The village idiot of Las Vegas runs into Dan the homeless guy.

The other night I was walking home from the market and my route took me in front of the Baptist church. Dan, the homeless guy, lives in the church courtyard. I hadn't seen him in a week - so I decided to stop for a visit:

"Hey, it's the village idiot of Las Vegas! Are you rich and famous yet?" He asks the same question every time he sees me. I tell him no and say - "Where the fuck have you been? I thought I was going to have to call the state militia and send out a search party for you." - He laughs and says, "I have been dog setting the last few days. I am back now!" -- I stated earlier he had been out of the neighborhood for a week - it was strange not seeing him. It felt like things were off kilter. That's just a weird feeling I was having (it's probably nothing).

"Well, let's hear the latest blog from the village idiot," he says. I immediately read him the one about my landlord the China man (in character). He laughs and says - "You sound just like Bruce," Dan use to live in the dump truck I call home a long time ago -- he then adds, "You do the best imitation of him," (next time I do a post about him I will make it an audio and everyone can hear my imitation of a seventy year old China man).

We chat a little more and then I tell him I must go, he says - "Keep up the good work. I will catch you around village idiot of Las Vegas," I smile and tell him bye.

The village idiot of Las Vegas hears a shakedown story from his favorite China man.

"You know what bureaucrats at North Las Vegas city hall do to me a few months ago? They say that Bruce Lee owes two hundred and thirty eight dollars because my house is not set back from curve far enough. The house is forty year old. What I do? Put house on big jack and push it back more." My landlord is a China man named Bruce Lee (I kid you not that is his real name). Any way, he was in the midst of telling me a story about a Las Vegas shakedown..

"I go in and see judge and he say - 'Bruce Lee, we not charge you for the zoning violation. Everything is good on that. But we charge you two hundred thirty eight dollar for paperwork.' That's what judge tell me." I was confused about what he said so I ask him to clarify the statement - "That's right," he says to me, "No violation at all. Bruce Lee innocent, but they charge me two hundred and thirty eight dollars and call it paperwork fee. I not understand at first. I do nothing wrong. Then I hear they charge everyone two thirty eight and fuck them too."

The village idiot of Las Vegas and the dump truck he calls home...Part 3

Owen's manor, Owen's estate, Owen's house...the dump truck located three blocks east of Eastern on Owens has taken on many different titles - I simply refer to it as the shit hole:

"Goddammit - this place is a shit hole! If I see another cockroach in this motherfucker I swear I am going to go crazy!" I yell as I step on yet another one - My roommate James and I have created a game called Fred & George. The rules are simple: Whenever we see a cockroach crawling around the dump truck we call home; we obliterate it. At the end of the day we tally up how many we killed and the winner gets a pat on the back. I no it sounds rather Cretan in nature, but we enjoy it.

"Goddammit boy - how many is that today?" James says. "That is either ten or eleven. How many have you gotten today?" I ask. He responds with a shrug and says, "I lost count, but it's way more than what you have."

We are setting in the living room watching Fox News when someone knocks at the door, I get up to answer it - "Have you seen Victor?" A blond with a curvy figure is standing at the entrance -- Victor is a rough and tumble guy who I call one of my five roommates. He bangs more whores than any man I have ever known - "He's not here," I tell her. "Will you tell him that Charlene stopped by and I will catch up with him later," she says to me. I tell her I will and promptly close the door.

"Who was that?" James says as I sit back down on the couch. I tell him it is one of Victor's girls and he says - "Goddamn, that guy does more fucking than a five pecker jack rabbit. Where does he get all his energy?" I shrug my shoulders to let him know I have no idea and resume watching Fox News.

A few minutes later I hear a knock on the door again - "Goddammit," James says, "What is this place? Grand Central station," I get up from the couch and answer the door: No surprise whatsoever - it is another one of Victor's girls - "Is Victor here?" a red head in a short skirt says - "No, he is not here right now," I tell her, I then add - "Would you like to leave a message for him?" - she gives me the look over and says -- "I know that asshole has other bitches. The prick said I was going to be his one and only. Does he have other bitches over here? I want you to tell me," she concludes.

