The monorail fell out of favor with the public well before the Fall. As a result, it sat forgotten for many years. With only a few access points in out of the way locations, the Las Vegas Monorail system would make an excellent base of operations.
Or so I thought.
Last night I sat in one of the big Wynnland trees, watching the Mono access tower on the edge of Paradise. Just after dark, I saw some sort of activity in what was supposed to be an abandoned car. Within minutes, they poured out. I don't know how many of them.
They walked along the monorail until they found something of interest, either useful items or food (one caught a coyote unawares). When they found something that struck their fancy, they'd tumble over the edge, suspended either by rope or some sort of bungee, nab it with their hands or wicked hooks, then climb back up, nimble as spiders.
I have no evidence that these strange folk are hostile, but I don't like the look of them. If you ask me, I don't think we'll be sharing that monorail. If we want it, we'll have to take it.
Can we?
Would it be worth it?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Who Are The Plastics?
I've mentioned "Plastics" a lot lately, and some of you are confused by the terminology. It never occurred to me, but they probably don't have as big a presence elsewhere, the culture of Vegas being what it was before the Doors Shut.
Plastics are androgynous sexual predators that thrive on sadomasochism. That's pretty much it. They do have male and female genitalia, but whether through hormones or plastic surgery, usually both, they end up with enlarged bosoms, swollen hips, lush hair and smooth skin. They end up looking like plastic dolls, hence, the name.
Before everything changed, the world had become so accepting of plastic surgery that nearly everyone, from housewife to movie god, had some sort of cosmetic surgery to make themselves more pleasing to the eye.
As those ugly ducklings with altered bodies settled down and had children, the surgeries started at younger and younger ages. These children, who already had perfect bodies before puberty hit, had nowhere to go but down.
Cults of mad, money hungry doctors and symbiotic patients sprung up. There are some references to them as "Aesthetics Junkies," a term I love, but can't find a source to credit with inventing it.
These cults, addicted to beauty, physical pain, self loathing and approval, depraved and deranged, felt right at home in cultureless "Sin City".
Their legacy lives on and thrives where many have died out. Call them sick if you will, but they're survivors.
Plastics are androgynous sexual predators that thrive on sadomasochism. That's pretty much it. They do have male and female genitalia, but whether through hormones or plastic surgery, usually both, they end up with enlarged bosoms, swollen hips, lush hair and smooth skin. They end up looking like plastic dolls, hence, the name.
Before everything changed, the world had become so accepting of plastic surgery that nearly everyone, from housewife to movie god, had some sort of cosmetic surgery to make themselves more pleasing to the eye.
As those ugly ducklings with altered bodies settled down and had children, the surgeries started at younger and younger ages. These children, who already had perfect bodies before puberty hit, had nowhere to go but down.
Cults of mad, money hungry doctors and symbiotic patients sprung up. There are some references to them as "Aesthetics Junkies," a term I love, but can't find a source to credit with inventing it.
These cults, addicted to beauty, physical pain, self loathing and approval, depraved and deranged, felt right at home in cultureless "Sin City".
Their legacy lives on and thrives where many have died out. Call them sick if you will, but they're survivors.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
New Cache
Two story house. Sahara and Lucerne- East of Lamb Blvd.
Don't know if he was a gangster or a gun nut.
Arms and ammo.
Get there before the thugs.
Good Luck.
Don't know if he was a gangster or a gun nut.
Arms and ammo.
Get there before the thugs.
Good Luck.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Gay Marriage Strategy
One of our archivists came across a newspaper celebrating Senate Bill 283, the precursor to Nevada's Gay Marriage bill. It struck a cord, causing me to search through some of the more obscure pieces we've inputted over the course of the past year. It took some time, but I finally found what I was looking for.
It appears S.B. 283 was one of many strings being pulled by author and notorious curmudgeon Paul Roberts. Roberts confessed, in a series of letters to a biologist friend living in Salt Lake City, that he'd been manipulating the process of gay rights legislation in subtle ways for years.
