By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
His voice changes to that of a bereted poet giving a dramatic reading.
"I was talking to a moth the other evening," Marcus begins, thrusting the lightbulb up and away, then pondering it like Hamlet pondering a dagger. "He was trying to break into an electric lightbulb and fry himself on the wires."
Marcus pulls the lightbulb back, walks over to a dresser, and then, with one quick hammering motion, snaps off the bulb's aluminum screw-in plug. It falls to the carpet and he stares it for a second, then at the teardrop-shaped piece of glass in his hand, which now has a jagged hole at the fat end.
"I forget the next part," he says, weaving on his feet and staring into the bulb's hole like a drunken pirate staring through a spyglass. "But the guy who's talking the poem asks the moth why the fuck he's trying to fry himself on the light, and the moth says..."
And here Marcus goes into the voice of the moth, rendered high and reedy, as if he had just inhaled helium: "‘We get bored with routine and crave beauty and excitement. Fire is beautiful, and we know that if we get too close it will kill us, but what does that matter? It is better to be happy for a moment and burned up with beauty than to live a long time and be bored all the while."
"Hell, yeah!" Bonnie says emphatically.
Marcus picks through the shards of Shabu on the dresser, chooses one the size of an almond sliver and drops it into the hole in the bulb. He asks for a lighter. Then he continues the poem, again in the voice of the moth.
"We wad all our life up into one little roll, and then we shoot the roll. It is better to be a part of beauty for one instant and then cease to exist than it is to exist forever and never be a part of beauty. We are like human beings used to be before they became too civilized to enjoy themselves."
"No, wait, I fucked up."
He dances the flame of the lighter over the bulb. The Shabu inside bubbles, and smoke collects in the chamber of the bulb.
"I can only remember the last line, but before that, the moth flies into a lighter and dies, and the last line of the poem is the guy thinking to himself, ‘I wish there was something I wanted as badly as the moth wanted to fry himself.'"
Marcus inhales the smoke from the hole in the lightbulb. Moments pass in silence. He exhales sickly sweet.
Bonnie: "Wait, are you saying we're all moths?"
Vegas, baby, Vegas. Cab rides and showgirls and the midway at Circus Circus. Free drinks and bungee jumps and the light show above Fremont Street. Hits of speed smoked ghetto style in alleys off the Strip.
Ike breaks away from the pack to walk up and down both sides of Las Vegas Boulevard, practicing his border-town Spanish on the scores of Mexican men and women lining the sidewalks, wearing bright yellow shirts with black letters that read "A Naked Girl in Your Room in 30 Minutes!" The Mexicans are holding stacks of hundreds of garish cards advertising the services of prostitutes that they thrust before passersby. Ike begins feverishly collecting hooker cards. By night's end, he will have so many that they will spill from his pockets when he walks.
Heather and Sasha have developed a compelling interest bordering on obsession with the current novelty club hit "Cameltoe," by the bubbly all-girl trio FannyPack.
So many vehicles on the Strip are blasting the song from open windows that Heather and Sasha come up with what seems to them a perfectly sane endeavor. They sprint into a strip-mall store and buy two pads of paper and two pens. Then they take up a post on the sidewalk by the fountains outside the Bellagio and declare their intention to remain there until they have heard and recorded the entire four minutes of "Cameltoe," played in snippets from passing cars.
First they catch two lines from the second stanza of lyrics, percolating from a rented Corvette:
She walked right by, the poor woman didn't know.
She had a frontal wedgie, a Cam-el-toe!
And then, twenty minutes and one fountain show later, a jackpot: the entire first stanza, coming from a red, open-topped Jeep:
Walking down the street, something caught my eye,
A growing epidemic that really ain't fly.
This middle-aged lady, I gotta be blunt,
Her spandex biker shorts were creeping up the front.
When, nearly four hours later, they finally put in place the last piece of their surreal sonic puzzle -- the line Girls don't sleep, don't let your pants creep -- they hop up and down and clap, celebrating, as if a million-dollar slot had just come up three cherries.
The party train is derailing.
The group gathers around a roulette table at Caesars Palace, betting twenty dollars each spin on red and black, until inevitably the ball lands on the green double zero, a house number, wiping them out.
