The cast:

The Smugglers (Nick "Pool Party" Thomas, David "Nickel King" Carswell, Graham "Malt Liquor" Watson, Beez "Poker Stud" Beez, and Grant "Ben Gay" Lawrence.

Also with…

The Evaporators (Nardwuar The Human Serviette, Scott "Laughin’ Boy" Livingstone, John "Flash" Collins).

Kevin "Woo Woo" McCandless

…along with about 40 other bands and a thousand or so people from around the world. Here’s what happened over the course of four sun-drenched days and booze-soaked nights in the sleaziest city on Earth…

Thurs Sept 27, fly to Las Vegas

Well folks, for just ONE forty-five minute Smugglers performance this trek took a ridiculous few months of planning. First there was the fact that our pals the Evaporators were also playing Shakedown, and we had decided to all travel together. Then our rather intense bald pal Kevin McCandless decided that this was a trip he couldn’t miss. Then the actual Shakedown fest started juggling our original timeslots, threatening to reek havoc with our already-paid-for plane tickets. What put the preparations into high-stress mode was the events of September 11. Would Shakedown even happen? Would planes be flying? Would Canadians be allowed in to the USA? These questions and hundreds others were being shot at us daily from Nardwuar, he himself absolutely FREAKED that we would not make it. In the days leading up to our departure he would randomly call one of us in the middle of the night and drill us as if he were a US customs guard to see "if we were ready"….

Telephone at 3:30AM on Tuesday night in mid-September: "ring. ring. ring. ring".

Me: "muh… uhhhh… hel… uh… hello?"

Nardwuar: "CITIZENSHIP!!"

Me: "…uhhh..??"

Nardwuar: "PURPOSE OF TRAVEL!!!"

Me: "…what… what the fuck?"

Nardwuar: "PLEASE!! Please help me!! Airport... Cleo... mozza... SSSSCCCHAKEDOWN!!! Beer 'n' pizza with Nick... Cleo eating a mouse... PLEASE!! Earwax... and uh, Grant? Please? See ya on the way down, or...? Grant? Doot doola doot doo.... Um... DOOT DOOLA DOOT DOO...."

Me: click.

 At Nardwuar’s insistence, we even went so far as to hold a "planning meeting" the night before departure in my thin-walled apartment, where Nardwuar was ranting and raving, screaming things like "SECRET MEETING AT THE AIRPORT", "CO-ORDINATE OUR WATCHES" and "PRETEND NOT TO KNOW ME" (that final demand was no problem). We were envisioning one of my more-alert neighbors dialing "911" and expecting the RCMP to burst through the door any second. We eventually calmed Nard down. He then gingerly said to our bald pal Kevin (who shaves his head and appears, and behaves, extremely menacing, aggressive, and ballistic at the best of times) "look, Kevin, would you consider wearing a wig?"

Everything worked out fine in the Vancouver airport, then a smooth switch at the San Francisco airport, and soon we were touching down in Las Vegas. Nardwuar thought he was home-free. Everyone was getting up from their seats to depart, when a kinda "Ghost World" punk looking girl looked over her seat at Nardwuar and said "are you in a band or something?" Nard froze, jaw hanging open, immediately slipping into a panicked, catatonic, wide-eyed stare at the back of the seat in front of him. It was his moment of truth and he froze. He would NOT move until the girl was long gone and the other members of the Evaps literally shook him loose.

The Evaporators have always been like our older brothers. They were the Smugglers first influence as a band (they started two years earlier than us in 1986) and have always been good friends. That said, they are also extremely cheap, so when we arrived at the airport, all five Smugglers, all four Evaporators and our bald pal Kevin all stuffed ourselves into the four-door sedan that the Smugglers rented and slowly crawled up the strip towards our hotel. Nardwuar handled the ride like he handles gigs: he basically crowd surfed inside the car, sticking his ass, armpits and sweaty sections of his hairy back into various people’s faces depending on the window he contorted himself to see out of to catch a glimpse of one of the massive, stupid casinos.

