Sin City Presents Magazine September 2018 Volume 5 Issue 08 - Page 38


MESQUITE, Nev. -- Camel Safari is a 176-acre camel ranch stretching along the Virgin Mountain range and Virgin River, just six miles south of Mesquite. Home to 14 camels, Camel Safari has just opened its doors to the public and is a licensed animal attraction with the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Trek through the Nevada desert on an unforgettable safari atop a camel alongside the Virgin River and desert mesas. Standout features include a clear display of love and care for their animals, the opportunity to pet and photograph the camels, clean facilities, courteous and well-educated staff, and a wealth of fascinating facts and artifacts related to camels throughout history.

The Crossbow

#your daily demon

So as a rule, (and partly as a method of self preservation), we try to follow the same philosophy as those tiny, nocturnal leather smiths from the fable, The Shoemaker and the Elves. It's simple. Be invisible, then slip in and do the job while nobody is looking and disappear. It's actually a more extreme extension of the old adage, "It is better to be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt". Anyone who knows me, knows that I can be a bit of a fork-in-a-blender, so in the office pool on how quickly I'd screw this gig up, believe me, I had all my money on First-Day. And yet, here we areā€¦... The key is, be invisible. Ideally, the boss would never learn my name, much less ever see or hear me. And while the job does require its fair share of personal interactions, making the aforementioned strategy impossible, we try to compensate by being EXTRA invisible during down times.... like those crafty little elven bastards. That's worked pretty well, until Japan.

Here, the bullet train is the most efficient way to and from the cities on the itinerary. And despite conventional elven wisdom, practicality was the more prudent move here, and it's harder to be AS invisible when riding in the band's train car. That said, I've come to terms with the probable eventuality that there is no way I'll make it back to the States without a good firing. Adding gasoline to this already smoking situation, is that Uncle Gene is often entirely too playful and inquisitive and takes to changes in surroundings much like Kong did when Fay Wray showed up that day on that otherwise eternally blonde-less island. (But seriously Fay, did ya HAVE to wear that dress??) So, there we are, hunkered down in the far corner of the first class train car, which while roomy and comfortable, is still the equivalent of your banana, hiding from your thermos of Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup, in your 1978 KISS Alive II lunchbox. And while I'm putting my coat in the overhead luggage rack, (Fuck! Next time pack lighter, Winter or no Winter!!), Gene slides in like the night, grabs Christina up his giant hand, and carries her up the mountain to his secret lair. (Okay, in actuality he just took my seat, but tomayto/tomahto.)

I went and found another seat. A minute later, he approached me, reeking of bananas and handed me a tiny, Japanese comb. I took it, exclaimed "Arigato", we bowed, and he climbed back up the mountain where he and my former wife were now living. I guess that was that, a fair trade was made, and we were even. Still, I couldn't shake that nagging itch that I'd gotten the short end of that stick somehow. I obsessed about it for a while. Was it a slyly cruel gesture to give a bald man a comb? Was he just adding insult to injury? It was possible I'd never know, and I began planning my new life as a homeless American on the gritty Streets of Tokyo, walking the earth like Cane. (Coulda been a contender:( But then, a strange thing happened. The great beast came walking down the aisle alone, nodded to me as he went by, and disappeared into the nether reaches of the lunchbox. I went to see if Christina was still alive. She was. Alive, unharmed, unfazed even. Incredulously, I inquired about her harrowing tale.

She shrugged it off, said that they chatted logistics about the upcoming book release, signing dates, etc.... Was this all in my head??? Could I have possibly had a skewed interpretation of the catastrophic events that had just laid waste to my entire existence??? (Okay, self-disclosure: Christina handles 100% of all logistical communications with The Demon. I have zero and am left with just my 8yr old imagination of how shit actually works.) But as I was coming to terms with her version of events, I felt a tiny barbed object, digging into the palm of my hand. I looked down, opened my hand, and there it is was.... a tiny comb. Aha!!! The smoking gun!


Photos courtesy of Photography of Leah Burlington

Your Daily Demon: Don't look a gift horse in the mouth