Superman was late. Again. He normally used his cell phone to tell time, so Lois wouldn’t be mad at him anymore. Being Superman, you would think his biggest worry was fighting off planetary destruction. You would be wrong. Superman hated to be late. Lois got annoyed, the Justice League got on his case, it was a huge mess. So he got a cell phone. That’s what people used to tell time these days, he figured.

Except it kept getting destroyed in fights.
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So. Hooboy. Vegas Ceasers Palace. It’s a funky type of place. They have games of all types and rooms to stay in. With beds and stuff. Go fig.

But seriously, here’s some more about the place. I mean the joint has over 3000 rooms. Which means at least one of them has to have a midget at all times, right? I’m pretty sure that’s what it means. Maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention. That is also possible.

Either way, when you’re there, you can play all sorts o ftable games. That is one of the things I like about Vegas, really. You go there and try to win your trip money back. You won’t, of course, but you try. There’s something both amusing and heartwarming about that. Also, kind of sad, in a way. But we won’t talk about that.

Vegas Ceasers Palace is a nifty joint, though, you must admit. It isn’t one of those places in Vegas that is so far over the top it hurts, it is slightly below that, and yet it also isn’t Billy Bob’s Drive-n-Gamble. Kind of the best of both worlds. If your two worlds are those options.

Think of it like this. We will all end up in Vegas someday. When we do we will have choices to stay. This is one of them. And now you’re informed. And yes, normally these posts, these types of posts, are done for humor and are entertaining and fun. This one, not so much. I’m having a day of it, so forgive me. I’ll work at funny later on. For now, I’ll simply say that of all the casinos I am writing about today (one) this is the best of them (and only). Huzzah!

Aloysius Condo was a detective. He detected things. Things that were, other people thought, hard to detect. Which is why they called him in the first place. Reasonable bit of exchange, generally. Along with his assistant, Punglit, Aloysius rose to great heights in the olden days. This is one of his stories.

Bertrand Hubblerumpus, the Duke of Mungebunny had gone missing. Royally freaked out, his wife, Wilhelmina sent a servant to the residence of Aloysius Condo. The servant found Condo relaxing in his mineral pool, smoking a pipe and practicing his swordplay – all at the same time!

“Mister Condo, you must come to the Duke of Mungebunny’s residence, and quick! My Lady bids you to come forth and accept a job,” the servant said.

Punglit, who had been sleeping nearby, leapt up and landed slightly wobbly. “I say, Al! We must away!”
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The Justice League situation room was all a-twitter. Can we still use that phrase? If we, your omniscient narrator who refers to itself in the third person say “a-twitter” do you, the gentle readership, now assume that the Justice League was whipping out cell phones and doing the 140 character limbo? Have we lost this phrase to technology? Perhaps the Justice League will have to deal with that next! But at this time they found themselves with more pressing matters at hand!

Aquaman had called for an emergency meeting and luminaries such as Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman were already there, anxiously awaiting what news their undersea companion had for them.

A hum and sparkle of light filled the room. The Justice Leaguers looked on as Aquaman, Prince of Tides – no wait that was a movie – King of the Oceans – that’s it, we’re certain – appeared before them. His down turned expression was unsurprising, since he was always, truth be told, kind of grumpy.

“Friends! What ho!” Aquaman said. No one replied. They waited for him to get to the point and lose the bad Shakespearean fetish. “I have come hither to partake of…”

“Dude. The point,” Superman said with his power of Super-Exasperation, “get to it?”

“Right. My bad,” Aquaman admitted, “So I have cancer.”

The bombshell dropped, like a bomb, and then exploded, KAPOW!, all over the room! No one knew what to say, except of course, Batman.

“What kind?” he asked, knowing exactly what to say.

“I have Ovarian cancer,” Aquaman told his friends.

Wonder Woman walked over, regal as the Princess of the Amazons that she was, which is lucky because otherwise it would have been suspect, her walking exactly like that, if she had been, say Princess of the Mole People, and smacked Aquaman in the face hard enough that, well:

“OW! What the hell?!” Aquaman’s grandfather exclaimed, 30 years earlier, wondering why his face hurt for no good reason.