After settling into our dumpy hotel (the "New" Frontier) and immediately seeing other rock’n’rollers like Reverend Norb from Boris The Sprinkler and a couple guys from the Swingin’ Neckbreakers hanging around the casino floor, we all spread out throughout the strip. A bunch of us hit the "steak and lobster buffet for $9.95" special in the Stardust (home to Wayne Newton’ s show) and ended up eating an incredibly disgusting array of buffet meats. Lobster, shrimp, crab, clams, ham, sausage, roast beef, turkey, salmon, bacon, veal, "lamb shank", pork chops, pork butt, pork ribs, cod, chicken, wieners, muscles, meatloaf, Sirloin steak, Salisbury steak, T-bone steak, chicken fried streak, trout, beef ribs, beef tenderloin, hot wings, and finally, Swedish meat balls. We ate all of that. No salad. Four of us are vegetarians. We just couldn’t help it. It was a buffet.

Doubled over in various degrees of bloated pains of botulism, we tried to walk the strip and do some gambling. Didn’t work out. We then tried to buy some beer to get drunk and burp or something, but ended up spitting most of it out on the sidewalk. There was no more room. Most of us did end up taking in that PATHETIC free pirate show that happens like every fifteen minutes right outside the Treasure Island casino. The show involves "American" pirates fighting off a British ship in full size pirate ships on a lagoon outside the hotel. Literally THOUSANDS of people watch the show, and after a couple of lousy stunts and wimpy explosions, the whole thing is over in like five minutes. Of course the Americans beat the British, but the capper is when the Pirate Captain triumphantly shouts out to the crowd "Avast ye mateys! Arrr, we have beaten them British sea dogs again! And now, won’t ye help us celebrate this victory of ours by joining us… INSIDE THE TREASURE ISLAND CASINO!!" And then of course all the big double doors to the casino are flung open and the massive throng all excitedly rushes in. It was something straight out of The Simpsons.

Fri Sept 28, Smugglers show, Las Vegas Shakedown

Beez left the hotel room at the crack of dawn, as being the true opportunist/gambling addict he truly is, he had himself signed up in advance to about seven or eight poker tournaments throughout the weekend. Being that most of the other contestants in the tournaments were in their late seventies and early eighties, the competitions start extremely early in the morning, and Beez was gone by 8:00AM (midday for a senior).

That left the rest of us to enjoy the day until the Shakedown officially started later that night. Grant hit the New Frontier beauty salon and got a feathered ‘do from a born again Christian who was ready to personally hunt down Bin Laden herself and eat his hairy balls for breakfast armed only with her pair of scissors if need be. The Evaporators continued to hit various casinos on the Strip, and eventually Graham, Nick and Grant found themselves a ways down the Strip in the garden of Eden that is the pool area of the fancy Monte Carlo casino. The swimming area is usually exclusive to the Monte Carlo’s high-end clientele, but we managed to sweet talk our way in and enjoyed an elitist day basking pool-side in the 110 degree heat, taking lazy floats down their river canal, and sipping sweet booze. An obnoxious Aussie woman even tried to pick up Nick while he was body surfing in the wave pool. When Graham swam up she pointed at him and shrieked "Blimey! Yer as white as the belly of a dingo, mate!" He said "shut up, Aussie bitch" and swam away again.

Due to some outrageous behavior from last year’s Shakedown, this year’s festival was no longer in a casino ballroom, and was now way off the Strip in an old theatre called the Huntridge. Last year’s show was at the Gold Coast casino, and as mentioned, the attendees and bands went so apparently nuts, there were reports of repeated false fire alarms, smashed statues, vandalized fountains, "intimidated gamblers", and even open blow jobs in the elevators while senior citizens rode along right beside the sucking and slurping of hard cock. That said and done, Shakedown got kicked out on its ass and had to relocate. The Huntridge is basically an old theatre that has been completely gutted, painted black, had a huge PA inserted and now caters mainly to metal shows. This weekend the metal took a backseat for three nights of international rock n roll. Almost immediately we heard that several of the bands had canceled for one reason or another, the most common reason due to the events of September 11. That created room for other bands and caused the schedule to get constantly juggled so when we showed up, a great band from Seattle was playing that wasn’t even billed: none other than Beez’s pick of Shakedown, the Briefs. After a few other bands, including a notable set by the Excessories, it was the Smugglers turn to rock and we had a blast! We were a little concerned that we could be playing to a room full of holier-than-thou garage rock penis-head puritans, but thankfully this was not the case. This crowd wanted to let loose and PARTY! This was our first time EVER playing Las Vegas for one reason or another and we made up for lost time playing all sorts of songs, lots of requests with lots of extra energy. All along the front row were friends and fans from all over the world: Japan, New Zealand, Europe, and of course Canada and the USA. Reverend Norb judged the dance contest and made the very controversial decision of giving one of our coolest trophies ever to Cathy Bauer from Lookout Records, but luckily we had another trophy that we gave to the manic kids from Japan.

