I was born at a very young age here in Las Vegas. My father was a prostitute and my mother was a former mine worker over in Chloride before she injured herself with a pick-axe while mining for Chlorox. Though her wound was exceptionally clean, it was deep enough that she would never be able to work again. Like everyone, we lived in a casino, and in our case it was the El Rancho. Before my mother’s accident we also had a vacation home down the street at the Flamingo, but we had to sell it in order to pay for her ongoing care. It was a tough life, but we were happy.
Once, on a nice autumn day when I was a teen, I was walking up and down the Strip with my father during “Take Your Kid to Work Day” and my father turned to me and said, “Son, I’m very proud of you and I want you to remember that this is America and you can be whatever you want.” As I pondered his words, a police officer came up and arrested him. Dumbfounded, I went back home to the El Rancho where I found my mother passed out on the floor, hopped up on prescription laudanum, a single unlit self-rolled tobacco cigarette dangling from her lips. I stepped over her to see what was in the icebox, since I hadn’t eaten for days, but as expected, there was nothing but half-melted ice blocks and tobacco leaves.
Starving and penniless, I headed back out to the Strip to try and make enough money for dinner by handing out racy flyers to tourists as they walked by me, snapping them together to get their attention. It was during this time that I met a nice mobster by the name of Jimmy “The Elbow” Macaroni. Jimmy took me under his wing and treated me like a son, which was convenient because my father died in jail that night and my mom accidentally burned the El Rancho to the ground with her cigarette while she slept.
At first, mob life wasn’t all that glamorous. My main duties were digging holes in the desert and procuring horse heads but eventually I realized that if I was going to get ahead I was going to have to cut out the middle man, so I saved up enough money to buy some land where I raised horses and rented out shallow graves to the mafia. I eventually found a wife and we had a few children, and together we had a great life being farmers for the mob until one day my wife slipped in one of the holes and broke her leg so we had to put her down.
My kids have since moved on with families of their own and I spend my remaining days writing my memiors while sipping Jim Beam at the Riviera sportsbook.