Saturday morning I wake up early to go work out. I was surprised to find out they actually had free weights! So there I am, pumping iron with motorcycle gang members. Yea, I’m tough. They were scared. [The brain, again, recoils at the potential for disaster.]

8:45 am … I get back to my room to find out I no longer have to sign at the Playboy booth. What? How could this be? Well … two rival gangs had it out at Harrah’s casino where shots were fired, knives were used and lives were lost. Not good. A tragic loss of life over who knows what. The city was on a lock-down for a short time, and no one really knew what happened.

What could we do? Take some naked photos and go to breakfast. [Truth be told, that simple list might describe the perfect day.]

So after a filling meal of grits and eggs, we fled the city — after rescuing some wardrobe from the wonderful, “synergistic” representative from PlayboyStore.com naturally. We drove the back road out to get back on the highway and we came upon some very interesting signs promoting Harrah’s — and beer. I’m sure you’ll find them hysterically ironic. [Feel free to consider them ironically hysterical as well, and then set upon some rumination of your own. As the main streets were barricaded, and routes in and out of this alien city seemed hard to find, we decided to follow some bikers out of town. We assumed they knew the way. Upon reflection, I’m not sure why we made this assumption, but it seemed logical at the time. These billboards were roadside, on the old back highway out of Laughlin. As you can tell, some bikers heading into town obviously hadn’t heard the news. Very odd weekend, this.]