Vegas - A Quick ReCap featuring Cockroaches and Pauly Shore - Miss War

Vegas. Modern Day. Post-Apocalypse. To be fair, it only got better after the End of Days came about. This weekend, if you happened to be in Las Vegas, you would have gotten to meet the infamous Four Horsewomen and their eight boobs of the Apocalypse.

Now I've been to Vegas before, but I was much, much younger. Vegas in 500 B.C. was still the party spot, but I was a child and unable to really get down.

This time however, I am older. Wiser. Far more developed, breastily speaking. And as anyone who has ever been to Vegas will tell you, boobs are the key to the kingdom.

While the full recap of our adventures together will have to wait until later (I do have an Apocalyptic day job, you know. Souls aren't going to torture themselves.) I will say, we had a bit of a life changing time out there.

Don't worry, this wasn't some crazed clothing optional event. Clothing wasn't an option at all. And besides the hot zombie club jumpers, the cockroaches and the hot desert sand, we found ourselves in the midst of something far more unsettling than nuclear burns. We found Pauly Shore.

We had, that very morning, been discussing his highly acclaimed acting career. So irony had a quick layover in town when suddenly, amongst the topless zombie sunbathers at the VIP Pool, Pauly Shore made his way through the crowd.

Oh. Shit. Buh-dy.

Let me say this first and foremost. I love me some Pauly Shore movies. Biodome, Son-in-Law and Encino Man are my deep, dark, dirty movie affairs. But the reason Pauly Shore survived the apocalypse was immediately clear to everyone. He's a fucking douchebag.

Not just a regular, run-of-the-mill celebrity douchebag. But a legit post-apocalyptic douchebag, complete with douchey bandana and douchey sneer.

Douche.

Pauly Shore is the type of guy who Googles himself and writes his own Wikipedia entry. He is thoroughly unimpressed with everyone around him at all times and you cannot overlook the sense of undeserved entitlement he carries. Pauly Shore and cockroaches survived the apocalypse on the mere basis that no one cared if they lived or died.

I realize I'm being harsh. I'm just bitter that he didn't even GLANCE at my post-apocalyptic rack. I mean, my girls were standing at attention and saluting, and nothing?

Well fine, Pauly Shore. Have it your way. We could have made out. Check out my fresh nugs, weasin' the juice. We could have chowed down and munched on some grindage!

Douche.

I Rode Through the Desert on a Horse with No Name - Miss War

Well that's a bit dramatic. Her name is Sheila. She and I have been through a lot. Riding through a rain of fire and brimstone is no small feat. Tack on the screaming agony of the masses and you've got the perfect recipe for a migraine and a cranky pony.

She deserves some time away, and frankly, so do I. Lucky for us, all Four Horsewomen have plans this weekend to descend upon the vapid wasteland that is Las Vegas. To be fair, after the apocalypse, Vegas only got better.

Ever seen Stephen King's The Stand? Well good old S.K. nailed it. Vegas post-apocalypse is bigger, better and badder than ever and the and girls and I intend to show it no mercy as we celebrate a Bachelorette Party for a close friend. In short, there will be death, destruction, chaos and boobs. We can't lose!

Updates this weekend will be slim to none. We will be indulging wildly in the 7 Deadly Sins, starting with sloth and gluttony (Pool Boy! Bring me another Mai Tai!)

Topless sunbathing is a must, although that skinny bitch Death is sure to bring out the envy in all of us. There will be bloodshed, debauchery, and apocalyptic escapades. We will recap it all. So sit tight, little doomsayers. THIS wil be a weekend to remember....