...where distraction is the main attraction.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

In the can: A Vegas Story

A man stands at the corner of Las Vegas Boulevard South and East Flamingo Road, calling out to passers by.
       "Save the Ta-Tas!"
       His graying pile of sandy blonde hair began its climb over his ears years ago.  An aqua blue windbreaker, zipped up to his chin, keeps out the increasingly brisk overcast desert winter afternoon.
       "Save the Ta-Tas!"
       To his right, his wheeled plexiglass-encased cart displays a half dozen identical white plastic signs with black lettering reading:
       "Save the Ta-Tas!"
       Most of the passersby disregard his barking.  Many of them have just maneuvered around the forty to fifty bundled-up short men shoving glossy nude escort card-sized adverts in every direction.  But the huckster has something of additional substance to offer the crowd.
       "Ladies and Gentleman!"
       He holds his arms up, cradling something gingerly in each hand.  He winds his right arm up like a hurler, then flings the unseen object onto his cart's flat transparent tabletop.
       WAP!  It splats down, a flesh colored puddle.
       WAP!  He slams the second one onto the table.
       The puddles begin to move.  Part of the crowd stops to watch.
       Slowly sucking themselves up from the table, the rosy peach blobs rise, each unhurriedly forming a shape.  Gradually they stand up, jiggling, getting rounder, growing...
       ...until there, on top of his cart, stand two golf-ball sized wiggling rubber breasts, complete with red areolas and pointed nipples.
       The man stands beside his cart, proudly gesturing with an open hand, "Want to help save the ta-tas?  Get yourself a pair of these itty-bitty titties."
       Some of the audience remains in place, staring at the tiny wobbling breasts.  But most of the watchers continue on, passing the closed-for-renovation signs for Bill's Gambling Hall & Saloon.
       A voice calls out from the parting crowd, "Excuse me!"
       Digging her way through the crush of bodies, a determined silver-curly-haired woman in a light green jacket rushes towards the cart.
       Approaching the shimmying mams, she asks in a sharp Russian accent:
       "Excuse me, you have the canned puzzi?"
       Hurried gamblers and tipsy shoppers squeeze around her.
       The man replies, "Huh?"
       "You know.  The puzzi.  In the can."
       "Um, n......no. Ma'am, all of my proceeds go to breast cancer research."
       "Oh," she says.  Her shoulders sink and she slouches away to the nearby escalator.
       The continuing stream of tourists pushes on.  The traffic lights change.  A dozen motorcycles thunder by.  Scooping his two little products off the cart, the man in the aqua blue windbreaker begins his sales pitch again.
       "Ladies and Gentleman!"