It started with a conversation with British journalist Mark Simpson in 1993, suggesting he should write about the recent trend of "Metrosexuality." The term caught on, and by the early 2000's, it was cool to be Metro, which Roberts describes as, "Three inches away from gay anyway".
Meanwhile, it seems as though Roberts pushed to get bills like S.B. 283 introduced to legislature, then inflamed gay rights activists, telling them not to be complacent and to fight for more, saying things like, "Do you want to be recognized by the IRS, or do you want people to realize homosexuality is a legitimate sexual preference, not a paraphilia."
Eventually, his rallying caught on, causing the gay population to fight like never before. After winning their recognition, they protected their right to marriage with a territorial fierceness. So much so, that same-sex couples no longer sought artificial insemination or surrogate parentage; becoming so obsessed with the idea of fidelity that they refused to let any third parties have a hand in their marriages.
In a few shot years there were nearly as many gay couples as straight. Roberts takes credit for this, as the "coolness" of metrosexuality led to uncounted numbers of impressionable and confused teens to seek same sex partners.
With so many same sex couples refusing to reproduce, the world's birthrate dropped drastically. Roberts' scientist friend heralds him as a savior, as he single handedly cowed the worlds overpopulation problem. Roberts refutes this, claiming he was just tired of there being so much traffic.
It appears S.B. 283 was one of many strings being pulled by author and notorious curmudgeon Paul Roberts. Roberts confessed, in a series of letters to a biologist friend living in Salt Lake City, that he'd been manipulating the process of gay rights legislation in subtle ways for years.
It started with a conversation with British journalist Mark Simpson in 1993, suggesting he should write about the recent trend of "Metrosexuality." The term caught on, and by the early 2000's, it was cool to be Metro, which Roberts describes as, "Three inches away from gay anyway".
Meanwhile, it seems as though Roberts pushed to get bills like S.B. 283 introduced to legislature, then inflamed gay rights activists, telling them not to be complacent and to fight for more, saying things like, "Do you want to be recognized by the IRS, or do you want people to realize homosexuality is a legitimate sexual preference, not a paraphilia."
Eventually, his rallying caught on, causing the gay population to fight like never before. After winning their recognition, they protected their right to marriage with a territorial fierceness. So much so, that same-sex couples no longer sought artificial insemination or surrogate parentage; becoming so obsessed with the idea of fidelity that they refused to let any third parties have a hand in their marriages.
In a few shot years there were nearly as many gay couples as straight. Roberts takes credit for this, as the "coolness" of metrosexuality led to uncounted numbers of impressionable and confused teens to seek same sex partners.
With so many same sex couples refusing to reproduce, the world's birthrate dropped drastically. Roberts' scientist friend heralds him as a savior, as he single handedly cowed the worlds overpopulation problem. Roberts refutes this, claiming he was just tired of there being so much traffic.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Commemeration
It's bedlam out tonight. The Plastics are in an uproar. From what I can gather, it's some sort of holiday- a celebration of some great accomplishment by one of their former(?) leaders.
On this date, in the old times, a famed cultural leader was reported to have died. As with many of the Old People's icons, this man was a celebrity, a singer in this case. His death was all the more shocking, for he'd recently announced he was planning a "comeback tour."
A month passed, and many of the early Plastics mourned the loss, until they noticed tickets were still being sold for his shows.
The singer exploded back onto the scene, startling the nation, selling out show after show on the tour. he was heralded as a messiah and a genius. Skeptics say he faked his own death to up ticket sales. Believers say he died, but refused to pass on, unwilling to leave the world in darkness without his honey-sweet voice.
He may have been some sort of Voodoo priest, as it seems he was reputed to have some connection with Zombies. Maybe the doors of Hell had already shut, even back then.
