Right after, ok maybe the next day or the day after that, the King had a slight revelation. Well, it was more of a great fucking idea. He asked me if I wanted to mob it to Vegas to see Pac Div Casey Veggies and some white kid. I was hesitant at first, then I realized something. It's. Fucking. Vegas. So I agreed. Tickets were bought, money withdrawn. Thursday morning, we set out. It was to be an epic day. Right as we hit the San Bernadino/Victorville area we both stumbled upon a thought, Vegas is really fucking far. I kinda had an idea, but the King had never been there, so to him it was an all new adventure. We stopped in Barstow as I always do, I've made it a tradition for myself and whoever is with me when I travel through Barstow. El Pollo Loco was our choice of grub. While there the lady asked for my name, I, of course said "Thunderbird" then i looked at my recipt it said "Tonderbird" I cried a little on the inside. But whatever that isn't the point of the story. The point is we ate and left. Next stop Vegas. The next 2 or 3 hours consisted of non-stop music, mostly Mac Miller and Wiz Khalifa, pointless but incredibly deep banter and of course THE FUCKING DESERT! Finally, after an hour of the King's relentless "Are we there yet?" we hit our destination. Vegas. Here we are. We parked at the Luxor, but this was just the beginning of the greatest fucking time of my life...
to be continued...
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