Thursday, May 22, 2014 | 11:27 a.m.
Las Vegas is an empty, impotent display of status in a barren, uncaring desert God abandoned eons ago. By sheer virtue of being there, you're supporting an industry that exists solely to exploit the addicted and desperate. Non-gambling fiends (a.k.a. tourists) usually visit the city for celebratory purposes—to attend their fraternity brother Steve Poon’s bachelor party, their sorority sister Krysten’s “Bad Bitches Only” bachelorette party, or simply to blow off some steam poolside with an $18 Vodka Red Bull or nine. They rarely, if ever, go alone.
It makes sense, because taking a solo trip to the degenerative paradise that is Las Vegas is one of the most heartbreakingly bleak things a person could do. Naturally, I had to do it. And as was expected, it led me to the brink of madness.
To read the whole article from Vice, click here.
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