Guys never rat out other guys - "Look, sweetie," I then add, "I have no idea what you are talking about. You interrupted James and me while we are watching Fox News. If you have a problem with Victor take it up with him...Okay." I then close the door, walk back to the couch, set down and began watching Fox News again. James ask yet again who was at the door. I tell him it is another of Victor's bitches - he says, "Goddammit, you are right about this place. It is both a shit hole and a whore house."

The village idiot of Las Vegas is convinced his ex wife is the culprit in all the recent road rage shootings in Las Vegas.

"Come On - just tell me the truth. I promise I won't turn you in for the reward money. We both know you are in town again. It is time to come clean!" My ex wife suffered bouts of road rage when she lived in Las Vegas - In the last week, with gunshots reported, there have been three cases of road rage incidents in Clark county.

"It wasn't me," she says, "I have not been to Las Vegas in a few months. I already told you that," she adds. I'm not sure if I believe her based on the perpetrators description - "Look," I tell her politely, "How come the description fits you to a tee? In every situation they are saying it is a middle age Caucasian women driving an Explorer and a party colored toy poodle is setting in the passenger seat barking. That sounds a lot like you and Pepper," I conclude.

"You want to know something," she says, "I sold my gun a while back and the only thing I have now is a couple of double barrels, and they are at my sisters. So it couldn't have been me," she concludes. "I know what the deal is," I tell her jokingly, "You ditched the evidence. You didn't sell your gun, you probably threw it in the river so no one could pin things on you. That is what happened. Come On, just admit you are the culprit in all the road rage shootings we are experiencing here in Las Vegas lately and I will leave you alone about it."

She sighs, laughs and says - "Look, I have not been to Las Vegas in a few months. If I need to get sworn affidavits from my alibis I will. No one is going to pin the recent spats on me." We chat a bit more and then she tells me it is time for her to go. Before I hang up, I ask one last time - "Okay, this is your last chance to come clean. Just tell me the truth...hello, hello," - she had already hung up.

The village idiot of Las Vegas calls his ex wife to inquire about her whereabouts.

"Are you in town?" I ask. "No - why do you ask?" she says. "You know why I ask. You know exactly why I ask," I tell her. "Did someone get shot again? Was it another road rage incident?" - she says: A few days ago a lady was shot and killed in a road rage incident in SW Las Vegas. My ex wife suffered from bouts of road rage when she lived in Las Vegas. After hearing the news, I thought, maybe, she sneaked into town without me knowing about it. 

"Are you sure you weren't in town a few days ago?" I then go on to add, "Look, I read the description of the suspect in the paper and it said - 'A middle-age Caucasian women driving an Explorer with a party colored toy poodle setting in the passenger seat.' That sure sounds like you!" She starts laughing after the remark and says, "I have a number of people who will serve as an alibi for me. I have not been to Las Vegas in a couple of months, and Pepper (the toy poodle) hasn't been there either."

The village idiot of Las Vegas and the dump truck he calls home...Part 2

"Goddammit - how many is that today?" - One of my roommates, James, said his count was three. I counted four -- I then add - "Jesus, Victor is on a roll!" Victor is a rough and tumble guy who I count as one of my five roommates at the dump truck I call home. The four versus three talk was an argument brought about on how many hookers he had made acquaintance with over the weekend.

Thirty minutes or so later he walks through the living room with his third, or fourth (depending on whose count you use). - "I got it going this weekend!" - he tells us after shoving her out the door -- "I might get another one in an hour or so. It depends on how I am feeling," he says as he is heading back to his room.

James and I resume our conversation - "Have you seen that new guy lately?" I ask. "I think he got thrown in jail," he says and then adds "The cops were over here last week looking for someone. I am guessing it was him since I haven's seen him around." The dump I call home and the dump next door is owned by a China man named Bruce Lee (I kid you not that is his real name). Any way, it is hardly uncommon to see Metro parked outside banging on the door looking for someone.

"Shall we drink his beer? He's not going to miss it if he's in jail," James made a sensible comment. A twelve pack of Budweiser had been cooling in the fridge for the last week and a half - That's a world record around the shit hole I call home. We promptly guzzle a few beers from the twelve pack and James says - "Hold on, I see Fred," he grabs a shoe from the floor and in one fluid motion rises and obliterates a cockroach that was crawling on the wall -- "That makes five of those bastards I have killed today," he chuckles. He sets back down and we continue our conversation.

