Wonderhussy vs. the Bedazzled Bumpkins


Ya hear that?! It’s the sound of the 50,000 cowboys, farmers, hillbillies and rednecks who are in Vegas right now for the National Finals Rodeo. Lately, it seems you can’t walk two fuckin’ feet without tripping over a big-haired, fat-assed rodeo queen in bedazzled alligator-skin Jesus boots. It’s insane!

Now, normally I looooove rodeo season. Like many of you, I am enamored of the whole big-sky, big-hat, big-haired, Wild-West-rootin’-tootin’-shootin’-broken-nosed-tobaccy-stained-Jesus-lovin’-whore-fuckin’-church-goin’-corn-holin’-Copenhagen-chawin’ circus. It’s America, distilled to its anti-gov’ment, anti-Obammycare, anti-science essence. God love ’em!

But this year, I find my patience sorely tested by these folk…mainly because I’m stuck taking souvenir photos at a country music shlocktacular which happens to be, quite oxymoronically, a high-end affair. Reg’lar folk cain’t afford tickets to this hayseed extravaganza, so all the really cool down & out, busted-up, Merle-Haggard-type cowboys are all down on Fremont Street, swigging Coors Light and yodeling at the homeless. Meanwhile, I’m stuck kissing the Texas-sized asses of the worst kind of nouveau riche rednecks I’ve ever had the misfortune of talking to. You know the type!

Gravity-defying, artfully-frosted hair…plush alpaca vests over man-made titties…those god-awful Swarovski-encrusted cow-lady belts…and let’s not forget the tacky-ass ginormous bejeweled crosses on everything. These rednecks are loaded and they want you to know allllll about it! Why, just the other day I saw a bottle-blonde cougar in Jesus-print Louboutains embossed with Mark 10:25 in Swarovski crystals!!! (Just kidding, but you should please note my hypocrisy-bustin’ Bible-verse quotin’.)

These bumpkins’ conspicuous consumerism brings to mind the only other Vegas demographic who even come close to matching the rednecks’ ostentatious display of wealth — the Thugs!! Hip-hop and country music have more in common than one would think, sartorially speaking. Both are desperate to prove their means by flashing their wealth at every opportunity, on every available inch of their persons and possessions. SAD!!!

Aaaaaaaaanyway, you might kin buy bedazzled Louboutains….but you can’t buy taste, and that’s why the show where I’ve been toiling has been so packed — they just don’t know any better. Now, I have nothing personal against the headliner of this show, whom I’ve been referring to as Shennany Twang — in fact, she seems like a truly cool, down-to-Earth woman from humble beginnings, who also happens to be astonishingly beautiful (some scientists actually rated her as having the “perfect” face, in terms of proportions, etc.). But jeeeeeeeezum crow, is her show thick with shtick!

Maybe I have an exceptionally jaded eye, but the whole thing smacks of pandering to me. From what I’ve read, Shenanny didn’t even want to be a country singer when she started out — she wanted to sing rock-n-roll, but a canny manager convinced her to switch horses, and it certainly paid off, as she’s had a fabulously successful career. And now that she’s been sucked into the Vegas fold, her corporate masters are using her as a tool to shamelessly pander to the rodeo folk. Whoever designed the show did so with Machiavellian precision, loading it up with horses and sequins and boot-scootin’, do-si-do-in’ cowboys — all the things rodeo people likes ta see. The sets look to be straight out of Disneyland’s Country Bear Jamboree — the only thing missing is a somber interlude about Jesus and/or some poor kid with cancer, a la Terry Fator’s show. It’s a riot!!!!! 

The best part of all of it is, I can only imagine the politely disguised look of horror on the regular headliner’s face when she sees all this nuttiness going down on the stage they built for HER. You know, La Quebecoise?? She of the breath-takingly hubristic life-sized mannequin in the lobby?! She must be shitting her silken palazzo pants, watching all those boots scuffing her stage. And those horses!! It’s just a matter of time before one of them takes a massive shit right where Madame Titanique belts out her signature hit every night.   Quel horreur!!!

Anyway, all of this is why I’m a little rodeoed out right now. I plan to shake it off and go mingle with the down & out, busted-up crowd one of these nights…and then I’m sure I’ll feel better about it. After all, I have had some fabulous times during rodeo in Vegas. Those cowboys do like to party! I remember one time, when I had first moved to town, I was cruising down Las Vegas Blvd. in the ginormous pink 1986 Lincoln Town Car I used to drive, heading home after a shitty night at work. A limo pulled up beside me, and a bevy of cowboys erupted from the moonroof, urging me to come join them at the Stardust for the Ricky and the Redstreaks show! I ended up partying the night away with those drunken fools, having the time of my life. But that was then, this is now: the Stardust was imploded, and some dumb wigger is driving my Lincoln. SIGH!

But even if I DID want to party with the cowboys, I’ve been working so freaking much lately that I’ve hardly had the time!! An acquaintance actually hit me up on Twitter last week to see if I wanted to hang out with Merle Haggard on Friday night (!!), but alas, I had to decline…because of my fabulous job at the nightclub. Boo!!! It’s a sad fuckin’ day when a girl has to decline an invite to party with MERLE HAGGARD, all in the name of paying her bills. Oh, well — like I said, it was for my fabulous nightclub job, so I didn’t mind so much!

I was only able to squeeze in a very few moments of fun this week, sadly. I did this fantastic photo shoot with my friend Randy Fosth/Shutterbug-Studio…but I literally had to SQUEEZE it in between gigs, so we only had about 40 minutes to shoot, and then I ended up being late for work. I had forgotten the damn marathon was that night (for some reason they had it at night this year, instead of in the morning like usual)….so I left Randy’s house late, and ended up having to race all over town, trying to figure out the backstreets to get across the Strip, which was closed. I was 30 minutes late to work, and almost missed out on photographing all those bedazzled bumpkins! CATASTROPHE — narrowly averted!

