Thursday, January 29, 2004
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Local View: Stress in the city

By Paul R. Brown

A recent study said Las Vegas is one of the most stressful cities to live in. I believe it. Since moving here, I've acquired the disposition of a pit bull with hemorrhoids (or perhaps a pit boss with hemorrhoids, as if there's a difference).

I'm stressed out 24/7. Going out for a drive used to relax me, but not anymore. Driving has become hell in Sin City. Last Sunday while leaving my church's parking lot, I was cut off by a macho maniac in an SUV with a Jesus fish on his bumper. I lightly beeped my horn and he flipped me off. I thought: Is that what Jesus would do?

The next day, I was pulled over by a motorcycle cop who doubles as a poet. He gave me a ticket and recited a Haiku. He said:

You speeded by me.

In section zoned for schools.

I fined you big.

I thought about giving the cop/poet the finger, but I have principles that guide my life. One of my hard and fast rules is never flip off someone who has a loaded gun.

I'm not a pacifist; I think some people should be shot. Those idiots who put decals of bullet holes on their cars are at the top of my list. Who are they trying to fool? "Oh look, someone's shot up Grandma's minivan." Yeah right, and I saw the Popemobile parked at Cheetahs.

People who tell me about their near-death experiences should also be shot. My cousin had a near-death experience and he ended up in purgatory. Purgatory is kind of like hell lite. If people aren't quite good enough to get into heaven, they spend a bit of time in purgatory, which is located in a trailer park just outside Pahrump.

My cousin said he was waiting in purgatory for forever (or at least three hours) and he said all the magazines were old. My guess is he was just hallucinating while at the dentist's office. It's a family tradition that we take mind-altering drugs before dental visits.

When most people think of dentists, they visualize root canals and unbelievable pain. Not me. When I think of dentists, I think of my mom. My mom's sole purpose in life is to inflict guilt-riddled pain on her children. She does this by talking to us.

She knows all kinds of trivia that she shares with us for hours on end. She knows the capital of Honduras is Tegucigalpa, yet she thinks New Orleans is a state. The woman has no consistency in her geographic knowledge; what could be more aggravating?

No, I'm not going to say mom should be shot. But perhaps a bolt from a Taser gun would put some color back in her cheeks, while at the same time giving me that "peaceful easy feeling" that drugged-out rockers from the '70s sang about.

Unfortunately, I have half of Mom's genes and so I'm geographically impaired too. I can hike all the backcountry trails at the Grand Canyon and never turn down the wrong path, yet I get lost at the mall. I can't make it from one end of Sears to the other without assistance from a global positioning satellite.

I remember getting lost at the mall when I was 5 years old. My mom found me and said, "People who get lost in the mall should be shot." She said that while wagging a finger in front of my face, and if I remember correctly, it was her middle finger.