"Goddammit - this place is a shit hole," I stammer. He rolls his eyes and says, "I am going to start calling you Mr. Fancy Pants. If you don't like this dump - why don't you move someplace else? Oh, that's right - You are a broke ass motherfucker. Looks like you are stuck!" We began laughing after his statement and then I tell him to toss me another beer - "Here you go Mr. Fancy Pants," he tosses me a cold can of Bud and adds, "Will regular Budweiser be enough for you or should I run down to Mexican market and get you some craft beer to drink?"

We are down to the last beers of the twelve pack and I hear a knock at the door - "Goddammit," James says in a half slurred tone, "Answer the fucking door." I get up from the couch and open it -- "Is Victor here?" a Puerto Rican girl in a tight black miniskirt is standing at the entrance - "You know the way," I tell her as I wave her in. She smiles and starts the trek back to his room. Once she is out of earshot I spurt - "Goddammit - this place is not only a shit hole. It's a fucking whore house as well!" -- James nods in agreement.

The village idiot of Las Vegas hears some news from Riggs.

Last night I called Riggs. It has been a while since we talked. The following is an excerpt of our conversation:

"I want to tell you something - I have found a way to get back in business...big time!" Riggs is a living Las Vegas legend! He's lived a life most would describe as wine, dine and sixty nine. It truly has been legendary - "Goddammit boy, I am back in fucking business!" - He says with extra enthusiasm this time.

"Slow your roll," I tell him, "What the hell are you talking about? You were never out of business." He responds with more enthusiasm than before, "Jethro. - I received some good news and was eager to share things with you. Maybe it will lead you to the big lick you are looking for." - He then proceeds to tell me some interesting news about a burgeoning business in the valley -- "How did you come across this information?" I ask.

A good way to describe Riggs as pertains to his business dealings in Las Vegas: He's connected to a lot of important people in town. I didn't say he had 'clout,' so to speak - he knows a lot of people who do -- "Look, Jethro, you don't worry about where I get my info from," he tells me with force in his tone, "All you need to do is listen when I tell you something important is going down - Just shut-up and listen...Okay!" The two of us often argue who has the longer dick - I always concede in the end. Anyways, I tell him to relax and ask what else he has been doing.

"I got a new girl," he tells me with anticipation in his voice, "She might be the one for me," - Riggs has been with more women than I can count - "I have never had anything less than a nine," is his favorite quote. I make him sound full of himself - but as he puts it -- "It's not bragging if it's true." He then goes on to explain how he hooked up with a broad who is a UFC ring girl (the girl who struts around in a bikini between rounds). I ask where they met and he says, "I was hanging out with Sammy at Pierro's and she walked in - I threw on some 'Vegas charm and the next thing you know." - It is utterly amazing the hold he puts on women...it's mythical.

"Goddammit Riggs," I say for the fiftieth time, "Why are you always scoring and I always strike out? It's not fucking fair." I found no solace in his answer - "For some reason or another you just don't have it," he then adds, "I know you are a smart and talented guy - but you just don't have it -- I guess it's something you are born with or not." He tells me it is time for him to go - I tell him this -- "Riggs, I can feel it now! Something big is coming down the pike for me as well! I will make sure there is room for you on my coattails" - He laughs and says, "Come on dude! Everyone knows you are a loser- Anyways, I will catch you later," - the phone immediately goes dead.

The village idiot of Las Vegas has a conversation with Dan the homeless guy.

Last night my friend Dan stopped by. He has called the church courtyard across from where I live home for the last five years. We were standing in the driveway with the Clyde (the house cat) at our feet. The following is an excerpt of our conversation:

"Do you want to know something? I have lived in North Las Vegas (NLV) for thirty years. Your blog brings out the flavor in it. I really like the direction you are headed. I can see how you want to bring it visual. It would be the next logical step," hands down the biggest fan of my blog in NLV is Dan.

