink nearly as many free drinks as I should have and hardly spent any time sleeping or soaking up the sun. And dammit, Vegas gave me a great time once again.

I’ll meet you all out there next time.