The village idiot of Las Vegas reads his blog to a group of ladies on Fremont street.

"Young ladies! I guarantee I can put a smile on your face and a tear in your eye. Give me two and a half minutes and I will prove it," the last few days I have been reading the blog to anyone who will listen (the goal is to see what kind of effect my narrative has plus get feedback). Last night I set up shop in downtown Las Vegas. 

"What's the Village Idiot of Las Vegas?" a young lady asks - I was standing on the corner of Fremont and Las Vegas Blvd holding a cardboard sign with The Village Idiot of Las Vegas written in black ink on it. A group of four ladies were passing by and my carnival barking coupled with the sign caught their attention - "I am the Village Idiot of Las Vegas and I write a blog about my life in Las Vegas," I then add, "If you ladies would be so kind to give me three minutes of your time I would like to share a tidbit for you and get your opinion on it." - They look at each other and one says -- "Sure, let's hear it."

I immediately start into a condensed version of a  favorite post. I am a quarter of the way through and I look up to see what their reaction is - all of them are looking at me. I continue reading and three quarters of the way through I look up again. They are all still looking at me - now with smiles. Moments later I finish reading the post, look up and ask their thoughts.

One lady says -"Let me get this straight. The story you just read happened to you, Right?" I tell her yes - A second lady then says -- "This is some kind of pick up line. You are a pick up artist," I smile and say - "I promise that's not my intentions at all. It's just that I have been writing a blog about my life for a while and I decided I would come down here and share it with anyone who was willing to listen." 

There was an awkward silence for a moment and a third lady chimes in - "I followed you the whole time. You are writing a reality blog. That story you read us is wonderful," -- I smile and thank her for the nice words and then ask if I can read another short post to them. They look at each other and then one of them says, "Sure." 

I read another one to them (with extra conviction in my voice). After finishing I ask their thoughts - "You are just so sweet," one says, "I could just fold you up and put you in my pocket and whenever I was in a bad mood I would take you out and you could read a story to me." -- I smile widely and ask - "Where are you lovely ladies from?" in unison they reply - "Cali," I then say, "Be sure to check my blog out. You will find all sorts of stories about my life in it. I do my best to keep things interesting." 

As they are walking away the one who asked if I was a pickup artist turns and says - "Are you sure you're not reading your blog to pick up chicks?" - I smile and say, "I have been writing this blog for a long time and as far as I know I have only gotten one girl to sleep with me from it. She likes it when I write about the two of us being together." - as she is walking off, she says - "I can see why."

Half a Subway sandwich.

Yesterday I found a $10 Subway gift certificate card in my dresser drawer. It was buried underneath a stack of clothes I haven't worn in years (too fat). Any way, I decided no better time than the present. So I throw on a pair of shoes and make the trek to the neighborhood Subway. Upon arrival I order a foot long Marina meatball, drink, chips and two cookies (the total came to $9.89). I exit Subway, turn the corner for the route home and continue my walk with visions of devouring a foot long marinara in my head.

Halfway through my journey I walk upon the neighborhood bus stop - There sat an old homeless guy with a dog on his lap. I nod and say hi - he reciprocates the gesture. I sneak a peek at the dog...it was a miniature poodle. When I was married I had a toy poodle named Pepper - she reminded me of her.

It was the piercing puppy dog (I am hungry look) that stopped me dead in my tracks. I've seen it a thousand times -- "Sir, how are you today? Would you and your buddy like to split a sandwich with me?" - The old homeless guy shifts the dog from his lap to the bench and says -- "We would like that a lot."

I sit down next to them and ask their names - "I'm Eddie and this is my little girl Cupcake," he says in a rusty tone. I introduce myself and ask - "Do you guys like meatball marinara?" - He nods yes. I unwrap the sandwich and hand him half. "Here you go Cupcake. Let's get some food in that belly of yours," a wide smile instantly comes to my face as I watch him grab a meatball and gently feed it to her while her tail wags a mile a minute.

The three of us devour the goods and then I ask how old she is - "This little princess turned three last month," he tells me as he scratches her belly, "I got her from the pound when she was a pup...no one wanted you, isn't that right?" - He adds as he scratches the back of her ears -- "It's just the two of us girl," he concludes.

Eddie loved his dog, and his dog loved him - I ask if it would be okay for me to hold her - "No problem friend," he says as he hands her to me - she immediately began licking my face - "Your spirit must be true, I can tell...she isn't friendly to people who don't have a true spirit," I was going to ask him what he meant by the statement, but decided against.

I still had a bag of potato chips (sour cream and onion) so I open them and grab a handful. I then hand the bag to my derelict friend - Cupcake begins to jump up and down in anticipation - "These are her favorite kind," he bellows, "Here you go girl," he drops a handful on the bench and she snaps them up. We chat a bit longer and then I tell him I must go - "Nice meeting you," I say as I shake his hand, "It was nice meeting you as well Cupcake. You two be careful out here," I add as I poke her nose and prepare to leave.