That hard, my friends. She smacked him that hard.

“You can’t have Ovarian cancer, you trout humping fool! You don’t have ovaries!” Wonder Woman shouted, getting ready to smack him again.

“Wait,” Batman said grumpily, “what if he does?”

“How could Aquaman, who’s a guy,” Superman said with his power of stating the Super-Obvious, “have ovaries?”

“He’s from Atlantis. They’re fish people. Do fish men have ovaries? I don’t know. Do you? No, you don’t.” Batman sighed, growled and (very quietly) farted. “I know he can behave like a little girl. Maybe he is one. Inside.”

“I’ll check with my X-Ray vision!” Superman exclaimed with his power of Super-Exclamation!

“Don’t you radiate me,” Aquaman said, “Now, I read an online booklet about ovarian cancer and I looked up information about it, too!”

“And you still don’t have ovaries!” Wonder Woman insisted.

“I might! You heard Batman!” Aquaman countered.

“Batman,” Wonder Woman sighed, “still thinks it’s a good idea to put a ten year old in a gun fight.”

“She has a point,” Superman agreed with his power of Super-Smirking, “and he has run through quite a few of them. But look. I just checked, and…”

“You what? But my insides! You shot them full of X-Rays! All … radioactive now! Now I have to go home and get me a Silkwood shower! Damn it! Damn it all to hell!”

“Regardless, you don’t have ovaries.”

“Well,” Aquaman considered this new information, “then I suppose I don’t have Ovarian cancer after all, do I?”

“Not in the slightest, you idiot,” Wonder Woman said.

“Huh.”

“Yes.”

“Well, friends! It seems my illness has gone into remission! Let us celebrate! I’ll call up some whales and…”

Aquaman’s sentence was never finished. Wonder Woman smacked him again. She smacked him so hard that, well, let’s just say it is a good thing Superman has the power of Super-Jigsaw Puzzle Solving, because it took a while to find all the bits of Aquaman that were strewn about the room.

Oh man, so I was watching cartoons the other day and came across the Jem episode where Kimber had a medical emergency but her insurance wouldn’t cover it. So they were all “What do we do?” and Synergy was like “Well, we could put her down,” but the other band members thought that a wee bit harsh.

So, well, they ended up having to deal with medical tourism. What is medical tourism? Well the giant floating brain that is Wikipedia will tell you:

Medical Tourism is a term initially coined by travel agencies and the mass media to describe the rapidly-growing practice of traveling across international borders to obtain health care. It also refers pejoratively to the practice of healthcare providers traveling internationally to deliver healthcare

So anyway they go and try to see if Canada will help them. Canada is no good. Then Synergy, who still doesn’t get why they can’t just put Kimber down, and maybe Aja, Synergy never did like Aja, but at least Kimber, and move on with their lives, suggests the Medical Tourism Association.

Now where you or I might hear that name, say if we were told to write about it or something, and think it was a group of people who help doctors take awesome vacations, that isn’t what it is. Not that I thought that because I am all knowing, wise, and street-tough. So things like this aren’t a shock to me. You, however, well, some of you might have been mistaken. I can understand it and do not mock. Not at all.

But really, a place for doctors to get awesome vacations?

Who would think such a thing? Seriously. Not me, I’ll tell you that. Nope.

Shut up!

So anyway! The Medical Tourism Association. They have stuff like a list of clinics, and they’re all about finding options for that sort of thing. It’s actually pretty cool. So Jem and the gang, which is like Kool and the Gang but with more glitter and less penis – well there was this time Aja… never mind! – found a doctor for Kimber and everything was fine.

Except for when Kimber heard about Synergy’s plan and launched a campaign to unplug her. Which lead to the Four Day Jem War, which … look some stories are too gruesome to tell, all right? I mean lord that led to the rise of Skynet and … I’ve said too much, haven’t I? About Synergy’s true form, John ‘Jem Fan #1′ Conners and and …

Damn it!