"Dan," I say to him with many thanks in my tone, "I agree with you wholeheartedly about the flavor NLV holds. It is a unique place with lots of unique characters living in it." NLV is a section of Las Vegas proper that 250,000 people call home. It was hit hard by the recession, but I am seeing signs of life - Dan is a lifelong Raiders fan, he was born and raised in SoCal, but I am converting him. A few weeks ago I gave him a Chiefs hat - his previous hat was looking worse for the wear. Anyways, I wrote a post about the experience and it became the second most viewed post I have ever written. He is that kind of guy.

"Rob," he says to me in a pleasant tone, "I sincerely believe you have the talent to make something special of your writing. You do an excellent job of capturing things and the great thing about it is you tell the stories so fluid. I enjoy reading them immensely." After his compliment I decide to anoint him with a very special title - "I got to tell you something," I say with a wide grin, "You have been appointed the official president of The village idiot of Las Vegas fan club. Unfortunately, it is an unpaid position. But who knows? Maybe one of these days I will be able to afford a salary for you." We both share a hearty laugh at the statement and he says, "I accept your offer. I sincerely believe you will find a way to make things come to fruition."

We chat a little more about the comings and goings of the neighborhood and then he asks - "How the hell did Clyde get so fat? He use to be a lean, mean, fighting machine. He has gone soft," Clyde is the house cat. He use to be feral but everyone started feeding him and now he looks like the cartoon version of Garfield. "Hey fat boy," I say as I reach down and scratch his belly, "Did you hear what Dan said about you? He thinks you have gone soft," - he starts purring and begins rubbing against my leg -- "He has gone soft," I add as I look up at Dan and laugh - "You need to quit feeding him so much," Dan responds, "All the other feral cats in North Las Vegas are going to be jealous of his girly figure."

The village idiot of Las Vegas and the dump truck he calls home.

The Guns-N-Roses song Welcome to the Jungle is one of my favorite tunes. I have gone Weird Al Yankovic on it a little. See, whenever I walk into my current abode the melodies start going through my head. It's the lyrics I have changed:

"Welcome to the shit hole, we got dirty dishes, we got a filthy refrigerator, we got cockroaches - in the shit hole, welcome to the shit hole." Again, this is a little taste of a parody I wrote that was inspired by my current living conditions. One of these days I will incorporate more lyrics into it.

"Goddammit boy- what the fuck is that smell? It smells like someone died in this motherfucker!" - a pungent smell with no comparable description was coming from the kitchen, "Jesus, has anyone seen that new guy lately? Maybe he died and it is the smell of his body decomposing," I add.

"No, that's not the smell of a dead body," James, one of my five roommates, use to work in the medical field - "It smells like someone got wasted and took a piss on the floor somewhere." The smell was so filthy that both of us decided to investigate its origin and do what we could to eliminate it - "I found it," he says. He then lifts up an old mop that had been setting in the corner of the kitchen -- "Let's get this motherfucker out of here and things will smell better." He picks it up and waves it around as he is throwing it out...the smell nearly knocks me out! "Goddammit, this place is a shit hole," I state once again - He nods in agreement.

Later that night I am standing in the kitchen with another roommate (Keith). He is fixing carne asada on the stove top - I hear him say -- "I got you this time motherfucker," and without hesitation he squashes a cockroach that was crawling on the wall with the spatula he was using to fix the carne asada with - "We won't be seeing him around anymore," he laughs and says.

Watching him splat the cockroach all over the wall with the spatula was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. The problem is he was so drunk he forgot to get a new spatula to work the carne asada with - "Here, man, try some of this shit. It tastes just like a street vendor would make," I ask if he remembered to switch out spatulas after he squashed the cockroach - He gives me a bewildered look and says -- "Fuck, I forgot to do that - Well, it looks like the alley cats are going to eat well tonight." He then walks outside and dumps a full skillet of carne asada in the backyard. Ten minutes later every stray cat in North Las Vegas is feasting.

As I set here putting the finishing touches on my post I think about what Roxy told me - "Jethro, I can tell you one thing for certain. I will never set foot in a shit hole like the one you are living in now - Never!" I have come to the conclusion she is to highbrow for me. I need to find a girl around the neighborhood - I keep my room spotless. I will tell her to close her eyes and hold her nose when I bring her over. Once she gets back to my room things will be fine.

