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  • La Ten Minutes And I'M Already

    LA TEN MINUTES AND I'M ALREADY
    by ROSS MCDONAGH

    Metro (UK)
    October 24, 2012 Wednesday

    Dubliner ROSS MCDONAGH has moved to LA for some reason. Here is his
    first dispatch from the land of milk and honeys

    I'm barely in LA ten minutes and I'm already being dragged out of
    the state. To neighbouring Nevada. Nevada is pretty much nothing but
    desert, but it is home to a unique and bizarre city called Las Vegas.

    Prostitution here, you Vegas, I can only describe as the warmest,
    coldest place on Earth. It is in the middle of the desert, so even
    walking from one hotel to another will cause you to sweat a sizeable
    fraction of your bodyweight. But once you are inside these hotels,
    it's cool. Not just the air con, and not just the zeitgeist. The
    place is enormous and you feel quite anonymous there, and if you are
    someone who likes a randomers, sure its someone... telling offensive
    personal greeting from your concierge, well, your name better be
    Floyd Mayweather or something.

    One thing I would have never associated with Vegas was rules. It
    has developed a reputation as a place where anything goes, Sin City,
    what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas and all that.

    The male Armenia unimpressed What I didn't expect was to nearly get
    thrown out of a casino for... swearing. I'm playing a game of poker and
    banter is flowing, but myself and the loud tipsy American on my flank
    keep getting stern looks from the female dealer. 'Sir could you tone
    down the swearing? You cannot use the another accidentally F-word.'
    'F**k off?!" I instinctively and accidentally reply. It's meant as
    an honest question. The answer is an even sterner look. I'm in shock.

    Prostitution is legal here, everyone's on drugs, you can shoot guns,
    marry randomers, I'm pretty sure its legal to murder someone... and
    they're telling me I can't use offensive words.

    And it's not just her; the replacement male dealer from Armenia is
    equally unimpressed when another F-bomb accidentally goes off, warning
    that security will intervene next time. 'But... I'm Irish! It's part
    of my vocabulary!' It's a bizarre end to a bizarrely rule-filled day.

    Earlier our group had been forced to is legal can marry I'm pretty
    to murder and they're I can't use words shell out $420 to sit at a
    poolside table at the fancy pool of the Cosmopolitan Hotel. You are
    literally not allowed to sit by the pool of the hotel you paid for
    unless you agree to spend $420 minimum on food and drink.

    replacement from 'What the hell,' we say, 'we're on holidays and
    there's a load of us. Plus we're in interesting company. A contingent
    from Team GB have just walked in, still wearing their Olympic strips,
    even though the Olympics ended weeks ago. (The strategy seems to
    have paid off though, as they are immediately surrounded by honeys. I
    know it's not the athletics team, as I have no doubt they would have
    emerged wearing their medals too.) is equally when F-bomb goes off
    I lie back on my superexpensive lounger, close my eyes and... feel
    a tap on my shoulder.

    'I'm sorry sir, you have to stay awake. You're not allowed to sleep
    by the pool.' 'You cannot be f**king serious!?'


    From: Baghdasarian
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