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Even though it was said that it could not be done, we stopped in Bat Country. Vegas just got super freaked, and the city of sins transformed into the city of grins.
The excursion started pleasantly enough with a relaxing sunrise at the Hoover Dam, just a short ride away from the neon fort. Breathe in, breathe out, take in the geography, take in the desert air, then watch a police car hit a pedestrian. We've made it, baby.
Our blacksmith Jeff, a country boy by nature, found himself slowly transforming into a lizard in the madness of downtown Las Vegas. Buy the ticket, take the ride. Hunter S. Thompson knew things we didn't.
No time for lizards, no time for melting Elvis, there is work to be done and that work involves a boxtruck house at the World Market Center. We strapped on our suits (which suspiciously came in the form of a captain's costume) and turned the hustle button on.
Vegas is famous for glitter risks and strange happenings. Little bits of home started to follow us in the creepiest of all places. Exactly nobody was upset by this.
On a whim of brilliance, our regional sales-rep group hired a half naked cowboy to work the boxtruck with us.
It took a couple days, but we eventually discovered where they found him.
Meanwhile, back at the office, Pete gives us a comforting look of disapproval. Too weird to live, too rare to die. Mister Pete is a true Gonzo and for that we are in bliss.