Leaving For Las Vegas

To paraphrase Bob, of “What About Bob?”, I’m flying! I’m flying! As I am typing this, I am 56,000 feet about the earth. I, of course, flew out of Omaha. Not because the airport is so much superior to Lincoln’s, with me, it’s all about price. The Mrs. and I are head to Las Vegas. In three hours I will feed the slots and bettin’ on red 7! Not, really, but you were worried for a sec there weren’t you. In reality I will be sweating my butt off in the desert sun. It’s supposed to be in the low 100’s while we are in town. They say it’s a dry heat, but it’s still miserable. It’s kind of like saying, I’m not throwing up, I just have the dry heaves. Nobody is ever happy to have the dry heaves. Actually, if you are to that point, you may as well puke and get it over with. I apologize to my weak stomached readers. But it’s true.
We will be taking in a couple shows. I can’t say what, because whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. I will say that everyone keeps their clothes on. Well, I have to go, the stewardess, or flight attendant, or whatever the heck they call themselves these days, is about to take drink orders! Scotch and soda, please!