In any case, the Plastics own the street tonight. Stay indoors. Stay close to your loved ones. And if you hear their chant- "Thriller, Thriller"- do yourself a favor, and don't investigate.
On this date, in the old times, a famed cultural leader was reported to have died. As with many of the Old People's icons, this man was a celebrity, a singer in this case. His death was all the more shocking, for he'd recently announced he was planning a "comeback tour."
A month passed, and many of the early Plastics mourned the loss, until they noticed tickets were still being sold for his shows.
The singer exploded back onto the scene, startling the nation, selling out show after show on the tour. he was heralded as a messiah and a genius. Skeptics say he faked his own death to up ticket sales. Believers say he died, but refused to pass on, unwilling to leave the world in darkness without his honey-sweet voice.
He may have been some sort of Voodoo priest, as it seems he was reputed to have some connection with Zombies. Maybe the doors of Hell had already shut, even back then.
In any case, the Plastics own the street tonight. Stay indoors. Stay close to your loved ones. And if you hear their chant- "Thriller, Thriller"- do yourself a favor, and don't investigate.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
I can't decide
Somewhere, there's an American Government, I'm sure. They're rebuilding, or trying to reestablish power, or cowering. It doesn't matter, cause they're not here.
Here, the we have gangs and gang bosses. We have uneasy treaties and feudes, factionas and rivalries. In short, we have Government; just not The American Government.
I spent a majority of the day in the center of town, getting recon on a new building - looks like it's a stronghold for the Plastics. I saw their little slogan, "Posers Die" spraypainted everywhere.
Makes me wonder if we might be better off here, with cartels in place of caucuses.
From all accounts (news paper clippings, what's left of the World Wide Web), in the last days, the Government was nothing but a bunch of hypocritical goblins, gnawing on the bones of the other side's shortcomings.
Say what you want about most of the Big Guns around here, at least they believe in something- and stick to what they believe in. It doesn't sound like one of those politicals from back in the day would pistol whip a man for contradicting him.
Blows my mind how someone without a spine could lead a country.
Then again...look where we are now.
Here, the we have gangs and gang bosses. We have uneasy treaties and feudes, factionas and rivalries. In short, we have Government; just not The American Government.
I spent a majority of the day in the center of town, getting recon on a new building - looks like it's a stronghold for the Plastics. I saw their little slogan, "Posers Die" spraypainted everywhere.
Makes me wonder if we might be better off here, with cartels in place of caucuses.
From all accounts (news paper clippings, what's left of the World Wide Web), in the last days, the Government was nothing but a bunch of hypocritical goblins, gnawing on the bones of the other side's shortcomings.
Say what you want about most of the Big Guns around here, at least they believe in something- and stick to what they believe in. It doesn't sound like one of those politicals from back in the day would pistol whip a man for contradicting him.
Blows my mind how someone without a spine could lead a country.
Then again...look where we are now.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Standoff
The Southwest area of the city crumbled shortly after everything went to hell; or maybe I mean since hell came to everything.
From what we can tell, it was a very expensive part of town- too expensive for the state of the economy in the last days. Many of the home owners abandoned their properties which were subsequently commandeered by the growing homeless population.
We'd thought that the only things populating the once lavish area of the city were those poor mind-gone ghouls so drug or syphilis addled that they're nearly indistinguishable from the Walking Dead.
We were wrong.
On a recent excursion into the badlands, I witnessed something truly amazing. Three men, ragtag and dirty, defended a single home against a host of the nightmarish things that haunt the streets.
Their leader, who appeared just as mad as the monsters he faced, flung what appeared to be hardened balls of plaster from a window. On his head he wore an old cast iron pot, and he laughed with every throw. He reminded me of nothing so much as a crazy, toothless old wizard in his tower.
The other two defenders confounded their attackers, and astounded yours truly, by waiting patiently until the zombies had demolished the door of their fortress, then signaled to each other with a whistle and a head nod. The first defender stood behind a grandiose oak bookcase. The second, stood waiting with a bottle and brand.
