Mein Kampfy Vegas Trip: Struggles of a Zero-Fucks, Author
Updated: Feb 29
Guten Tag, friends and especially the lurking haters out there!
Today’s post is a very special one, indeed. We have a huge announcement that will surely make all of my haters out there absolutely, Führerious…
Hold onto your lederhosen!
Get this. We are going to Las Vegas, again, for the ninth time in five years!
I know such a life of struggle…
It shall be mein kampfy Vegas vacation; Nine Fräulein!
For an entire week, we have been again, fully COMP’d at our hotel/casino of choice. March is marching season; I'll be goose-stepping down the strip!
We are COMP'd....or should I say, KAMPF'D!
This time, we have chosen to appropriately stay at Caesar’s Palace. The Roman architecture and ominous symbols of power really speak to me for some reason. The Roman Aquila (Latin for “eagle”) just seems to ooze victory…
Such a struggle, my life it seems.
Tis not all fun and games, you see. Going to Las Vegas, again, for the ninth time in five years come with all sorts of difficult decisions and tribulations abound.
For starters, right now, I am struggling with the menacing decision as to how much money I would like to blow, for fun.
This is a problem that no Jew would have, for sure. Jews don’t go to Las Vegas because it is like kryptonite for them. You won’t find many Jews walking around the strip in Las Vegas; mostly rich Asians with too much money for their own good; a lot of greasy Mexicans, Philippians handing out nudie cards for escorts; blacks trying to scam you; white people with money.
Yup, not a lot of Jews. One reason to like Vegas.
Mein Kampf is also trying to decide what beer I would like to drink as soon as I get off the plane.
Ugh, this is going to be such a kampfy trip!
If only I would’ve listened to my normie teachers back when I was a little lad; if only I watched mainstream propaganda and remained a BOB (Better off beta). If only I got my first girlfriend knocked-up and caged myself within the rat-race, killed myself by landing on a corporate landmine. If only I would’ve done all of these things….I wouldn’t be struggling, like I am now, trying to figure out which pair of aviators I want to bring out of my many.
The one thing I do know is that if you are a bachelor travelling to Las Vegas for a week, you really don’t need to bring much. My advice is to pack as if you were a Jew back in 1941 on the way to Auschwitz: Light.
You won’t need much, that’s for sure!
Speaking of travelling long distances and being confined for hours on end, going to sunny Las Vegas for me from where I am located is about a 4-hour flight. Being crammed with a ton of other people just inches away for that long is such a struggle. I can empathize with the Jews on this one. That is why we always fly in Business class for more leg room, better service and Kampfy seats.
Such a struggle.
Oh how I wish I wouldn’t have saved from an early age as a young man.
How I wish I would’ve never started investing said savings into stocks; created a diverse portfolio; became a successful author at the surprising age of only 26-years old. Yes, I surely fucked up.
Just think, in two weeks time If it not for my genius life doctrine of minimalism and assholery, I could be some schmuck commuting for an hour on the highway, cram myself into a cubicle with the other cattle. Alas, in two-weeks time I will be on my kampfy trip to Vegas…..struggling for four hours on the flight…with a fresh beer in hand.
Oh, the humanity!
The worst part is waiting in the terminal. Waiting is the hardest part. Tom Petty knows mein Kampf.
Waiting to go through security can be such a struggle. When looking at the TSA line, most times, all that goes through my mind are thoughts like, “Shiesse, I haven’t seen a line this long since Schindler's List!” or, “We have to take off our shoes, put items into a bin? What else, shave our heads?…Is there a large room with thousands of shoes and human hair inside of it?!”
After going through security, nobody gets a Gold star for a job well done. It’s sickening! I mean, going through that struggle and the relentless torment of minimum wage goons feel’n you up, you should get some sort of award for the endurance. If I ran the TSA, things would be a lot different— It’s amateur hour, here!
Back to the plane ride and how it can be such a kampfy ordeal..
Stop thinking about the Jews for a second and their struggle, instead, how about a little recognition my way. They (the Jews) already get so much attention. Like, fuck, enough! We get it!
For example, this is my similar struggle with regards to confined spaces (i.e the Kampfy plane ride to sunny, hot, Las Vegas).
Upon boarding the plane, to which I will be confined for 4-hours with tons of other humans, we have to line-up single file. Before entering the jetway, we are all documented; tickets are scanned. Treated like numbers. There is a lot of yelling and confusion when boarding; people panicking; trying to place their luggage somewhere; losing loved ones in the sea of chaos, not knowing their whereabouts.
After everyone has been herded like cattle into the tight space that is our steel coffin for the remainder of our 4-hours together, the airport’s henchmen close the air-locked doors, sealing our fate for fun. Heading to sunny, hot, Las Vegas.
We have to wait 4-fucking-hours to meet our fates (lots of fun!) We have to struggle, wiggle and flail uncomfortably in our stay, waiting for that sweet release. I can see the plight now of the Jew now, however, they didn’t have to wait a whole 4-hours. It was more like <4 min.
Yes, the Jews were gassed in those tight spaces.
I can relate. Have you ever sat beside two fat black women, one of which had farted multiple times throughout the duration of our flight, letting off a veritable canister’s worth of methane no more than a foot away from you? Yeah, forget about the Jews for just one second.
This is mein kampf!
Being gassed for 4-hours; being gassed for 4 minutes. No contest, Jews.
It’s not a competition, but again, I digress.
What is on par with being gassed for 4-hours by a fat black chick?
Answer: Having to stare at mediocre and gay flight attendants.
I am sure there will be many tales of kampfyness to tell you once I get back. There will be more struggles.
Until then, auf wiedersehen!