Las-Ve-GAS

HAIL CHEESE-AIR! Kevin yanks a digit on a Sin City icon in an attempt to unravel a fetid question.



Everywhere I walk in Las Vegas I occasionally move through a fart cloud. Perhaps there's some $2.99 all-you-can-eat buffet that is not agreeing with a lot of people. It is mysterious, a pungent vapor that seems to punctuate the city. I frequently encounter the stink on the automatic walkways. Some lactose intolerant Asian shutterbug or a geriatric cotton top with irritable bowel syndrome drops an air biscuit right on the people mover. It's like in the old movies where the conveyor belt inches the restrained heroine toward a spinning buzzsaw. Then once consumed by the evil cloud I don't just drift through... it either sticks to me or stalks me at the speed of cheese, because I can't purge it from my nostrils for minutes afterward.

I'm not sure what it is or where it comes from, but I now have started to become parnoid that it may be me. Perhaps I had a dog yummy on my shoe. There's no evidence of any reeking from my person, at least so the guy handing out escort flyers tells me. It's easy to find someone to sniff you for a buck or two.

Tonight I spend my last night here and hope to get to the bottom of this malodorous mystery. Hopefully what stinks in Vegas stays in Vegas.