At the signal, the bookcase man charged, pushing the bookcase as a battering ram. The second, lit the a rag handing limp from the bottle neck with his torch and threw the Molotov at the bookcase, setting it ablaze.
The flaming battering ram hit the remnants of the door, burning and frightening the mindless horde. Genius.
Shortly after the display I was forced to flee, thus, I have no idea of the fate of the unlikely heroes. I do wish them, the two knights and their strange Captain, the best.
Rest assured men, tonight I drink to you.
From what we can tell, it was a very expensive part of town- too expensive for the state of the economy in the last days. Many of the home owners abandoned their properties which were subsequently commandeered by the growing homeless population.
We'd thought that the only things populating the once lavish area of the city were those poor mind-gone ghouls so drug or syphilis addled that they're nearly indistinguishable from the Walking Dead.
We were wrong.
On a recent excursion into the badlands, I witnessed something truly amazing. Three men, ragtag and dirty, defended a single home against a host of the nightmarish things that haunt the streets.
Their leader, who appeared just as mad as the monsters he faced, flung what appeared to be hardened balls of plaster from a window. On his head he wore an old cast iron pot, and he laughed with every throw. He reminded me of nothing so much as a crazy, toothless old wizard in his tower.
The other two defenders confounded their attackers, and astounded yours truly, by waiting patiently until the zombies had demolished the door of their fortress, then signaled to each other with a whistle and a head nod. The first defender stood behind a grandiose oak bookcase. The second, stood waiting with a bottle and brand.
At the signal, the bookcase man charged, pushing the bookcase as a battering ram. The second, lit the a rag handing limp from the bottle neck with his torch and threw the Molotov at the bookcase, setting it ablaze.
The flaming battering ram hit the remnants of the door, burning and frightening the mindless horde. Genius.
Shortly after the display I was forced to flee, thus, I have no idea of the fate of the unlikely heroes. I do wish them, the two knights and their strange Captain, the best.
Rest assured men, tonight I drink to you.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Silhouettes
Observed strange new tribe-
I was outside the city proper last night; one of the areas that wasn't ruined. It was late, later than anyone had any right to be out, but I'd spent most of the night with an old friend and lost track of time. You know how it is.
Two or three rubber trash cans sat at the curb of each house. It blew my mind that still, in this world, there would be something as civilized as a weekly garbage pickup. But why not? There are still working cars. There is still gasoline.
After five minutes on the street, my danger sense went crazy, and I threw myself into a bush. Something up the street caught my eye, and I saw Them- white as ghosts, on either side of a strange vehicle (it looked like a car, but its back end looked like that of a pickup truck). One stood on the driver's side, door open, keeping a lookout, half in the car, ready to slam the door and peel off. The other was a monster, six feet tall and four feet wide. He, unassisted, lifted what looked like a full size oven, and set it in the back of the car/truck. They each got in and cruised down the street, away from yours truly, moving at a crawl, looking for more treasures in the refuse.
My gluttony for information won out, and I followed them, sneaking from porch to porch, staying in the shadows. We ended at a park, where they met with more of their tribe. Eight groups in total.
Fascinated, I crept as close as I dared, observing from hiding. I couldn't get close enough to hear (thankfully?).
Picture a separate race of people, white as alabaster. See the women, tall and sleek; every one of a natural runner, having evolved into perfect scouts. The men are unkempt and burly, bearlike. One knows by looking, they are warriors all.
They travel in male/female pairs, each in a vehicle (which vary, but are equally suited to carrying a heavy assortment of treasures). From what I can tell, they roam in a caravan until finding an area ripe with plunder, then split into groups and scavenge what they can.