What happened next will forever be burned into my imagery - it's because I use to do it all the time with my dog Pepper - "What do you say to our friend for getting us lunch?" Eddie had Cupcake held up in front of his face, facing me. He begins to make a silly voice as if it was the dog actually talking, "Byyyyye Mr. Robbbbb," Cupcake says. He wags her front right paw at me - the action brought a smile to my face ten miles wide.

The village idiot of Las Vegas reads his blog to a homeless guy and his imaginary friend.

"Do you think you could spare some change so I could get something to eat?" Yesterday I ate lunch at my favorite dining establishment in North Las Vegas (Burger King). A grizzly looking fellow, I 'm guessing he was in his sixties, wanted to know if I could spare some change so he could get something to eat. I tell him I will buy a hamburger if he is willing to listen to one of my blog posts. He agrees - I began reading.

I'm a quarter or so through the story and he starts mumbling something incoherent. I stop for a moment and notice he is glancing to his left talking to an imaginary person. He stops suddenly and I began reading again. I am now three quarters or so through the post and he began mumbling again. I stop and look at him. This time he is pointing at his imaginary friend. I pay no heed and continue reading.

I finish reading the post and ask his thoughts, I also ask what his friend thought - "It was a good story man," he then looks at his friend and looks back at me - "She thought it was a good story too. Can I have my money now?" I reach into my pocket - give him a few dollars and tell him I appreciate him listening. I then look to the seat his friend is setting - and say -- "Thanks for listening and telling me you like it. I appreciate it." - The homeless gentlemen turns as he is leaving and says -- "She says your welcome." 

The village idiot of Las Vegas buys his dinner at the laundromat.

One of, if not, the most interesting things about my neighborhood is all the peddling going on. Someone is always trying to sell somebody something:

Last night I made a trek to the neighborhood laundomat - as I am waiting for the wash to finish a middle aged Hispanic women approaches me - "Mister," she says with a heavy Spanish accent, "You want to buy tamales?"

I recognize her immediately. A month or so back she was peddling homemade burritos at the park. I didn't buy any, but now she had my undivided attention - "What kind do you have? And how much are they?" -- my stomach had begun to growl in anticipation. I knew, before even tasting, they would be awesome. "Mister," she says again with her south of the border twang, "I have chicken, or cheese. They cost one dollar each. I also have a cooler full of homemade fresa (strawberry) drink . It cost seventy five cents a cup."

"Sold!" I yell with enthusiasm, "Why don't you give me two cheese and two chicken. Give me a cup of the fresa as well." - She walks to her car, opens the back seat, grabs a cup from the bag, fills the cup with fresa and hands it to me. She then walks back to the trunk, opens it, grabs four tamales from a heat bag and hands them to me as well - "Four seventy five...please," she says with a wide smile.

The steam rose when I opened the husk and took the first savory bite. It was to perfection, the texture was consistent, the chicken and cheese portions were generous. It was a deal...a very good deal! The fresa was sensational as well!

After devouring the fare, I take a seat on the bench and wait for my laundry to finish. As I am setting there rubbing my belly, the senorita who sold me walks by again - "Geez Mister," she says with a smile, "You already ate it. Did you like?" I tell her how much I enjoyed it and how I could eat another ten of them - she laughs and says - "You try my sopapilla with sugar and honey. You will like me forever," we smile in unison and I say -- "If you were my girlfriend I would weigh five hundred pounds from all of your cooking," I then make a hand gesture around my stomach to make sure she understood the context of my comment - she smiles and says, "You would be gordito if I was your girlfriend," -- I nod in agreement and say - "I would be very gordito if you were my girlfriend."

The village idiot of Las Vegas gives his homeless friend a new hat.

The other night a homeless friend from the neighborhood dropped by. The following is a brief excerpt of our conversation:

"Dan, you need a new hat - the one you are wearing is looking worse for the wear. Hang on brother, I got something for you." - Dan is an interesting character. He worked at a local sports book for a number of years and was subsequently laid off. The past five years he's been calling the church courtyard across from my place home.

I have a Chiefs ball cap that I won at a bar drawing. I have never worn it (my hair is far too pretty to be wearing a hat). Anyways, his current lid has seen better days. So I thought it a good gesture to give him mine.

I retrieve it from my room and walk out to the porch - "Dan," I say with a wide grin, "I have a surprise for you," I then toss it to him. "Now give me the thing covering your mop," I request with a sense of urgency, "It's time to retire it."

