Too bad I didn’t whip my phone out and snap a picture of the scene that unfolded before me prior to Las Vegas Ragnar. Now you’ll have to put up with my clumsy wording and half-assed explanation in order to grasp the hilarity that ensued.
Here goes nothing. Before the race, I decided to take a stroll along the strip. Somewhere between the MGM Grand and the Hard Rock existed a city block full of “street entertainers,” i.e., hobos dressed up in cool outfits doing shit for thirty seconds and then expecting a tip. Within this city block were four different entertainment acts, three of which were mesmerizing a crowd of people with their performance. Here is what I saw:
Two dudes in transformers costumes transformed, Mortal Kombat characters fought it out, and Spiderman did some acrobats. Each act housed a crowd of about thirty people, of which many threw dollar bills in to the respective tip jars. Pretty impressive stuff.
Then I got to Batman. Batman was at the end of the block. Batman didn’t have a crowd… at all. Curiosity drew me closer to the Dark Knight, and I immediately saw why Batman’s tip jar was empty. On the bench next to Batman sat a thirty-something tweaker on the wrong end of his meth binge. The tweaker had his mud caked hands gripped tightly around the tall boy nestled in his lap while sobbing hysterically, tears dripping in to his beer. Batman was pissed! The tweaker was basically “C Blocking” his act! Nobody wanted to be anywhere near this awkward scene, thus, all the money went to Spidey and the Transformers.
The picture that I wished I had snapped was of an exasperated Batman throwing his hands in to the air, with a classic “WTF!?!” look on his face while hovering over the drugged, despair-ridden degenerate. It would have been AWESOME.
As I type this, I realize that many may not find this funny, rather, they may look at this situation as some sad representation of poverty blah, blah, blah.
NO! I’m telling you right now. That was hilarious, and I was too slow on the draw with my cell phone. Next time, Killer J readers, next time.