IT'S A MAD MAD MAD MAD MAD WORLD!

WTF?

That means, for the twelve of you who don't text, WHAT THE FUCK?

Everyday that passes lately I find myself asking myself and the world, WTF?

Recently, That One said some seriously stoopid shit.

In short, That One said the following, "You can't get corporate jets, you can't go take a trip to Las Vegas or go down to the Super Bowl on the taxpayer's dime."

WTF?

Yo, Biatch, can I take a moment to remind you that The LV is built on the revenue brought in by visitors who come here for vacations, conventions, and all sorts of business. Each one of these people stays in a hotel which pays a tax which in turn gives us the worst bus service on God's brown earth.

Those visitors also buy fried Twinkies (I'm obsessed), buy a bottle at XS, rent a car, I could go on.

Well, because of That One shooting off his mouth to appeal to some people somewhere, a number of planned visits to the city were cancelled because now it's considered "bad PR" to have a convention or business meeting in The LV.

Now I did a little investigation. To book a room in San Francisco at a decent hotel is roughly $289 per night. In The LV it's $99-189 for a comparable room. In addition, you can't beat the deals on dining, entertainment and our conference facilities are the best in the world.

And our hookers advertise.

How convenient.

Really.

I swear.

By the way, WTF?

Today's cover of the Review Journal (The LV's version of the Peoria Pinnacle, or some such) has some of our local skanks, uh, I mean, sidewalk Sally's plastered across the front page in living color.

The point? They are the Vice Squads pin ups girls for truly dumbass ideas.

You see, these ladies de leisure (that's hairy underarmed females for Ho's, you know, French) had the temerity to sell some poo-nany in their spare time.

And why shouldn't they be pilloried for practicing the world's oldest profession?

Because, glaringly missing were the people who purchase their services.

You know, the men!

WTF?

If it takes two to Tango, it sho nuff takes two to do the muthafuckin' bang bang stank stank.

Why is that the Pimps and the nasty ass, loser men aren't on the front page of said paper looking like the erectile challenged worm smegma that they are?

Only women bleed.

What else?

Oh yeah.

WTF?

That fat hairy fuck Wa Keen Phoenix was on Letterman recently.

You know, I don't give two farthings or an old ladies stained depends about this Borat wannabe. However, this grotesquery has a job to do.

One fucking job.

Promote the (probably boring) movie he just got paid millions (why?) to make.

Instead, Cousin It was taking up far too much of my air playing like some hairy, fat use ta be somebody.

So what you say?

I'll tell you what. That hairy furball was ignoring and dissing everyone who worked on that movie (oh, I don't know what the movie is. Gwyneth Paltrow is in it. Ok? What more do you need to know? She was in fat Hal or some shit. Did you care then? Do you care now?). I've worked on movies and for no less than 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, hundreds of people work their asses off.

And for what?

Cousin It basically said, "Fuck You" to all of those people by going on Letterman (who was brilliant!) and taking up 10 minutes with his autistic act and neglecting to promote the fucking movie!

WTF?

Verily verily, it comes back to Oscar Goodman our drunken Mayor (not that that's a bad thing).

Barney left Moes just long enough to tear That One a new bunghole about his dumbass remarks about The LV.

Other than to stand outside of AA meetings with a couple of long in the tooth showgirls laughing at people who don't understand the value of Boodles, Oscar hasn't had a coherent idea in years.

Btw, if he ever needs help standing outside of AA meetings laughing at the folks who traded in a life of perfectly good booze for 4 dollar coffee and cancer sticks, I'm in.

Really.

I swear.

WTF?

Oh yeah.

Barney.

Ok, Barney has helped the hood near my criblet resemble the Bronx with it's vacant lots awaiting "Luxury Hi-Rise Living" that if there is a God in Covina, aint never gonna come. He's the leading proponent of getting people to move downtown just as soon as we get the poor and middle class people who live there to leave.

Guess what Dude? Aint nobody gonna move into a $600,000, five sq ft, one bedroom "loft like" APARTMENT! How about a fucking grocery store or a park?

Or maybe, God forbid, a real live Museo?

Oh, wait!

Barney pushed for a Museo.

A Museo de Costra Nostra.

WTF?

Did I mention that Barney used to spring murderers, thugs and thieves out of jail and away from the electric chair? Yeah, he was a freaking Mob lawyer. So, naturally when he thinks Museo the word association is El Tributo de la Criminales!

Now, don't get me wrong. Barney says it will be good for tourism.

Ok.

However, most of those criminals are long gone.

And forgotten.

In todays Celebrity Death Match culture wouldn't it make more sense to honor the criminals of today? I mean, how about a salute to all the Meth dealers located in the area around Sahara and Maryland Pkwy?

I have numbers.

Or maybe a "Hall of Celebrity Crackheads"?

Who wouldn't want to combine a trip To Mermaids on Fremont Street with a diorama of Whitney Hustons' bathroom at The Wynn? "Look, Merle, that crack pipe still has her burnt lip flesh on it! Get a picture!"

I know I would pay for that.

Really.

I swear.

I guess my point in all of this is thus.

Before you make a dumbass decision, be it bagging on The LV or arresting the Ho but not the trick or coming up with a fucking salute to crime, stop.

Breathe.

Repeat the idea inside your head.

And for Kathy Lee Giffords sake, don't do it or say it if the first thing that comes to your mind is......

WTF?