To my Dear Loyal Readers (all two of them!)

I write to you from Fabulous Las Vegas, the Entertainment Capital of the World. Why would I abandon my cats and my garden, you must be asking yourselves, to come to such a home of moral depravity? I will tell you.

I woke up this morning to find that the evil Purple Passion Plant had conquered the interior of my home. I grabbed what I could save (husband and cats included, along with Mortimer, Dutchie, and my Tea Pot that Does Not Drip) and rushed outside, hoping for safety. Lo and behold, a contigent of crocofrogs was advancing towards the Chateau Marn. We turned and fled in the opposite direction, only to be halted by a squadron of diabolic squirrels.

I ran, host in tow, to the Marnmobile and escaped with no time to spare. We caught the first flight out of Montreal, which happened to be destined for Las Vegas.

We arrived in McCarran International Airport to the luscious sounds of slot machines. The Strip hotels wouldn't accomodate the cats (and what fools they are) so I dashed of a quick e-pistle to good old Heptachlor, who graciously (or should I rather say grudgingly) invited the Entourage de Marn to stay in his beauteous suburban manse.

Las Vegas is a piece of work. It consists entirely of identical suburbs, terra cotta roofs and the like, and large strip malls. But, as odd as this place is, it doesn't hold a candle to dear old Heptachlor's family.

First, there is the evil and eternally hungry Satan Cat (yes, that's the scientific classification), name of Lucyfer, who doesn't get along with Zoe in the least. There is also the Most Spoiled Dog on Earth, Bear. Oh, Heptachlor's parents are ... interesting to say the least.

Heptachlor was kind enough to show me around his neighborhood. Our tour featured the Mormon branch church, the Mormon stake (sort of the regional hq of mormondom), a view of the Mormon temple (THE PLACE for ceremonials et al) and quite a few chain restaurants, department stores, boutiques, etc. Also, I've determined with my Super Math Skills that Las Vegas has the highest rate of SUVs per real oppourtunity to use them. The count? 308,687 to 0. Heptachlor's mother's vehicle included.

Dutchie has found that the hot desert air is deleterious to her skin tone, but I am forced to demure. If only there was humidity, Las Vegas could be the Largest Sauna on Earth -- temperatures well into the frying range. The desert vistas might be appealing to the Ascetic Aesthetic if only the 308,687 SUVs did not produce copious amounts of photochemical smog.

As many faults as the city has, Las Vegas is, at heart, a lovely city where the ancient and gullible can have the dream of winning big. And who couldn't love the overt gaudiness of the Strip.

I have the feeling, dear Two Readers, that I may yet enjoy my stay in Las Vegas (at Heptachlor's behest, I have not yet included a Lost Wages joke). At least there aren't half the deadly creatures (discounting the Maniacal Suburban Mothers) as in Oz-freakin-Stralia. There is a curious dearth of maple products, though. How shall I survive?

I'll make it, eh.

Here's the Heptachlormeister himself to give you a message:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARN!

yt,

heptachlor

I Return Once Again, As I Have in the Past only to Deceive You - 8:10 p.m. , 2001-09-30

-- - 10:49 p.m. , 2001-08-24

Untitled - 7:07 p.m. , 2001-07-23

I return from Brazil - 9:57 p.m. , 2001-07-18

Nada - 4:19 p.m. , 2001-06-29