They seemed benign, and I'd nearly convinced myself to approach them when, a straggling van pulled out of a side street, a man wearing a bathrobe tied to their roof rack. The owners of the van parked, ignoring the thrashing of their unwilling passenger. The group discussed him (probably) for a some time. I couldn't begin to guess what they were saying, but at one point they all erupted with laughter, pointing at the poor fool.
Not long after, they each got in their rides and drove off in a single line, the man still tied to roof.
Who are these ghosts in the night, these luminous silhouettes standing in contrast to the dark city street? Is this perhaps where the old people got their legends of the Vampire?
Interesting.
I was outside the city proper last night; one of the areas that wasn't ruined. It was late, later than anyone had any right to be out, but I'd spent most of the night with an old friend and lost track of time. You know how it is.
Two or three rubber trash cans sat at the curb of each house. It blew my mind that still, in this world, there would be something as civilized as a weekly garbage pickup. But why not? There are still working cars. There is still gasoline.
After five minutes on the street, my danger sense went crazy, and I threw myself into a bush. Something up the street caught my eye, and I saw Them- white as ghosts, on either side of a strange vehicle (it looked like a car, but its back end looked like that of a pickup truck). One stood on the driver's side, door open, keeping a lookout, half in the car, ready to slam the door and peel off. The other was a monster, six feet tall and four feet wide. He, unassisted, lifted what looked like a full size oven, and set it in the back of the car/truck. They each got in and cruised down the street, away from yours truly, moving at a crawl, looking for more treasures in the refuse.
My gluttony for information won out, and I followed them, sneaking from porch to porch, staying in the shadows. We ended at a park, where they met with more of their tribe. Eight groups in total.
Fascinated, I crept as close as I dared, observing from hiding. I couldn't get close enough to hear (thankfully?).
Picture a separate race of people, white as alabaster. See the women, tall and sleek; every one of a natural runner, having evolved into perfect scouts. The men are unkempt and burly, bearlike. One knows by looking, they are warriors all.
They travel in male/female pairs, each in a vehicle (which vary, but are equally suited to carrying a heavy assortment of treasures). From what I can tell, they roam in a caravan until finding an area ripe with plunder, then split into groups and scavenge what they can.
They seemed benign, and I'd nearly convinced myself to approach them when, a straggling van pulled out of a side street, a man wearing a bathrobe tied to their roof rack. The owners of the van parked, ignoring the thrashing of their unwilling passenger. The group discussed him (probably) for a some time. I couldn't begin to guess what they were saying, but at one point they all erupted with laughter, pointing at the poor fool.
Not long after, they each got in their rides and drove off in a single line, the man still tied to roof.
Who are these ghosts in the night, these luminous silhouettes standing in contrast to the dark city street? Is this perhaps where the old people got their legends of the Vampire?
Interesting.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Reggie remembers-
"...Surefire hell they was wrong about that. And you know why? Cause people is bored. And boredom brings out the worst in people. You remember high school? Readin' all them tragedies? What happened when one of them ran on too long? You got bored, didn't you. Well this ain't no different. Nothing but a tragedy goin' on way too long." - Reggie Barkwell
I was walking down Sahara Division today and saw "POSERS DIE" spraypainted on the side of a building and it made me think about all the stuff Reg used to say. That part of Charleston, right by the Church of Scientology, that's Plastics territory. When they get bored, they cut on themselves and do weird things to their bodys, so they look perfect.
You can only look so perfect. So what do they do now when they're bored? Maybe they cut other people and make them perfect. Or maybe they ruin each other so they can star all over again.
Or maybe they just spraypaint.
I was walking down Sahara Division today and saw "POSERS DIE" spraypainted on the side of a building and it made me think about all the stuff Reg used to say. That part of Charleston, right by the Church of Scientology, that's Plastics territory. When they get bored, they cut on themselves and do weird things to their bodys, so they look perfect.
You can only look so perfect. So what do they do now when they're bored? Maybe they cut other people and make them perfect. Or maybe they ruin each other so they can star all over again.
Or maybe they just spraypaint.
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