He inspects his new hat, smiles, and says - "Thanks brother, I have been needing a new hat for the longest time. I will trade you," he removes the filth encrusted dome he is wearing and tosses it to me. Without hesitation, I walk to the kitchen and drop it in the trash.

The village idiot of Las Vegas discovers his girlfriend is sleeping with a China man.

I currently reside in the plush enclave of North Las Vegas. My landlord is a China man named Bruce Lee. (I kid you not. That is his real name). A few days ago he knocked on my door looking to collect rent. The following is an excerpt of our conversation:

I hear a knock on my door and ask who it is - "Sir, sir," a voice says in a heavy Asian accent, "I take ten dollars off your rent this week since I fuck girlfriend the other day. I fuck again. I take ten dollars off next week rent." 

The two of us have an ongoing gag: He tells me how many times he fucks my girlfriend and I tell him I should be getting a reduction in rent for the favor - "Bruce," I say as I swing the door open, "You are not the only guy who has been with her. The other day Mario banged her and just before that James had her. You were the third guy in line. That's disgusting!" 

We share a hearty laugh, and he blurts - "I have before Mario, and then she go see him and James. Your girlfriend is biggest whore in North Las Vegas," we share another hearty laugh and I say - "I broke up with her last week. She's not my girlfriend anymore. Do you want to know what she told me? She said, 'Bruce is her new boyfriend," - he began laughing again, in a sound matching a hyena howl, and says - "She not girlfriend. I fuck her and give back to you for sloppy second!"

I reach in my pocket, grab the rent money and hand it to him - minus ten dollars. After all, he has been fucking my girlfriend. He counts it and notices the slight - "You ten dollar short," he tells me with a grin. I remind him that he is sleeping with my girlfriend, so I took ten dollars off the rent price. He says - "Your girlfriend not worth ten dollars. She disgusting bitch. I should get pay to fuck her."

We share yet another laugh as I reach into my pocket to give him the ten dollars he was short, I then say - "Goddammit Bruce, I love that girl and to know she is sleeping with you is tearing me apart. I can't take it anymore, you stay away from her," he has his money and is preparing to exit, before he does, he turns and says - "You tell girlfriend I be back in a few days and she be ready. I fuck her and give back to you again."

The village idiot of Las Vegas has an enthralling conversation with uncle Ned.

I was thinking about uncle Ned today, so I called him. I never know what kind of mood he is going to be in. But that's the thing I love most about him. The following is a brief excerpt of our conversation:

"Mad Max - Jesus, you idiot! Can't you think of a more original name than that? Who is this moron anyways? Please don't tell me it's one of your knucklehead friends from Madison. Don't you have any normal friends nowadays?" Uncle Ned is a bleeding heart Liberal - Mad Max is an anarchist. Needless to say, you won't find two people whose ideologies differ as much - "It seems everyone you talk about in your pathetic blog is either an idiot, whore, prepper or something of that nature," he then adds, "Why don't you call your Mormon friends again and tell them you are interested in converting? They seemed, at least, halfway normal."

Arguing politics with uncle Ned is a lost cause. So I change the subject to women - "Jesus, are you still chasing that stupid whore from San Diego?" he says blurtly, "What the hell is wrong with you? Every time I see one of your posts about Roxy. I quit reading it. It's the same fucking thing! It's boring!" I tell him I don't appreciate him calling her a whore, his response - "That's what she is, Right? Jesus, there has to be some other bitch in Las Vegas that you can get pushed around by. You're not that much of a loser," he then laughs and says, "On second thought, look who I am talking to."

Most people mistake Ned's dialogue for belligerence...not me! I have thick skin, very thick! Anyways, I thought it best to dumb down our conversation as much as possible. Make it something he couldn't complain about. So I ask his favorite food - "Goddammit, that's a stupid fucking question! Do you realize how many different foods there are? I don't have one! I like a variety!" I tell him my favorite food is pizza, he says - "That figures! You probably eat Pizza Hut or Little Caesar's. You don't even know what a good pizza is!" he pauses for a moment to catch his breath, and then says - "Look, this conversation is just too stimulating for me. I will talk with you some other time," -- the line immediately goes dead.

The village idiot of Las Vegas runs into his favorite crack whore.

If you walk up and down my neighborhood you will be apt to find a cornucopia of life's unsavory characters. Gang banger's, bums, bag ladies, drug dealers...you name it - It's there:

"Hey honey - where have you been? How are you doing sweetie?" Last night I made a trek to the corner store - and wouldn't you know -- my favorite crack whore in North Las Vegas was camped out in front. "Mary," I say with a wide grin, "I have been doing Okay. What have you been up to lately?" Mary, or Scary Mary as she is known around the neighborhood, is a sight for sore eyes.

