Elvis Conspiracy?

Ok, so, I was supposed to go to Texas, but I wound up in Vegas instead. I know I boarded the right plane, so I ask the stewardess what the blazes is going on. She gives me some long winded story that I only half listened to, but the long and the short of it is some kind of divert and there’ll be another plane to take us all to Texas in like 3-4 hours. I would have been upset, but I always wanted to check out Vegas, anyway. I figured I didn’t have time to get into “Blue Man Group” or any of the jousts over at Camelot, so I just tour the strip. I go into a casino, just to check it out, it’s not like I need the money, LOL. Slots were amusing but no luck there. I don’t care to play roulette, so I figure I’ll try some poker. Big mistake! Not may people realize this, but your standard poker deck is based off the minor arcana in a tarot deck. I, at least, should have known better. I get dealt an entire hand of spades, which in tarot is equivalent to the swords suit. I was gonna bet, seeing as I had a flush, but then the meanings of the cards I was holding came to mind 7, 10, 4, A, 5, and I see this huge mushroom cloud in New York. So I fold, as soon as I can see straight. It was a shame. I would have won the hand. Not that I need the money, but bragging rights would have been nice.

So I leave the casino, debating what to do next, and who do I run into, but Elvis. No, not the real King, but one of the numerous impersonators. And he hit on me. Mind you, I’m dressed Goth and look like a cross between Velma Dinkley and Abby Sciouto. The real kicker is the shirt I have on says “Better to have loved and lost than to be stuck with the psycho the rest of your life.” And Elvis hits on me. I walk away and he tries to serenade me. I run. Then another Elvis, this one much less convincing, one block away, starts. I manage to ditch him.

Then this snob couple is like staring at me so I yell, “Take a picture! It’ll last longer!” And I’m convinced that I’ve scared them off when another Elvis shows up!

“Hands and eyes off the King’s Lady!” he shouts. I reply, “I can handle myself and I ain’t your lady!” Then he starts crooning “Let me be your teddy bear,” and I wanna hurl. He looks the part, but can’t sing for nothing.

So I bolt. I finally manage some decent luck and lose the Elvi. Then I realize I’m in a computer store and buy a lap top, so I can veg at the airport until the plane arrives and gets me the blazes outta here. I swear it's some kind of conspiracy or something!

So, to relax, at the airport, I log onto my blog and do a bit of net surfing. Just when I’m starting to wish that I was invisible, I remember there was another blogger who had something to do with that. I do a search and I find “The Invisible Prophet,” which belongs to a man who calls himself Claude. He’s a very amusing and crafty individual. He occasionally shows up at the Burnt Toast Diner, which is where I wanna go anyway. If I read some of his posts right, he’s invisible. I wonder if he can hide others. I sure could have used his help with the Elvi. I bet he’s seen all kinds of neat stuff. Hey, maybe he knows where I can find the guy I drew. I sure hope he’s at the diner, when I get there and doesn’t mind dealing with a Goth-chick retired nurse…