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Las Vegas has all sorts of little artsy type things that people are supposed to take seriously. Las Vegas also has breasts. Jordan and I do an intensive comparative study.	Other tourists felt uncomfortable when walking past us.	Us being Rock Stars.
GOOD GOD look at me. I look like a cadaver. A sexy cadaver, heh heh... *sigh*	One of the many groups of gentlemen we passed and made up stories about needing to make fictional ex-boyfriends jealous, just so we could get a picture with hotties.	Um. I guess this is us in front of a huge fucking gold thing.
A lot of people just pose with the Cirque du Soleil freaks, but Jordan and I get IN on the ACTION.	A lot of people take pictures of numbers like "420" and "69", but not THIS nerd! Ho no.	I don't think either of us got enough attention in our childhoods.
The strip. Pretty...	The hotel where we stayed, taken from the super secret VIP floor!	Hamming it up on the red carpet.
I hate being the reporter.	Me and my mommy.	Jordan and my aunt Becky.
Jordan and I get caught in a freak Nevada rain storm.	Shortly after informing Jordan what a douche-bag she looks like with that bag on her head.	General tomfoolery with the Room Service Carts.
And I follow.	Stealing food from others' room service trays.	And she follows.