"One of these days you are going to be my boyfriend," she tells me with a crack infested smile, she then adds, "How come a nice guy like you is living in a shit hole neighborhood like this? What's a matter Jethro? Can't you find one of these pretty Las Vegas girls to take you in?" Mary and I have become friends of sort. She accosted me a while back about her services (which I politely declined). Nevertheless, I still like her. It's folks like her who add much of the seasoning to North Las Vegas.

"Mary, my love. Have you been behaving yourself?" I say with a wide smile again, "Where have you been? I heard you were in the slammer. That was the word floating around the neighborhood." -- she looks at me with sunken eyes, laughs, coughs and says, "Yeah, I had a couple of warrants and they picked me up for solicitation a few weeks ago. I just got out the other day," - fresh out of jail and back to business...that's Mary.

We exchange a few more pleasantries and then I open the shop door to enter - she says, "Do you think you could get me a candy bar or some cookies? I am kind of hungry." -- How could I say no to a face like hers? Besides, everyone should eat. So I walk in, grab my beer, grab Mary some cookies, pay for them, chat with Pedro, the cashier, for a moment and walk out. Mary is already hitting up another guy.

"Here you go darling," I say as I nudge her on the arm with a pack of Nutter Butter's, "I will see you around. Try to stay out of trouble," she grabs the cookies, looks at me again with her sunken eyes and says - "One of these days you are going to be my boyfriend and we will have a charmed life. You are my Prince Charming."

The village idiot of Las Vegas gets Roxy a room for Carmen's birthday.

Last night I got a phone call from a friend in Las Vegas. He'd been comped four free nights at the Mirage in January. He wasn't going to use them all and wondered if I could use a couple of them:

"Roxy, how are you doing Babe?" When he told me about the rooms, I immediately thought of her. She's always asking for a room, so I called her with the surprise, "Good news Babe, my friend called and said he had a couple nights at the Mirage. When can you come to town and use them? One catch, they have to be used by the end of the month," - I miss her like crazy and thought an enticement of free rooms might lure her to town.

"Jethro - you just don't get it!", she says in a perturbed tone -- "What part of our last conversation didn't you understand? There is no you and me anymore. Do I have to draw a fucking picture for you?" - We had a beautiful rendezvous last time she came to Las Vegas. It ended oddly, but I'm willing to give it another go. I told her such, and she says, "Look, moron, the two of us being together is over! Do you understand that? Come on! No one is that stupid."

I have become use to barriers in my life, so I tell her this in a warm tone -"Babe, I just wanted to know if you were interested in the free room. I didn't say anything about the two of us meeting up. If you don't want them, just say so. I will find someone else who does." I hear a sigh, and then she says, "Well, now that I think about it, Carmen's birthday is the twenty first. I'm coming to town for it - Look, dip shit, I will take the room. But understand me! We are not going to hook up when I get there. Are you clear with that?"

I tell her again my gesture has nothing to do with us, I just thought it would be nice to give the room to someone who appreciates it. I then tell her I will call closer to the date to make sure everything is a go. She says this in parting -- "Jethro, don't get any ideas when I come to town. I am not going to sleep with you again! If that's what you are thinking. You are dead fucking wrong!"

The bag lady.

"I can't find them! Where are they? My daughter is going to be so mad at me!" - I am standing at the corner of Eastern & Owens waiting for the light to change when I glance right and notice a bag lady having a conversation with herself -- "How am I going to tell my daughter I lost the earrings she gave me? She is going to be so upset! Please Lord let me remember where I put them." - Her voice had now changed from frantic to somber.

Bag ladies are a common sight in the neighborhood so seeing one having a conversation with an imaginary person, believe it or not, is par for the course. The light changes and I begin walking. That's when I hear - in an extremely sad tone -- "Jesus, please forgive me. I didn't mean to lose them. I am just so careless!"

I don't know what is more common in Las Vegas - people getting shot, or run over. People getting shot - you know - shit happens. But being run over by a car is 99% preventable! Now I'm a few steps into the intersection and she is standing at the corner in hysterics. A thought suddenly goes through my mind - "What if she is so upset and wanders out into the street and a car hits her? How would you feel if you turned on the news tomorrow and saw something like that? How could you live with yourself?"

I immediately turn around and say - "Ma'am, the light is on to cross. Are you going to cross?" After my query she shakes her head (as if she is bringing herself out of a fog). She looks towards me and says, "Thank-you - I am sorry. I lost the earrings my daughter gave me when she was a girl. Yes, I need to cross the street. Hopefully I will find them." - I then grab her elbow gently and both of us walk in unison across the intersection. After we safely cross I ask if she will be okay. "I will be fine," she says politely, "Thank-you for being so kind. You are such a polite man."

We chat a few minutes and then I tell her I must go. As I am walking away she yells - "Thank-you again for helping me! You are a very kind! Have a blessed day!" - I smile and continue my trek home.