My own personal version of hell.

Or, holiday an hour outside of Vegas in the middle of the fucking desert. I don’t know why I even attempted this.

It all started when the guy next to (a business man that spoke no English) got escorted off the plane in the middle of boarding. The plane was then delayed an hour because two full rows were double booked. You can imagine the scene . . . 24 people screaming at the flight attendants, managers, and everyone else in their path. Finally, take off. As soon as the wheels left the ground, a woman starts screaming bloody murder (a panic attack) then throws up in the aisle. Very comforting. Needless to say, the drinks were free for the entire flight.



You know you are in Hell, because all the houses look like this. All of them.

There are about 18 more hours of torture in the middle here, but easily boiled down to this . . . 7 children under the age of 15 (plus two teenagers who are integral to the next part of the story), a fucking bitch (step-dad’s daughter) who bosses everyone around, get in the way and takes credit for all the shit we did then calls us lazy. Death. Seriously I will kill her. Did I mention that 5 of those kids are hers and that she is a crazy Christian (of the Focus on the Family kind). And, we ran out of liquor. There are 22 of us in all, and the house has only 3 bedrooms. Fuck. Me.

Ok, here is the part where it gets really bad.

Zion. It is a beautiful national park that I got to see from a tour bus, that I was trapped in with 21 other people …15 of them assholes. Again, no booze. But I get ahead of myself. It seemed like a great plan. Rent a bus and go to Zion for the day. No one had counted on Bob, the tour guide from hell. Probably the 9th layer. He could easily be the devil. We boarded the bus at 9:00am and did not get off it until 2:00. Evidently Bob does not understand the great outdoors and has never actually hiked. WE SPENT 4 HOURS DRIVING AROUND ZION . . . IN A FUCKING TOUR BUS FULL OF CHILDREN PLAYING VIDEO GAMES. It was as if he was intent on torturing us. Finally, the 5 childless adult children staged a revolt an made Bob let us off the bus at the next trailhead where we did get to go on an hour long hike where we each contemplated throwing ourselves off the numerous cliffs.

The day ended with said demon teenagers having a conversation on the bus, loudly, about how much they hate Mexicans - I will leave out the reasons why - and nobody said anything, including their parents. So, of course I let them know that I hate racists, loudly, followed with all the reasons why. I think it was riddled with curse words - I went kinda blank. Needless to say, guess which one of us got reprimanded. Hint . . . it wasn't the ingnorant little fuckers. In a lucky turn of fate, my my brother had packed a bottle of diet coke that was in fact filled with burboun instead. We drank it, straight, with his half-Mexican wife. Once off the bus, we went to Vegas for the night. That's where the trip got good.