I’ve said too much!

Today I have to write about luxury yachts. Oh sure, you think, writing about yachts. Whatever. It’s a big boat. Who cares? You know what? Go to hell.

Let me tell you about luxury yachts. Because when I got this assignment I was told “have fun with this one and if you buy one give me a ride.” So I laughed that off and told a friend about my new assignment. She told me “can I ride on it?” I laughed that off, too. Mostly. And I told another friend. He asked if he could use my yacht on occasional weekends.

This is about when I stopped laughing it off. Here I was, only writing about luxury yachts, not thinking of buying a yacht, or leasing one even and people were already trying to scam rides on my yacht! My yacht I don’t even have!

My theoretical yacht brings all the hominids to the yard. The shipyard. No. Better. The yachtyard. Not for just any ship. Yachts only, bitches. YACHTYARD! You wish you had a…

YACHTYARD

but you can’t even go for a ride on my imaginary yacht! You’re all stuck on the pier going “Man, even in my daydreams he’s cooler than me!” and you’re right. I am. Don’t cry. It’s just nature, neither of us can help it. I am, in fact, just that good.

For the record, I am chair dancing some as I write this. Full disclosure, baby.

But what you can do is buy volumes one and two of Luxury Yachts of the World for only £65.00 each. I think the law requires that you read the books out loud in a Robin Leech voice. Be prepared.

Because even just writing about yachts makes you so cool people ask you for rides in an imaginary boat you don’t even have imagine what owning those books would do. Or shopping around for luxury yachts. That might get you free bacon, or something. Well. Maybe a free muffin. Well. Some crackers. High-end saltines, baby! Awwww, yeah!

Me? Well, I’ll be on my imaginary yacht that I didn’t ask for in the first place. Just chillin’. Like ya do. Be sure to wave from the pier, now.

Do you want to get laid? Well I’m here to tell you how! It will involve bolding random words for emphasis! I will be speaking in the tone of a bad radio announcer, so please read it so that you can hear that voice in your head. Or, failing that try for Shatner!

You see, in these modern times ensuring you have sex is, at times, difficult. Which is why people who want your money suggest diamond rings. Yes, that’s right, diamond rings!

All right, let’s drop the bad announcer thing for a moment and talk for reals, yo. You’ve seen the ads. You know how it is supposed to work. Buy someone a diamond and you are going to obviously get some that night. The ads only have a hetro couple, but that’s American advertising, I have no reason to believe that it is only hetro couples that fall under this supposed spell.

Though I do, generally, doubt this magical spell. Still! not my place to say. No. I do think that the whole different colors of diamonds are interesting. And kinda pretty. And no, I don’t need to get into or want to get into a whole discussion of diamonds and who died for them and so on. Frankly if people died to get them they must be extra awesome, right? Or something.

And, well, like any jewelry, of course, there are huge differences in the types of ring you can get. Short ones, tall ones, fat ones, skinny ones, too many fish in the sea-ea!

Oh. Sorry. Also you might have noticed by now this post has no 80s references. I know. I’m falling down on the job. But I thought of coming up with another plot to another 80s cartoon and, well, it would be forced and unfunny and not worth your time. So instead this is just kinda here, today. Also it’s diamond rings, you know?

Sure, I could tell you all about the time Charles decided he was really going to be in charge of Jamie once and for all. So he read his bible, decided he would own any woman who married him and bought a diamond. Buddy laughed at him and explained that Charles was acting like a Old Timey Freak and Charles killed him with a brick before kidnapping Jamie and heading to Vegas. Except he forgot the ring! So he had to call Adam with a list of demands that, sure enough, included bringing the ring to Vegas. Of course Adam sent Grandpa Walter instead and he beat the fuck out of Charles, screaming “Who’s in charge now, motherfucker?” the entire time. But then Ellen showed up with Sarah and they talked Walter down. Charles told them he was only kidding and was in a startling twist concocting the whole plan to distract them from the fact that Adam had spilled paint on the living room rug! Oh, that wacky Adam! Oh that protective Charles! Well, needless to say they all went home, no one got married and Charles later killed again.