The village idiot of Las Vegas reads his blog to a prince of North Las Vegas.

A few weeks ago a friend of mine from the block introduced me to a fellow named Mario, everyone calls him Mars. He has lived in the neighborhood most of his life:

"Mars," I say with a smile, "I have been writing a blog about the neighborhood. Will you tell me what you think of it?" Mars is a bruiser looking Hispanic gentlemen who knows the ins and outs of North Las Vegas well. He's not a guy to mess with, not at all. 

I began reading a favorite post to him, halfway through he began laughing. I finish reading and ask his thoughts...Again - he knows the area I am writing about well -- "Damn," he says emphatically, "You hit shit right on the head. I know that lady you're talking about. I've helped her cross the street a few times. Let's hear another one." I start in on another post, he began laughing again - "That one is about Dan," he bellows, "Everyone knows Dan (homeless guy). He's like the neighborhood watch around here. I give him food all the time."

After finishing I ask his opinion of the neighborhood...his real opinion - he tells me this -- "There use to be a bunch of knuckleheads around here. All sorts of fights, but Metro laid down the hammer. So most of that shit got pushed across the boulevard. It's like - How do white people say it? You know that town in Leave it to Beaver." Mayfield - I say -- "Yeah," he says and laughs, "It's like Mayfield in the barrio. Nothing goes on around here. Well, not nothing, very little goes on around here is a better way to put it." 

We shoot the shit for a bit longer and then I tell him I must go - "Dude," he says as I am making my exit, "One of these days I will tell you some stories from the old days in the neighborhood. You will probably have to edit most of it out, but I can guarantee you it was a loco life for me back in the day. Now I am domesticated and can't do that shit anymore," I tell him I look forward to hearing them. I then cross the street and jump on the bus for the trek home.

The village idiot of Las Vegas talks it out with Roxy.

I had a room lined out for Roxy this weekend - she never showed. I called; but she wouldn't answer. Well - today I chatted in detail with her. The following is an excerpt of our conversation:

"Jethro, darling - you just don't get it. God if you weren't so fucking adorable this wouldn't be so hard. You and I do not exist anymore. Come on sweetie, you can understand why," I love her more than anything in the world but still she rejects me. "Jethro, why don't you find a nice Kansas girl to settle down with," - Roxy operates at a level much higher than me! But she still must slum. I want to be the guy she slums with!

"Goddammit Jethro," she says with passion, "You are just so fucking adorable -  why do you have to be that way? Why can't you be like all the other assholes I am with? But no... you have to be stupid Jethro from Kansas. Why don't you go back there? Find a job and get on with your life!" I have told her on a few occasions that I would go back if she would come with me - "What the fuck am I going to do in Kansas?" is her standard answer. She is a California girl through and through. That will never change!

I tell her how much I love her and how much money I will have once my idea hits, she doesn't want to hear it - "Look, Jethro, that's another thing I love about you so much. You are just so fucking optimistic. Every one knows you are not going to amount to shit, but you still carry on like you will be rich someday. Have you looked at the shit hole you're living in right now? Come on honey, don't give me the I am going to be rich someday routine. Anything but that!"

I don't know what else to say. She knows I love her and will do anything for her. What else is there to give? - "Jethro, you know that I love you, but not like you love me," she chimes and then adds, "I can't do that right now. You can't take care of a girl like me. It has to fucking end between us. I have a boyfriend now," she's had boyfriends before and it never stopped her. What's so fucking great about this guy? - "He's just safe," she tells me, "He makes me feel safe and I don't get that feeling from you. Let it go honey...Okay.

We chat a little more and she tells me it is time for her to go - "Babe," I say before I hang up, "One of these days you are going to be my girl on a full time basis. I mean that," I hear a sigh and then she says, "We shall see about that."

The village idiot of Las Vegas reads his blog to a lady at KFC.