After the show we hung out for the rest of the night and literally talked to extremely friendly people from EVERYWHERE! There were folks there from every corner and pocket of the USA and most major cities in Canada, folks from all over Europe, lots of kids from Japan, some from Australia and New Zealand, some even from South America!! We saw ol’ pals like Mike "Gearhead" LaVella, "Time Bomb" Tom from Green Bay, Martin "Rock and Fucking Roll" McMartin from Long Beach, Maggie "Maggles" Lee from Boston, Doug "The Cawk" Cawker from Calgary, JJ from DMZ and of course all the fabulous girls from Supersnazz. A fantastic first night, and the Smugglers couldn’t have asked for anything better.

Sat Sept 29 01, Evaporators show, Las Vegas Shakedown

As mentioned a few times, the weather down in Nevada this weekend was absolutely scorching, without a cloud in the sky, day after day. Hot in the day, hot in the night, didn’t matter. And since Vancouver is a seasonal place that gets chilly and wet around the beginning of October without significantly letting up until March or April, we thought that we should take advantage of the sunny desert weather. Some of us decided once again to spend our day pool-side, this time at the pool conveniently located in the courtyard of our hotel.

Nick, Grant and our bald pal Kevin were the first to strip down and set up our deck chairs along side the pool, and we weren’t really sure whether we’d see any fellow Shakedowners pool-side or not. Most garage-rockers are kinda like vampires… they tend to shimmy for the nighttime and shrivel at the sunshine. But against the best Vegas odds, out from the casino soon crept more and more festival attendees, finding their own secluded spots around the pool. An Asian beauty in a black bikini swayed by, looking for her own sunnin’ spot. She eventually ended up at the opposite end of the pool from us, lay down and started to soak in the vitamin D. Squinting across the glittering chlorinated waters, our bald pal Kevin couldn’t keep his eyes off her bronzed butt. He’d take a slurp from his Colt 45 tall-boy, look over, then take another slurp. Finally he could stand it no longer. Screaming "FUCK THIS BULLSHIT GUYS", he flew out of his seat, took a running belly flop into the empty pool soaking shocked seniors left and right. Our bald pal Kevin quickly swam the length of the pool, hopped out, and went straight over to the bikini-clad beauty. We have NO idea what he said to her, but whatever it was worked because after thirty seconds of his wild, dripping gestures, she had gathered up her things and those wildly exotic hips were on their way over to our side! Our bald pal Kevin continued on with his antagonistic yet charming pied-piper party-pooling, until the three of us were surrounding in sunbathing Shakedowners from coast to coast! The Asian temptress with the body sublime was Noriko from Montana, along with her surly friend Julie from Atlanta, as well as people from New York, Alabama, Texas, California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Illinois, and Kentucky. We had soon taken over most of the pool, lounging in the chairs, the Jacuzzi or the convenient shallow terraces that lined the sides of the pool, where one could sit in a relaxing foot of water while mingling with new found friends. The booze was flowing, the sun tan lotion was oozing, the odd boner was indeed popped, and the water from the pool was oh so cool. Oooooh, Las Vegas!

Even though we were having a ball feeling like the reincarnates of the Rat Pack, we knew we’d have to wrap up the half-naked hijinks before sunset because the Evaporators were scheduled to hit the stage at the ridiculously EARLY time of 3:30PM!! They were the very first band of Saturday’s Shakedown action, and I’ll go on record here with the opinion that the Evaporators got the Shakedown shaft. The mighty Evaps have been a band for over FIFTEEN YEARS!! They put on a must-see incredible show! Nardwuar can control a crowd like Anthony Robbins, Jesus and Hitler all rolled up into one! (Pretty good description of him actually). And yet here was Nard and his Evaps, opening for bands who were to immediately follow them that formed a year or two ago and may have a single or two out?!? WHAT THE FUCK?? Nonetheless, being the professional showmen they are, the Evaporators sucked it up and pulled out the stops, putting on by FAR one of the most entertaining sets of the entire festival. And while the crowd was quite respectable in numbers for a boiling Vegas afternoon, the Evaporators deserved to play to a whole lot more people, much later on in the evening. The kids who were present were treated to all of the Evaps’ crowd-control antics and forced participation, giving many people much-needed relief from the multitude of early evening sets that consisted of bands nervously standing and staring at their audience that for the most part stood and stared right back, usually with their arms crossed.