They aren't promoting anything. Why is everyone such a whiney bitch. This is just a good article written to please the masses. It's no different the. Every time you pass fear and loathing over on Starz. You don't feel the need to spew pissyness about that do you? Jesus Christ go read an article about how dogs are mistreated and bitch about that.
So they have 5k to blow on good drugs, another with another 5k on party favors......... anything original here?
Well It Seems Like A Chord Was Struck With Some. To the long time reader lol deuces. The one who submitted a book over a year ago for review.. do I need to say more? Yeah please let's have another article about the green and microbrew lifestyle so we can all nap through it. Also not only Meth ruins lives. Alcohol, cigarettes and even women ruin lives.
I submitted a book to the Westword for a review over a year ago. Why don't you try fitting that in somewhere?
Wow, Hannah. Impressive that your vocabulary and spelling is pathetic and yet I'm the (brain cell void one of us) imbecile who doesn't understand the point of the article. If you read the article fully (which you don't seem capable of) you'd notice that not once does the author note the health hazards or risks associated with this kind of "partying". Instead the author celebrates the fact that the host and his cohorts choose to voluntarily spend three days high beyond comprehension, and since no one wants a Debbie Downer they stock the pantry with more illegal pills to bring you back from the brink...you're right I'm sorry I missed the part where we were bringing awareness to the using problem... As far as "stupid" I'm far from that my uneducated keyboard opponent. I actually hold a college degree and a full time job. What do you do? O.o
ashley, did you ever stop to think (im sorry...all your brain cells are dead from all the mary jane you smoked, so thats probably impossible), the reporter is bringing awareness to what this type of addiction does to people, rather than promoting it? O.o go smoke another blunt you stupid bitch, not like you can get any more stupid than you already are. you've done hit the wall on that.
I enjoy reading about green lifestyle and microbrew culture. But what kind of well-written garbage is this? Klassy. Bye, Westword.
Pretty sure I said illegal and illicit. I smoke green, whatever. But meth? I mean cover your face in sores, not even once, hide yo kids shit and they're posting an article about how funny it is? I mean come on?? You're telling me you think that we should promote meth use now?
Yeah! Let's keep it all very secret. In fact, let's just tell them all drugs are the same level of BAD. Totally worked for the 90s kids and DARE! \U0001f611
I wanna hear the rest of the story, like what happened that weekend? How does the rest of his life go?
That was interestingâ€¦Why do I like reading stuff like thisâ€¦I don't know but I dig the willingness of Westword to get grimy.
Wtf!! The only shit you found to cover as a story!! You will write a story about anything!! Come to my house and spend the weekend with me and hang out in bathroom everytime i shit!!
What an incredible tale of modern decadence. A well represented microcosm of the ennui suffusing society.
It's a story of users on a binge. Much like On The Road by Jack Kerouac. They used 'bennies,' which essentially is meth, but it was found in inhalers back in the 40's and 50's. Drugs have always been an interesting part of American culture. I have never used meth myself, but this was a great story. Despite the fact that meth is a terrible drug, but it doesn't change the fact that this was well written and a fact of life is that dark, strange things live in the most unexpected places.
Meth is evil but that was a great article. Very well written - answers the question "how could anyone get hooked on that shit?" The answer is, everything can be fun at first - and almost anyone can innocently be susceptible to the allure of even the most devastating of substances - thanks westword.
Hey Westword, how about you don't post an article that glamorizes and encourages illegal and illicit activities that'll kill our kids. Mmmmkkk thanks :)
My response to this is, the article made it clear that the participants in this orgy of stupidity was both increasing in number and frequency. They are also using other drugs in addition to the meth. Pure or not, it is a highly addictive drug, and very, very expensive. So these "wealthy" people get a habit, and spend thousands of dollars a month on this. This is glorifying drug use because it shows young, stupid people with more income than sense- They can afford multiple illegal drugs, to take off to Vegas and party at the drop of a hat. People will over look what the author down played- smoking out of light bulbs, neurotic obsessive behaviors, and gross negligence of people traveling, driving, etc., while high as fuck. This is no better than a back alley meth addict who steals hub caps for drugs.