Sympathy for the Devils

I’m more than good with Nevada’s M.O.: Act all loose and liberal for the sake of tourism, then keep law and order like you’d expect in any other respectable city. But now we’ve gone too far in one seemingly minor category: ticketing speeders. In fact, a new report ranked us No. 1 in the nation.

Yes, take a second to thump your fist on the bar; you knew the cops were after us—for their quota or because they’re assholes or whatever. Now let’s get to the more important part, because no matter which way you slice Las Vegas, we are hosts first and foremost. And although we’ve all gotten our share of unfair tickets (Are you #!%*ing serious that it’s 35 mph for about a quarter mile on the otherwise 45 mph Silverado Ranch?), the first thing that popped into my head were those poor bastards who’ve finally, just barely, made it into Sin City—all full of adrenaline that we’ve helped pump into their brains—only to be pulled over by the dozens along I-15.

And I do mean dozens. One morning on the way to work last year, I thought for sure they’d caught bin Laden trying to sneak into the Silverton. Instead, it was a flock of Californians going over the perpetually orange construction-zone speed limit of 55 mph, a stretch where, oddly, there never seems to be any construction. Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas! Here’s a kick in the balls. Have a nice day. Is that any way to treat a guest we want to get ridiculously drunk and spend a ridiculous amount of money he doesn’t have? And then come back?

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