Another band that proved to be an apex of the weekend’s entertainment was Red Planet. Because of their free-wheeling willingness to have fun in the face of a still-somewhat subdued early Saturday evening atmosphere, these four kids from San Francisco were AMAZING. Sounding and looking like a cross between Chixdiggit and Sloan, Red Planet tore through a great set of Cheap Trick-esque high-energy rock ‘n’ roll, sometimes unabashedly metal. The lead guitarist’s hammer-on solo attacks was at times so furious, he sometimes completely lost it laughing like Harvey Korman in a Carol Burnette skit, dropping his guitar to his side with a huge grin on his face. They incorporated nice zings of Moog organ into hilarious songs like "Law of Tonnage" and ran about the stage with total reckless abandon, even ending their set with a cover of Van Halen’s "Panama", something that certainly must have seemed like a cold slab of liver to the garage-rock Fonzies in the crowd. We loved it (and yes, it helped that the lead singer was proudly sporting a Smugglers t-shirt!) So many bands played this thing like nervous-nellies, making sure they had the three chords right and the fuzz just perfect, hardly interacting with the audience or themselves. Whereas, just like we learned at the pool earlier in the day, at an event where everyone shares the same interests, everybody really wants to let DOWN their guard, talk, rock, and have a good time together! Thank you Red Planet for realizing that and rocking that joint damn hard! So impressed were us Smugglers that at the conclusion of their set, Nick immediately and rudely barged into their dressing room. On behalf of the Smugglers, Nick officially invited all four members to join our next pool party, slated for the following day, all day.

The other band that all of us Smugglers had circled in the program was Supersnazz. The last time we rocked with these sweet people was at sardine-packed club called Jam in Tokyo back in May 2000, so we were quite excited to see them again. They enjoyed a full house, having the prime-time slot of 11:00PM. They played all their hits from their excellent last record "Diode City" as well as a few from their new one that just came out called… I can’t remember what it’s called right now, actually. Oh well, great to see and party with them again. Bassist Tomoko is a gambling fiend! She would not sleep! We’d get up in the morning and find her where we left her at 4:00AM, yanking on a slot machine! Incredible!

Other notable sets of Saturday night were Alabama’s Immortal Lee County Killers (who Nick joined for a raunched out guitar solo as the lead singer played harmonica), the Fleshtones (who Nick ended up in a drinking contest turned US foreign policy argument with after their set), and the Humpers (who Nick was dancing to so hard he lost his sunglasses, camera, and Red Planet record – he got all but his sunglasses back. Who took those? Give em back, the frame is out of print, you thieving leopard-print pompadour iron cross Cuban heeled garage rock dance floor klepto!).

If the washrooms were any indication, this was definitely the "party night" of the festival. By the time the Humpers were wrapping up, all of the urinals, toilets and sinks in the men’s bathroom were filled with puke. According to an eye-witness account from Nick, this apparently was also the case in the women’s washroom. So drunk was one Shakedowner, that when he saw the urinal basin was overflowing with barf, he shrugged his shoulders, pulled out his dirty cock and pissed right into the puke, splashing it and his piss all over his pants and the bathroom floor. Speaking of piss on pants, while I was at the urinal a little later, the drunken chappie beside me looked over at my cock, then looked up at me and slurred "hey aren’t you Grant from the Smugglers?" As he said this he turned towards me, piss spurting in a steady stream, and proceeded to attempt to converse with me while unwittingly pissing directly on my leg. Needless to say I jumped back like a mongoose from a spitting cobra and spat out a string of obscenities in his face. If you’re reading this now, sorry for the cursing, chappie, but here in Canada it is considered EXTREMELY rude to piss directly on someone, and unlike most Shakedowners, I pack my manners abroad.