"Ma'am - may I borrow a minute of your time? I have been writing a blog about the neighborhood and I want to share it with you -- see what you think of it," the KFC in North town (North Las Vegas) runs a special every Tuesday. You get two pieces of chicken and a biscuit for two dollars. Today I decided to indulge myself. After ordering the fare I sat down at a booth and began devouring it. I notice a middle age heavy set colored women setting two booths over. So I ask if she would be interested in a reading. 

"What is it you want to do?" - she says quizzically. "I am writing a blog about the neighborhood and I want to share it with you," I tell her again - she looks oddly at me and bellows - "Go ahead, as long as you don't mine me eating while you read it." I immediately start on popular post, halfway through I glance up to gather her reaction (there was none). I continue reading. Three quarters of the way through I gaze up again to gather her reaction. This time she was dipping her chicken fingers in gravy and smiling.  

After finishing I ask her thoughts - "Let me get this straight, you bought some tamales at the laundromat from the tamale lady. What's so interesting about that? I do it all the time," she then adds, "Have you ever had any of her burritos? They are to die for," I tell her I have never tried the burritos, but plan on doing so next time I see her - "Well you should," she says, "They are a hundred times better than this shit," she points down at an empty Styrofoam KFC plate setting on her table.

I thank her for the time and resume eating my chicken. As she is leaving she turns and says - "What was the name of that thing you just read to me again?" I explain to her once again how I have been writing a reality blog about the neighborhood and it is called The village idiot of Las Vegas. "What do you call yourself?" - she asks again. I tell her once more the title of the blog, she then says - "You don't seem like an idiot. You need to come to my house - I can show you some fucking idiots."

The village idiot of Las Vegas reads his blog to twenty strangers.

Going Guerrilla - think low cost strategy, unconventional means, used in a small (localized) way that draws attention to a product, service or story. The term comes from guerrilla warfare (a way of fighting with tactics that surprised the enemy).

"Hey guys, can I read something to you? I want you to tell me if you like it or not. It's about the neighborhood," I live two blocks from the North Las Vegas city hall. Friday I decided to go there and read the blog to anyone who was willing to listen - "What is it that you want to read us," the receptionist and the building security guard were standing and setting in the main lobby of city hall respectively. Neither looked busy so I approached them about it -- "It will take just a few minutes of your time," I tell them in a reassuring tone. I immediately start reading a condensed version of a favorite post.

"I had to wipe tears from my eyes," the receptionist tells me after finishing, "I have seen the scenario you described a thousand times," she adds. I go on to tell them how I have been writing a reality blog about the neighborhood and how I am sharing it with anyone who will listen - "You captured it extremely well," she concludes.

I leave city hall and walk across the street to the library. I come across three women setting on a bench smoking cigarettes. I ask if it would be alright for me to borrow three minutes of their time and share a story. They give me a what the hell look, so before they can change their minds...I start in. After finishing I look up and ask their thoughts - "That was an awesome story," one says, the second lady says, "Really cool dude. I liked it a lot," I then ask the third for her thoughts - she flashes a thumbs up. I thank them for the time and continue down the road.

I walk into a cellular phone store and ask a kid working there about a new phone...he does his best to explain. I then say - "Dude, do you live around the neighborhood?" -- he proceeds to tell me he was born and raised three blocks from the store. I ask if I can read a post to him...he shrugs his shoulders and says -"Sure." -- After finishing I ask if he enjoyed the story- "Enjoy it, dude, I fucking loved it! That story was a thousand times better than the reality shit you see on television. It was real. I see homeless people all the time and you...uh, uh...I don't know what the word is, but that was really good!" I ask if the word he was looking for is humanize...I humanize things well. He nods in agreement and says - "That is the exact word I am looking for! Dude I will check your blog out for sure."

Last Friday I read the blog to twenty or so different people in the neighborhood. All of them enjoyed it thoroughly. I say this with all sincerity. My writing is my meal ticket! I haven't made a dime from it yet. But I haven't been aggressive with it either. I chatted with a friend from Kansas last week and he made a comment that I feel one day will prove prophetic -- "I read your blog and enjoy it immensely. You lead a life that is so far different from mine. And you do an immaculate job of describing it - I watch a few reality shows like Duck Dynasty and a couple of others, but they suck nowadays. It's guys like you - who can tell a story like you - who will eventually make their way into the main stream.