THE LAS VEGAS CAPER

Exhibit A: Security footage of the culprit (magnified by several drinks).

We had decided to go to Rum Jungle, one of the more popular clubs. I had been wearing my Bart Simpson shirt and was disappointed when I heard that there was a dress code. I relented, and Sky lent me one of his dress shirts.

The interior of the club was packed with well-dressed people, expensive drinks, dizzying light displays, and scantily-clad women dancing on small stages throughout.

After dancing for a bit to make it appear as if I was an average clubber, I glanced around to make sure I was alone. I wasn't of course; there were many, many people dancing all around me. But, I was drunk enough at the time that I figured that later, when I remembered it, I would think I had been drunk enough to think I was alone. Right...

I unbuttoned the dress shirt I was wearing to reveal the spiky hair of Bart Simpson. The rest of my time in the club I received several compliments and a few puzzled looks. Puzzled and jealous looks came from people who probably thought I knew the owner or something and didn't have to follow the dress code.

It was really hot in the club. At the end of the dance floor was a large sheet of glass that had water running down it. I reasoned that I wouldn't be so hot if the water were running on me as well, so I pressed my body against it. I was right.

So there was one more soaked, dancing fool in a Bart Simpson T-shirt at Rum Jungle that Friday night than there were on most nights.

Four frenzied hours later, we left. It was for the best, since I had been feverishly scheming to find a way to get up here:



Coming soon: Exhibit B.