Sunday Sept 30, final night, Las Vegas Shakedown

Even though the night before proved to be very debaucherous, drunken and rather out of control with many Smugglers and Evaporators not leaving the casino floor until 6:00AM, most of us did manage to get up in time to make it to Nick’s scheduled pool party at 11:00AM. Once again the weather was perfect if too hot, and today we managed to get Beez and Graham into the swim trunks as well. Dave opted out, feeling particularly lucky, which, as the reader will read later, turned out to be prudent urge.

Sure enough, just like the day before, the weary and hung over Shakedowners soon outnumbered the pool’s regular "leathered and feathered" clientele, and the day-time sunshine party was once again ON. Even though Nick and our bald pal Kevin barely had any sleep, they were both running on pure social adrenaline, making sure everyone had enough booze, lotion and conversation. Nardwuar even showed up, and to our delight, he was immediately surrounded by inquiring sun-tanned girls in bikinis. One of them asked if she could make out with him then and there, to which he replied "I don’t drink, I don’ t smoke, I don’t fuck!" and ran off, leaving her standing their, nipples erect.

At one point I took it upon myself to question the waitress (who might personally supply 90% of the funding for the Vidal Sasoon hair spray production line) as she spent her day wandering through our bare-skinned camp mumbling "cocktails… cocktails… cocktails…".

Me: "Excuse me, honey, isn’t it actually kind of dangerous to be serving booze to people in this kind of heat?"

Her: blank stare.

Me: "Listen doll, I’m saying isn’t it somewhat irresponsible of the hotel to be selling alcohol at this early hour should one of these people have too much and be ill-affected by the combination of booze and 110 degree heat?" Her: blank stare.

Me: "Look sweet tits, shouldn’t you at least be offering bottled water or juice or something along with the alcohol products!?!" Her: "… cocktail?"

Me: "Yeah baby. I’ll have a double whiskey and coke and make it quick".

Soon the entire Red Planet entourage also made it down to the pool and brought with them their energy, causing much laughter and commotion. Nick and Red Planet’s lead singer Jeremy even took it upon themselves to entertain the crowd, taking multiple choreographed dives into the pool, right beside a sign that said "SHALLOW – NO DIVING!". Like his brain-dead counterpart the cocktail waitress, the hotel’s zombified lifeguard looked on with indifference. Jeremy and Nick drunkenly pulled off all sorts of moves –front flips, back flips, twists and dives, you name it, all to the delight of the audience of international onlookers. The best part of the antics had to be that they both came away with nary a hint of permanent spinal chord injury! Yeah!

We tried to keep the awesome pool party going as long as we could, stretching it out for about five hours or so. Eventually people either passed out in a pool of their own sweat and empties, or managed to stumble inside and up to their hotel room to prepare for a final night of rock music.

Myself, Nick and our bald pal Kevin for some reason still had energy to burn so we hopped in the rental car and headed for the hills, checking out the fabulously spectacular Red Rock Canyon an hour outside of town. In places like these I’m often guilty for quickly comparing them to their closest pop-culture reference point and at this lovely geographic wonder I was completely a-buzz. "See that peak? Just like Big Thunder Mountain at Disneyland! Ooo… see down in that box canyon?? Just like when Bobby and Cindy got lost on Brady Bunch! Woah!! See those cliffs? I feel like Billy Jack! I love Billy Jack!" Nick puts up with it, along with my constant references to the degrees of weather, but our bald pal Kevin had had enough. "Look fucker, just take it for what it is. It’s fuckin’ nature, real nature, and it doesn’t need a loser like you pinning some bullshit Brady Bunch tag to it all right? We just don’t need that shit right now, so shut the fuck up".

After a silent drive back to the glaring paradox of the Strip, we took to our respective hotel rooms to get ready for one more night of non-stop bands. And since we’d been exposed to such a tonne of sunshine and elements, I thought it’d be rather wise to grab some of the moisturizer someone had left in the bathroom and smear it generously all over my entire body. Gotta keep the skin supple! After wandering around the hotel room naked for a few minutes waiting for the moisturizer to soak in, my entire body suddenly started to feel strangely numb and rubbery. Stumbling towards the bathroom feeling like my skin had been frozen with Novocain, I fumbled for the tube I thought had been moisturizer: "Ben Gay Extra-Strength Heavy Duty No Messin’ Around Total Muscle Relaxant – Now With Extra Added Power". My entire body suddenly slipped onto the floor and I flopped about the hotel room like Sammy The Pubic Hair Seal, completely naked and helpless. I tried calling for help but had lost control of my lips and sounded like that girl with cerebral palsy that sometimes guest starred on "Facts Of Life". I attempted to pick up the phone but couldn’t cradle it properly, my head lolling to and fro, soon falling back on the floor with the phone on top on me. Like a spawning salmon with down-syndrome I managed to make it to the tub, rolled myself into it and with a knee and an ear turned on the water and started power-spraying the dilapidating cream from my tanned, hirsute body. And then about ten minutes later I was dressed and ready to go. Watch out for that stuff, eh! That was almost as bad as the time I mixed up stay-hard cream and lubricant in a dark bedroom, mistakenly rubbing the stay-hard cream on the OUTSIDE of the condom, freezing the INSIDE of the poor girl’s vagina! She couldn’t feel a thing! But that’s another story for another time.

Most of the Evaporators and our bald pal Kevin decided they had seen quite enough garage rock for one weekend thank you very much, and made evening plans to take in Vegas attractions like the Elvis Museum and the Stratosphere. Nick, Graham, Nardwuar and I decided to stick it out, though it hindsight that may have been a mistake. Back we returned for one last go at the Huntridge for another twenty-plus bands. This night was pretty much a blur. Early on, the sunshine and alchohol obviously had a tiring affect on Graham as he was dozing off in the Huntridge BBQ pit by about 8PM. We suggested he just throw in the towel and head back to the hotel to which he agreed, and we thought that’d be it for him. Wrong. About an hour later, a white convertible 2002 Mustang stuffed with Shakedowners screeched into the parking lot of the Huntridge with Motley Crue blaring. To our shock, Graham was standing on the passenger seat screaming "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS!!", fists in the air, one hand clenching an open 40 ouncer of malt liquor, the other a giant bong. Guess he caught a second wind.

Through hazy exhausted memories, the only bands that I can truly recall from this night were Zen Guerrilla from San Francisco, who put on a powerful show, and the Dirt Bombs from Detroit, the last band of the festival. Hype may have proceeded the D-Bombs however, as their stage presentation didn’t quite match the intensity of their record, although their two-drummer angle was a surprise and pretty damn cool to watch.

And so after the beer ran dry at the bar, the last slab of BBQ ribs were sold and the final group of the forty-plus bands packed up, Shakedown 2001 was over. And while this year’s fest certainly had its problems (isolated venue, questionable sound, canceled bands [headliners the Zeros canceled for the second year in a row] and lack of booze on the last night) this was the first Shakedown the Smugglers played, and we must conclude that we had a blast. We were certainly glad that we played the first night, because along with most attendees, we were absolutely burnt OUT by the time the last night rolled around. Besides getting to play, the greatest aspect of Shakedown has to be the aforementioned gathering of so many like-minded people. And while several people I spoke to expected aloof and cool behavior, that was generally non-existent with most people being extremely friendly, talkative and kind to each other. Thanks for the good times folks, maybe see you all again next year?

Oh! How ‘bout a report of the winnings? As usual, Dave was the big winner, netting around $200.00. The day he skipped the pool party he nursed a slot machine for a nice jackpot of 1000 nickels. He would also take strolls across the street to the little drug store/malt shop casino near the Huntridge and shock the fossils glued to bar stools when he’d stroll out five minutes later with $25 in quarters in his pockets. "Who was that guy?" they’d ask the bartender. "Don’t know, but the som’bitch been doin’ that all weekend!" Of course this comes nowhere near Dave’s all-time biggest take of $1500 in a weekend at Reno. He walked in to Circus Circus and worked out a $1250 jackpot on the quarter slots (they presented him with a big cheque and a Polaroid photo of the moment) and a two hours later rang the bells again for another $250! He is the king of video poker! On to the real poker tables, Beez didn’t quite fair so well in all the tournaments he signed up for. In one he came in 12^th out of 25 players, and other 10^th out of 25, and in his last one, 8^th out of 25. All in all he lost a whopping thousand bucks and change! The man is serious about his poker! Lucky for him he’s a phone-sex baron in Vancouver and can afford to throw that kind of money around! The rest of us hardly gambled, opting for sunshine, music and sleep instead of dirty thieving slot machines. We found another side of Sin City that didn’t leave us feeling ripped off, chewed up and spat out, but as Dave always proves, to each their own!

See you in the front row,

Love,

                  Your Smugglers