But I don’t want to bother with that right now. On the other hand, when handed the stuff I needed to include in this post I saw something and had to share it with you:

Dude. That ring doubles as a STARGATE! Sheer elegance in its simplicity, really.

We’re going back to Vegas for a minute here, folks. Why? The Vegas Bellagio. You see, many people mispronounce the name. Let me explain.

The name is said Bell-ah-zhe-oh. But many people want to say Bell-A-Gee-Oh. They’re wrong but the story has some strange roots I will reveal for the first time anywhere. Yes, that’s right. It’s time for a reality exclusive!

Now, you all remember those years Spider-Man spent with his amazing friends, right? When this college aged kid living with two other superheroes and his ageing aunt. Which, well it made me wonder. The house wasn’t big enough to have four bedrooms. Bad enough the living room flipped around to reveal gadgets, but where did they sleep? Sorry, that has nothing to do with the 100% True Story I’m telling here.

Mrs. Lion, Aunt May’s dog? Well, it turned out that Mrs. Lion was originally owned by a Mister Clayton Pierce. After a few years Clayton had to give the dog away and Mrs. Lion ended up in the hands of Aunt May. Well, Clayton, of course, lived in Vegas.

What else do we know about the early Clayton Pierce? Well. He was a fine chef and had a startling collection of bells. In college, Clayton thought you could actually control forces of the universe with certain sound waves. He thought the right shaped bell could do, well, anything.

Anyway! Mrs. Lion. Well one day she ran away. She managed to get on a truck and by the time anyone noticed she was gone she was really gone. Luckily for Aunt May, Peter Parker was also Spider-Man and had slipped a spider-tracer into the dog’s collar the last time she escaped. So the hunt was on! They headed where she did: Vegas!

They checked a lot of hotels all along the strip:

But as you can see from the green dot, they found her at the Bellagio. They had interesting timing. Clayton Peirce was about to debut himself as a criminal mastermind. Years of research and poverty combined to turn him fully to the path of evil. He had perfected a bell capable of warping gravity. He called himself Bellagio. Of course he pronounced it Bell-Ah-GEE-Oh. Like A bell that could warp G-forces. Not the best name, but Clayton wasn’t the best bad guy, either.

So while Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends (Iceman and Firestar, ‘natch) looked around for Mrs. Lion, Clayton saw a chance to make a name for himself. He rung his mighty bell and a funny thing happened outside the casino. The water shooting up from the fountain which was a normal, straight fountain, started to curve!

Spider-Man and associates quickly found Bellagio, bantered about his name, took their dog and went home. But the Vegas Bellagio has since had an issue with how you say their name. All because of one run-down super villain with a bell, a degree in advanced hyper-physics and a dream. To be fair they did retrofit the fountain to work like Bellagio (the bad guy) messed with it. It’s far more popular now. But that name thing drives them crazy.

And Mrs. Lion? Why did she run away in the first place? No one knows, really. That dog just got into trouble. Lots of trouble. Trouble that ended up with random super villain fights. Makes one wonder, doesn’t it? Anyway, the point is, say their name right.

A lot of people these days seem to be playing poker. It’s down from the high that it hit a few years ago but still. A lot of you people are playing poker, and a lot of Texas Hold ‘Em at that.. Playing it badly. And you would think this is where I do something like link to a set of hold ‘em tips. But that isn’t why I’m here.

No. Because honestly? I don’t care if you lose all your money at cards. I really don’t. I thought about it, just in case I was wrong and I secretly did care. You know what I realized? I don’t.

I mean playing Hold ‘Em and losing your shirt? There’s a long tradition of it, frankly. It’s like that Jem episode. Remember that one? The Holograms hit a rough patch and needed money. So they drove to Vegas and entered a poker tournament. Well, things got wild and Kimber went all in and lost! Yeah, that was pretty bad. She had obviously never read the rules and such. She was just betting from the heart.

Betting From the Heart was the Holograms’ song that episode. Frankly I think the Misfits’ song that episode, You All Suck So Hard At Poker was far funnier. The second verse?