Then another night, a friend invited me to the grand opening party for this new sports memorabilia attraction at the Luxor called SCORE! I loathe sports, but even I found this place interesting — and it wasn’t just the open bar, either! It’s a genuinely cool exhibit featuring old sports uniforms and trophies and stuff, and interactive exhibits where you can throw a baseball, shoot a hockey puck, and change the tire on a racecar (I personally don’t count NASCAR as a sport, but whatever). The best part of the whole thing was, there were all these half-baked sports celebrities around, and I got a photo with this amazing old-time boxer whose outfit put every single rodeo person to shame. He wasn’t exactly all there, because of all the concussions he’d doubtless suffered…but he was cool, nonetheless! THAT’s the kind of people I dig!!

Then another night, I rode my bike down to First Friday with one of my neighbors. First Friday is our local monthly arts festival downtown, and it used to be pretty cool. Nowadays it’s choked with suburbanites — emasculated dads pushing strollers behind their Lululemon-clad wives, and teenage Hot Topic punks running around guffawing. BO-RING! I hope you’re happy, First Friday — you destroyed a fabulous arts festival in the name of money.

I understand why they did it — if the suburbanites don’t come downtown, who will buy the art?? Certainly not broke-ass boozers like me! But then the question is, what kind of art do they buy? Answer: shitty shit. My friend Brent Holmes a/k/a Barfing Rainbows has been working on a book for months now, featuring models wearing weird latex masks, doing strange shit. Apparently it’s waaaaay too edgy for the hoi polloi, as one of his friends told him: “It’s crass…and crass doesn’t sell.” Well guess what?? Brent has a show up right now at the Arts Factory, in the 303 North Studio…and it’s called “Crass Doesn’t $€££.” HAH!!! He took the photos of me and the other models, and pastiched them together with iconography from various world currencies…then added thought-provoking quotes. The end result is fabulous…so if you’re in the market for some real art, stop in at the 303 North Studio and check it out! And fuck all them haters!!!

Anyway, my neighbor and I and another friend had dinner and stopped in to see Brent, then walked around until it was time for me to go to work. See?? I told you I’m always working!! But I can’t complain — I went home and got dressed in a fabulous new kooky costume, then went in to dance at the nightclub all night. Incidentally, check out my Facebook album featuring photos of this fabulous nightclub!! And while you’re there…..”like” my page!

One other thing I did manage to squeeze in was a promo video for this thing called CyclePubVegas — sort of a bar that is also a 10-person bike, that you pedal around to various bars downtown. I have mixed feelings about this thing: some other friends from the Burning Man community have long had this contraption called the Pedal Pub, which is basically the same thing, but home-made and way cooler. AND, it’s actually people-powered — the CyclePub cheats, and has a motor. The PedalPub people don’t commercialize their contraption — they just use it for parades and events and stuff, and they don’t make any money off of it. But now, this other guy comes along and capitalizes on their idea. Hmmm. To be fair, these “bike/pub” hybrids are already common in Amsterdam, Portland and San Diego…so it’s not like the guy directly stole the idea from the Pedal Pub people. But still…. Either way, if you want to check it out, the website is cyclepubvegas.com. It is a pretty cool way to get around downtown…although be advised, no alcohol is allowed on the bike, and it will not take you anywhere on the Strip — just downtown. But downtown’s where it’s at, anyway…so who cares?!

Anyhoos, that’s about it! Money-wise, that $14k I needed to earn is down to less than $1,000 😀 Which means soon, I will be able to stop working so much. And GUESS WHICH JOB I’ll jettison???! But I still need to hustle, since I think I need to remodel my kitchen 🙁 The half-asser who flipped this house (it was a shitty foreclosure, which some jackass slapped new paint on and then sold to some OTHER sucker)(ahem) did a terrible job with the kitchen cabinets, and everything is falling apart. On top of all that there’s a terrible German cockroach infestation, which no amount of cleaning, bleach nor professionally-applied poison seems to abate…so I think the whole fuckin’ mess has to be ripped out and started over 🙁

I know a kitchen remodel is a LOT of money, but fear not….I have a plan, and it’s called Killer Karaoke!! Bwahahaha……..a friend clued me in to this awful new TruTV show where you have to sing karaoke, while being dipped in a vat of snakes, or something equally terrifying. But if you can sing the entire song, you get $10,000!! HMMMMMM!!!! I haven’t been on any game shows in FOREVER, so I think it’s time to try again — what do you say??? 😀

P.S. I finally started a tumblr blog to post all my nude photos….I feel like posting all these shots of my ass and twat and whatnot here on my blog turns some people off, so from now on I’m only posting R-rated or less here. The rest (and there are some good ones this week!!!) will be at wonderhussy.tumblr.com. Check it out!!!!


Oh………………..hell, I can’t resist posting ONE of them. Scroll down to see it…it’s my FAVORITE!!




John Rush

The white powder version of boric acid kills roaches, so long as you put it in the places that they walk over. But you’ll have to limit those places, since you don’t want your dog walking in it. The glue traps also work, though they’ll cost a bit more, and again, placement is important.

One recommendation that I’ve yet to try (mostly because I’ve not suffered a major infestation) is to half-fill a disposable plastic container with beer, coat the remaining surface with a cooking oil, and place it in the cabinet under your kitchen sink. The roaches will drink the beer and get tipsy, the oil will make it too slippery for them to crawl out, and they’ll drown. You’ll have to replace the container every few days, and the dead roaches might be disgusting, but you don’t want live ones taking over your house. Given the amount of half-filled beer cans that are strewn through your downtown area every night, you might not have to buy any beer.

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *