Allow me to introduce you to my new irregular feature, Through The Looking Glass, in which we will be examining blindingly obvious signs that the apocalypse is near.

"You learn something everyday" is a not-uncommon phrase that gets thrown around the day job. Today, hoo boy did I get a learnin'. My boss mentioned in passing that Vegas resorts now offer intravenous hangover therapy to guests, starting at $99 and going up to prices that I probably don't want to know.

What the... who... oh Jesus, no.

This is horrible on so many levels I don't even know where to begin. Let's start with Vegas- oh it's like that now? I texted this to my old Vegas partner in crime, who told me that they have roving mobile joints there providing this valuable service as well. As Gawker reported recently, Will.I.Am among others are getting paid low-to-mid six figures a night to play the very definition of lowest common denominator shit music off their laptops in the big Vegas clubs. And this entire "bubble," or "stain on the historical record," depending on your perspective of course, is only possible because of the alcohol sales. Bottle service ain't no joke. The bottle serv-ees, on the other hand...

You know my steez. Personally and professionally. Give me a bar with plenty of elbow room (OK, less elbow room if I'm getting 10%), good peeps, good beer, great music. It may as well be the fucking Bizarro world version of 2013 Vegas. And it's all the more disappointing because when we were doing our thing in Vegas ten or fifteen years ago, aside from some slack for the music, it really was my steez. At the big resort spots everybody knew everybody else was from out of town, and it was disarming. It was easy to be social. We were getting pulled out of line and let in free for being nobodies too high on whatever, rockin' t-shirts, khakis and Nikes instead of the Jay-Z button-down and jeans uniform like every other dude. Not sure if they would have even sold us alcohol had we wanted it.

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It's like we were on the same vibe, Vegas and I. And it felt that much better because the house party scene where I was at was devolving quickly. Musically, it seemed like it went from rave shit everywhere to Top 40 rap running things almost overnight in 2001. But, and I hate to get this intellectual about dumb shit, there really was almost a cultural shift in "partying" that simultaneously took root. A friend and I faced the dilemma of trying to book non-ignorant rap acts for a university full of dumb kids at the time, and we dubbed this conspicuous phenomenon as "The Girls Gone Wild Effect." Basically, it wasn't officially a "party" until you were acting like an idiot and making poor decisions. Hang out with your peeps, catch a buzz, try to get some digits? THAT'S LOSER TALK BR0. YOU GOT ANY 50 CENT? BARF!!!!1!1!!

You message me right now and say you want to sit on milk cartons and drink 40's in front of my building, and I'm there. In my pajamas and flip-flops, bumping San Quinn out of a Radio Shack cassette recorder. And even I now have to ask, as fun people, as imbibers of spirits... WHERE HAS OUR DIGNITY GONE? The point of enjoying yourself to the fullest is that "enjoying yourself to the fullest" doesn't entail having to drink baby formula or stick needles in your arm. Gawker also recently reported on Pedialyte becoming a "thing" again. Pedialyte is only for people who need it to make sure they shout out the right city when they're on stage that night. Once you make the jump to Pedialyte or intravenous hangover therapy, you are no longer Vegas. You are Leaving Las Vegas.

Incredibly, my buddy had an even sadder take on this bullshit- that it's mostly for show. That people want to get intravenous hangover therapy just to be able to say they did. They don't actually enjoy slowly killing themselves, they're just doing it to be cool. *Sigh*... "so cool, I'll call you a culo." Intravenous hangover therapy is, without a doubt, Through The Looking Glass. We all gonna die.