Category: Las Vegas

  • The Golden Goose, Las Vegas, Nevada

    The Golden Goose, Fremont Street, Las Vegas, Nevada

    You’d have to be a goose to miss out on this Big Thing! So join me as we take a gander at the legendary Golden Goose in Downtown Las Vegas.

    Looking dapper in her festive purple cap, the enormous critter perfectly embodies the playfulness and passion of Sin City.

    She’s also easy to find, so you won’t have to go on wild goose chase. The roadside attraction is perched precipitously atop a pompously-hued shipping container on the dusty corner of Fremont Street and 10th Street.

    Just head past The World’s Largest Fire Hydrant and step over the screaming homeless person.

    This unassuming corner of Vegas is only a few hundred (webbed) feet from where the Golden Goose was originally located. She was built by the YESCO sign company in 1975, and rotated proudly above the casino of the same name at 20 Fremont Street. Not surprisingly, she made an immediate impact – in the most dramatic way possible.

    “Just one day after the Goose was installed, it flew its coop,” hooted Herb Pastor, who owned the casino. “The Goose toppled off its ledge, falling to the ground, smashing a car parked at the curb.

    “It narrowly missed a couple of people on the sidewalk. Luckily no-one was hurt. It was right then I knew I was in for some good luck.”

    I’m not sure the owner of the car thought it was quite so lucky, Herbie, you silly goose!

    For decades, the smiling Goose was the last thing punters saw before blowing their life saving on blackjack. Then things took a seedy turn when the casino was converted into a notorious strip club: the disturbingly-named Girls of Glitter Gulch.

    What sort of creepo would want to leer at scantily-clad women when there’s a perfectly good honker outside to drool over?

    Goose on the Loose

    The Golden Goose swanned about on the rooftop until 2017, when the building was levelled to make way for the brand new Circa Resort.

    The world-class hotel may offer an Asian fusion restaurant and a rooftop bar, but apparently an oversized chicken didn’t match their sleek aesthetic. It looked to be a fowl end for this beautiful Big.

    Then along came Tony Hsieh and the gang from DTP Companies – the troupe dedicated to revitalising Downtown Las Vegas – who were determined to rescue this beloved piece of Americana.

    Honestly, I get goosebumps just thinking about it.

    “We were told if we could pick it up, we could take it,” DTP marketing director Bill Kennedy told a bemused reporter. “It was heavily damaged. People kicked in the lightbulbs. It was expensive to move and restore. But we didn’t want to see it end up in a private collection. It belongs where the public can enjoy it.”

    The Golden Goose was given a fresh lick of paint, and her damaged eggs were swapped out for new ones. Thankfully, DTP were willing to foot the bill!

    Windows were even drilled in the side of the shipping container, allowing thrillseekers to peek in to see hundreds – perhaps thousands – of golden eggs inside.

    The old girl was saved and so, in turn, was Downtown Las Vegas.

    I guess she really is the goose that laid the golden egg!

    That thing in there… it’s not the Goose. Oh wait, yes it is the Goose

    The Golden Goose is open seven days a beak, so Bigella and I visited on a crisp Sunday morning. You know what they say – the early bird catches the historic roadside attraction!

    Her location is rustic, but pleasant – although there is a feeling of impermanence. The Golden Goose, I feel, shall migrate to another location in the near future.

    This grand old dame is now much easier to take a photo with than when she lived in Glitter Gulch. There’s plenty of space to set up a tripod, and Bigella wasted no time snuggling in for a happy snap while I set up the camera.

    “Well, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander!” I cheered, waddling into the photo.

    “Apparently the Goose used to play You Spin Me Round as it rotated on the container,” I frowned, looking at the very stationary, very silent critter. “There’s also meant to be a ‘fun button’ to push, but I wasn’t able to find it.”
    “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Bigella shrugged.

    Enraptured by the bird’s grandeur, her pithy comment was lost on me. We goosed around for a few more photos, until we took flight when a hobo in a cowboy hat (and not much else) shambled towards us.

