Jesus Hits Like An Atom Bomb


This morning I walked about a mile or so down to the Atomic Testing Museum.  The air was crisp and clear this morning with a strong breeze blowing up Paradise Blvd.   Of course, that same breeze is what blew the fallout onto unsuspecting locals.  Never mind that right now.

The museum itself is a marvel.  When in Vegas, stagger out of the casino and sober up to go check out this place.  It is great for history buffs, engineers, and science nuts.  There are certain bleeding heart sob sisters who will bemoan the lack of information presented regarding the effects of the tests on military personnel and citizens of the greater Southwest.  Great care is taken to show the soldiers involved in the tests smoking like industrial chimneys before, during and after detonation.  It was pretty funny to listen to these guys fret about their health while toking on a Lucky Strike back in the day before filters.

One of the more interesting things that I learned was that Camp Lejeune, NC was on the short list of possible Atomic Testing sites before Nevada was chosen.  Seems that the prevailing winds would have just carried that nasty fallout into the Atlantic Ocean where no one could possibly be harmed.   I went to a dumb war game/joint exercise at Camp Lejuene, back in the old days.  They made us stay in the old barracks that were in use back when the military was segregated.  An atomic test or two would have only been an improvement.

More thrilling than watching simulated A-bomb tests was the walk home.  I foolishly like to pride myself on my map reading and urban orienteering skills.  A little map recon showed what might be a less boring walk back to the hotel.   Truer words were never spoken as I soon found myself in the barrio, mere blocks from the strip.  I cursed the day I learned to read a map and simultaneously wished I brought one with me.

It would be charitable to say that I didn’t blend in.  Crackheads, winos and indolent Latino youths were abundant among the deserted and run down apartment buildings.  I was a Hawaiian shirt and pair of black socks away from a giant neon sign above my head saying, "I’m a tourist!! Please mug me!!"  Foolishly, I had also brought the digital camera and iPod.  The camera was safely stowed in my cargo pocket, but the iPod was strapped to my arm blaring Bruce Springsteen’s "Born in the USA" in my ears.  The irony of that song coming up on shuffle was not lost, nor was it appreciated at the time. 

When the thug kids with the actual pit bull on a chain approached me, it became clear that the couple of hundred bucks worth of consumer electronics on my person were more of a hinderance than a help.  My only weapon was a souvenir Atomic Testing Museum coffee cup in a silver mylar bag.  Getting back to the dog, the chain wasn’t some little piece of shit that you can buy at Pet Smart.  It was one of those chains that people who are victims of mob violence are weighted down with.  It was the kind of chain that Marley’s ghost was carrying.  It was probably a 3/8"tow chain

This is a town where meth crazed hookers carve up homeless guys.  It pays to stay alert.  The encounter ended anti-climatically with the dog only growling and the thug pulling him away from my juicy and delicious legs.  It was shortly after this that I realized that failing to pack Gold Bond is a fatal mistake on vacations that require any walking.  Between the chafing and the hostile surroundings, this looked like my last adventure.

Then in the distance, like a mirage, appeared before me the symbol that sustains my people through the darkest of despair.   Like the oil that never runs out when the Romans are attacking or the stories of the Underground Railroad that gave people hope under brutal and trying circumstances, places like this are hallowed and sacred ground among my ancestors.

I could see it right in front of me like a verdant Eden symbolizing all would be well. 

It was the Las Vegas Country Club.


One Response to “Jesus Hits Like An Atom Bomb”

  1. Exador Says:

    Gold BondYou’re still hooked on that dick coke?

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