The one and only pig farm of Las Vegas

This is so fucking right. And if you don't like it, I have more bacon for you. Read this about where I work: "This odor is an acrid, sweet smell that catches in your throat like a poorly chewed piece of bacon." Yes, that's where I work at the one and only pig farm in Las Vegas. You don't like it? Go grease yourself.

And if that isn't enough for a hard time, try extracting methane gas from pig manure. I see these guys try to do this all the time with their fancy machinery.

All I care about is after hours. I get cleaned up. I go out to the Strip, and then I hit the dives. I go listen to the blues a lot lately... Reminds me of wandering around the pig farm and feeling like shit and then seeing pigs lay in it. Goddam I'm glad I ain't in Bakersfield.

I gotta go gorge at the Peppermill and think about pigs

I'm thinking about quitting the university and just doing music promotions full time. One of my jerk buddies is way into it and he rapes Las Vegas bands for tons of cash. All those stupid little moron teeny bopper fans shell out their parents easy-earned casino-made cash for tickets with nothing better to do in the desert but wish they were kickstarting another Killers band. WHat a bunch of assholes those guys are. Over in North Las Vegas--that's a piss poor landscape if I ever saw one. Full of a pig farm. Right where I work. Shit, The Killers were a bunch of fat pigs wallowing in the cesspool of Vegas Venues. But there's money to be made and I'm going to go eat some pancakes at the Peppermill and think about all this shit... Maybe Penn and Teller will show up and we can gorge together...

The University of Las Vegas Slot Machines

Forget the University of Nevada Las Vegas, I'm joining a new university. Forget becoming a methane-farmer, forget pigs, and especially forget Bakersfield and Bakersfield Blogs. I'm joining a new university of gambling where I can learn about spinning sevens, animated coins, handles that don't mean anything because you can press buttons, and cocktail waitresses you love me. There's an entire education to be had and I admit I have been investing in it might heavily. My buddy, he's a literary poet dude who hangs out at Starbucks. He said, "To be a slot machine addict is to know one's fingertips and stygmatism." I'm not sure what he meant. Maybe his fingers get dirty and his eyes go crossed...

Welcome to the university. My degree? In another 12 years...

A slot machine is a lot like a pig

When I was growing up and playing in the dirt lots of Bakerfield, California, I never thought I would end up in Vegas writing about pigs. And who would think that pigs are a lot like slot machines? Let me tell you they are practically one and the same. Pigs eat food from anywhere. A slot machine will eat anyone's money. Pigs are sick and dirty. So are slot machines... your hands are all black and disgusting. Pigs congregate in huge herds and just sit there, stupid making noises that don't make sense. I rest my case. Oh,,, and I feed both mindlessly

Methane, Piggeries, Bakersfield and my gas

Just so all you people who know I hate everything are convinced that I know a bit about pigs and methane here's a few tidbits to get you off my ass until at least I see you all in class next week.

Did you know they use a thing called a pig to clear pipelines of shit and inert gases? It's kind of like sticking a rubber ball into a tube. Same idea anyway. See-There's so much to learn from gastric livestock it's just crazy.

a great statement from an online resource that is so true about pigs here in Vegas:

But after all pigs don't fly - as US would like us all to remember, they emit a lot of methane. (But as the G-77 would point out, nowhere as much as from a US intensive corn-fed piggery.)

I'm thinking this idiot would never have been killed if it weren't for pigs. He burned alive. He was probably from Bakersfield.

My favorite slot machine

I used to have a favorite slot machine down at the 7-11 near Lamb and Washington. Now I actually like the slot machines downtown at Binions. I go there until 3am and keep praying for a sign from the slot gods to grant me one of my three best wishes:

1. a million dollars
2. death to all pigs
3. instant college degree in a can

None of these have happened to me yet. In the meantime I keep getting my free drinks, try to slap the cocktail waitress in the behind (I always freakin' miss) and I keep dumping all my college education fund into the the Las Vegas sewers, I mean slots. What the hell, you only live once.

I met that Bakersfield writer asshole, so what?

Yeah I met that Bakersfield writer when he came to Las Vegas. He wasn't all that bad. He's an assholse that's for sure, but he isn't a horrible pig shit. You know that reminds me that school is almost out and I'm going to go to the casino with my last paycheck and play slots until my eyes bleed. I later heard that a friend of the writer asshole lost 1.7 million dollars because she didn't put enough damn dollars in the slot machine when the three falming sevens came up. heh. what a dumb ass, sounds like some dumb shit I would do. I think I dream better because there's still a methane reside on me from work. I hate pig shit. I'm going to have a book burning. want to join me?

The Writer Asshole is Coming to Vegas

That writer asshole is coming to Vegas and I told him I would meet for drinks at the Peppermill. Why the hell not? I don't mind and he knows Hollywood Blog. Just wish old Hollywood would get his butt back to town and hang with the bros! Did you fucking see that movie Million DOllar Baby>? Whay royally false piece of pig shit. Now I see pen after pen of ms. piggy shit faces wallowing in feces and this movie was just as dismal. Do you know what I mean>? Hey, it's Friday night. I'm of for the Double Down in a minute. My frends from the collective are heading out for some drinking and bands. I'll tell you about the writer dude tomorrow after I talk to his sorry ass.

On my way to the pig farm I threw my statistics book out the window

If you want to know what it's like to drive to a pig farm every day. Just stick your head in the toilet, flush it three times, and then go run around the god dam neighborhood. Ok, so it isn't that bad, but the anticipation of not wanting to go where I'm going really can break you. You get a pit in your stomach. You get anxious about your boss. Your rubber boots in the trunk stink to high heaven. You wonder why you didn't get laid the night before by the hot chicks at the club, but revel in the great conversation you had with the Hollywood people because you know them all and they know you. That's good shit. To know people I mean. Hollywood Bakersfield Blog dude is the coolest. He breezed through town last year and eeven stay ed at my place a few days. No, I'm not fucking gay. This cat wanted to get to know his character and we had the connections to the people, to the tunnels, and to the fucking pigs... it's that simple. So on my way to work I threw my statistics book out the window. I was pissed at my teacher for being a lousy foreigner who can't communicate. I figure I will learn more from my buddies in the class whose notes I steal anyway...