Pizzazz knows when to hold ‘em!
Roxy can fold ‘em!
But you fools can’t even tell
A full house
From Full House!

Great damn song. Anyway. So yeah, in part two? When Kimber goes with Aja, sells her earrings and enters the seedy world of strip poker, in an effort to make their money back and save the band? That was a little strange, even for Jem. But it was hysterical the way Synergy kept making holographic clothes for them even as they lost. Synergy was such a prude for a computer program.

But yeah, then they got accused of cheating, because they would lose and seem to take off clothes and then somehow be wearing even more clothes, so they had to run and leave what meager earnings they had behind. They ended up in a worse place! It was summed up, of course, in the song My Dignity For a Dollar, which I think Jem really sold well, the way she kinda wept a bit when she sang it? Yeah.

This, of course, led to the selling of the Starlight Girls (Anne, Ashley, Ba Nee, Becky, Deirdre, Delaree, JoEllen, Krissie, Lela, Marianne, Nancy and Terri) into slavery. It was a strange choice, I admit. Not many Saturday morning cartoons have their heroes sell their own friends into slavery but, hey, what could they do? Did they think to take some lessons in the fine art of Hold ‘Em? Or did they just spiral deeper and deeper into a pit of shame, despair and eventual drug use?

I think that’s why the show was eventually cancelled. I mean, at the least it was the beginning of the end for them. Even after they reversed course, had Jem win their money back after getting some hold ‘em tips and saved the Starlight Girls from their twisted fate. It just wasn’t ever the same.

Though I do give mad props to the Misfits closing song about the entire affair, Holy Crap! (You Did What?) with the great guitar solo and chorus:

You sold those girls?
Holy crap!
You guys might be cool!
Holy crap! (You Did What?)
You sold them? For money?
Holy crap!
And we’re the bad guys?
Holy crap! (You Did What?)

I was thinking through my neuroticextensive knowledge of cartoons and pop culture and I realized that not many cars of the Bayerische Motoren Werke variety show up. Heroes tend to drive muscle cars or vans and bad guys drive Cadillacs or vans. Lots of vans. Vans are not my point. My point is that the fine engineering of a Bavarian Motor Works automobile is often overlooked by many cartoons and TV shows of the 80s.

I started to wonder why. I mean they are, indeed a kind of luxury car and you would think that more people, good and bad, would appreciate that. The 7 series wasn’t out then, but it is now, and it should be transported back in time to be used. Well, it isn’t a DeLorean so it can’t travel in time but you know what I mean. Here’s a pic of the inside of one:

Now, yes, the tan isn’t conductive to what we’re discussing, black would work far better, but still. Doesn’t it sorta look like the kind of car someone would drive to solve crimes in? Maybe not Turbo Teen, since he turned into a car (I heard you like cars so we put a teen who can turn into a car in yo car! – sorry, Pimp My Ride moment) but regardless. Something about the dash says “Crime fightin’” to me. Then again, occasionally hamburgers say “Crime fightin’” to me.

Not in words, I don’t mean that inanimate objects speak to me in creepy willowy voices and tell me to fight crime. That isn’t what I mean at all. That would be simply crazy talk. How ridiculous! I mean, seriously! To even think that … all right so sometimes inanimate objects speak to me in creepy willowy voices and tell me to fight crime. What’s it to you, Spanky? You committin’ crimes? Well, punk? Are you?! Sheesh! Can’t a guy just have … what’s that Right Shoe? I should go fight crime? But I’m typing out a post right now and I … well, yes, Right Shoe I do think crime is important to fight and … all right! Fine!

I’ll be right back.

I’m back! So where were we? Oh, right!

People use cars. They use them to fight crime. Also to get hamburgers. The BMW series 7 is a luxury car that, I am confident, can do both those things. Possibly at the same time. In the 80’s. If you where to tow it behind a DeLorean doing 88 m.p.h. and travel back in time to the 80s so that the car itself existed then, which it didn’t.

See how simple that all is?