Big E

Yeehaw, let's get back to Vegas stories.

It seems to me that people go to Vegas for three reasons: gambling, prostitutes, shows. I've already covered my stunning ineptitude at the first of those, and I am way too neurotic to handle the second. Surely then, I was there to see some shows, right? Ehh, no. It seemed to me that the shows there were both ridiculous and expensive, which can be a potent combo, if done the right way. I'd gladly pay $50 to watch a tickle fight between Star Jones and Wilford Brimley. But three times that much just to see Wayne Newton sing? No way. Maybe if he were singing while fighting off a monster made of tacos, or something. For me, it's all about the absurdity to cost ratio, and I just didn't think Vegas could meet my threshold there. After a conversation with my uncle before I left, I changed my mind quickly and violently.

When you're going to Vegas, everyone wants to know which hotel you're staying at, presumably because these people know just which hookers are at which hotels and when. You people disgust me. But anyway, a few days before our departure, I found myself answering this question, and telling my uncle that I'd be at the Flamingo.

"The Flamingo? That's a good one." I nodded, realizing this as Vegas slang for 'it's very unlikely I'll find a dead Laotian tourist under my bed'. He was not done dispensing the wisdom.

"Also, there's a place next door with a 450 pound Elvis impersonator."

I didn't know how to respond to this. My first thought: knowing how to rock must be in our bloodlines. My second thought: I must find Fat Elvis and smuggle him in my luggage back to Texas. My third thought: this sounds a little too good to be true.

"Wow, I bet it's pretty expensive to go see him," I said, ready for my hopes to be dashed.

"Not quite. He's free, and he plays every day."

At this point, I bid a hasty farewell to my family and commandered a vehicle headed towards the airport. I had to wait a week until our flight departed, but it was worth it because I had some Fat Elvis scheming to do.

After a lot of thinking and a few dry runs, I hit Las Vegas, complete with a grappling hook and a big bottle of formaldehyde. As my first act of official business, I headed next door to the Barbary Coast to determine if there really could be something as beautiful as a free performance by a 450 pound Elvis impersonator. I didn't even have to step through the door to confirm it. Right there on the side of the building, next to a sign for $1.99 breakfast, I saw it: "Big Elvis, Mon-Fri, 1 - 4 PM." Serendipity strikes again! Less than 100 feet from my hotel, I had found a place in Vegas that catered to hungry cheapskates who love weird crap. It took all of my inner resolve not to pull an Archimedes and tear off down the strip, naked.

Tomorrow: our trip to see Big Elvis, who rocked us like a fat, lazy hurricane.

Posted by Cody at June 14, 2004 06:12 PM