Deeper and Deeper

Friday night I found myself swallowed in the seedy subterranean underbelly of Las Vegas. Like my own edited-for-television version of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, I was exposed to characters and places I had no idea existed. My dizzying mini-adventure started innocently enough, but all that was needed was one miscalculation and everything changed. I was going to go get my nerd on at Dr. Who night (shut up, he's awesome) but when I arrived at the Sci-Fi Center (shut up it's awesome) the doors were locked and my Who fest was cancelled! Waaaht waaah...so I called my friend Mike (referred to from here out as MLaw) to see what was shaken'. He invited me to join him down the street at the Onyx Theater for "Balloon Master Comedy."

I had never been to such a place or heard of such a thing, however the idea of a comedy act centered around balloons was too delightful to resist. I imagined a comedian not unlike Carrot Top creating hilarious balloons, such as doggies but with tiny heads or maybe some sort of balloon sculpture of Lady Gaga tripping over some of those giant shoes she wears from time to time.

A dead giveaway that I was in for something much different should have been the fact that the Onyx Theater is located in a sex shop. A sex shop. I should have pivoted on my sandaled foot and left immediately. However, I know times are tough and real estate is costly, so perhaps this theater took residence in a sex shop because it was paying off student loans or had a sick grandma to take care of. I gave Onyx the benefit of the doubt. How wrong I was. Dead giveaway number two should have been that all the empty seats were occupied by large balloon shaped...uh...penises. Did we once determine that the plural or penis is peni? Not, I guess not. Anyway, I would have left right then but MLaw beckoned me sit next to him on the front row. Mistake number 3 - when entering a theater and show of questionable content, always sit on the back row. The BACK ROW. Near a door. Great for a quick exit. Leave it to MLaw to put his wide-eyed Mormon friend on the front row for an evening of debauchery the likes she has never seen. Everyone knows you can't walk out on a show when you're on the front row. That's a recipe for getting forced on stage while people put needles in your body. No, that didn't happen to me. But one other fellow, though he was a willing participant for an act that forced me to close my eyes and bury my head in MLaw's shoulder for what felt like an eternity. The act, known as "Freaks for Hire" consists of a woman well nigh 6 feet tall, tattooed and pierced from head to toe named Genocide and her partner, Danger. Genocide asks the audience to yell out body parts and then she will stick said body parts with needles and such. When someone in the crowd shouted "Balls!" was when my eyes squeezed shut never to open again until they left the stage. I tried not to hear what was going on, but I know there was blood, needles, rock salt, and male anatomy involved. I remember thinking to myself, oh so ashamed "I am in Hell. I am in Hell and I'm too afraid to just get up and walk out because I fear what they will do to me more than I fear the Hell."

If you think that's all the night was, there was so much more. A quick nutshell account - aside from needles and body parts, there was a dance off between burlesque dancers, a game called "Black C*ck, White C*ck, Green C*ck," a scary man breaking a cinderblock on another man's privates after he had been knocked unconscious from the sleeper hold, and a professional dominatrix woman who yelled at audience members while they downed corn dogs.

The night didn't stop there, but I take full responsibility for the next portion of the evening's strangeness. However, this entry has rattled on long enough. To be continued...