    “I’ve only got one question,” piped up Bigella as we raced off down Fremont Street.
    “What’s that?” I queried.
    “Why isn’t the Golden Goose, uh, golden?”

  • The Grand Lion, Paradise, Nevada

    The Grand Lion, Paradise, Nevada

    Like most good things in life, we have superstitious Chinese gamblers to thank for The Grand Lion, who guards the entrance to the MGM Grand Hotel & Casino on the Las Vegas Strip.

    Opened in 1993, the gambling den originally had a cartoonish lion’s head at the entrance, but Asian punters avoided the place because they believed waltzing through a creature’s mouth would bring bad luck.

    What a bunch of scaredy-cats!

    “It wasn’t literally true (that they entered through the lion’s mouth),” former MGM Mirage executive spokesperson Alan Feldman told Casino.org, noting that visitors actually entered beneath the beast’s chin. “But many customers believed it to have the same negative vibes, and refused to use that entrance.”

    I feel the original lion – who was delightfully kitschy – got a roar deal, but let’s keep moving.

    In May of 1996, the owners announced plans to scrap the lion and replace him with a new $40 million façade. To be fair, they would’ve made that money back from the first busload of buxom betters from Beijing.

    The result was 45-foot, 50-ton bronze critter known as The Grand Lion. Designed by Snellen Maurice Johnson – a convicted con man who traded a life of crime for a life of designing oversized roadside objects – he was unveiled to a bemused, yet anxious public in 1998.

    The Grand Lion has gone on to become the face (and paws!) of the Las Vegas glitter strip. I guess you could call him the mane attraction – teehee!

    The Chinese gamblers returned. Profits went through the roof. And all was good in the world…

    …until zany prop comic Carrot Top turned up.

    Top o’ the morning to ya!

    “Y’know, Bigs,” a velvety voice purred from behind me, as I posed with The Grand Lion. “That should be a statue of me up there.”

    Annoyed to be dragged from my unfettered admiration of The Grand Lion, I turned to see a mop of flaming red hair and an impish grin. It was my old acquaintance – and long-time Vegas comedian – Carrot Top.

    I’d played his love interest in the late-90s cult classic Chairman of the Board, but we’d had little interaction since.

    “Top,” I groaned. “Wouldn’t that scare away the Oriental gamblers?”
    “The Oriental gamblers love me, Bigs,” he whooped. “They rub my hair for good luck before heading to the slot machines.”

    Top gyrated grotesquely towards a group of Korean businessmen, sending them flying into the night like bugs. I turned to follow them, but Top grabbed me by the elbow.

    “I built this dang town, Bigs, with my quirky mix of physical comedy and scathing political satire,” he snapped, placing a pair of underpants on his head. “That lion’s not the king of the jungle – I’m the king of the jungle!”
    “Are you having an episode, Top? What jungle?”
    “The concrete jungle, man, the concrete jungle. Meow!”

    The ginger-hued madman snarled at a passing family from Wichita, Kansas, sending them scuttling into the nearest overpriced burger joint for sanctuary.

    “Top, this is getting ridiculous,” I sighed. “I’m here for the five-storey Panthera leo, not your vulgar buffoonery.”

    “I just want to be loved, Bigs,” Top wept, falling to his knees. “Do you think you could ever love me?”

    As I backed away in disgust, the last I saw of Carrot Top was him struggling into a banana costume, before rolling past The Grand Lion and out of my life forever.

  • SlotZilla, Las Vegas, Nevada

    SlotZilla, Las Vegas, Nevada, United States of America

    SlotZilla! SlotZilla! Follow the joyful screaming to downtown Las Vegas, where you’ll find the world’s largest slot machine. A dazzling display of bright lights that overwhelms the senses, SlotZilla rises 12 storeys above Fremont Street and is home to one of the world’s most incredible thrill rides.

    The wondrous one armed bandit opened to much fanfare in the summer of 2014 and was designed to reinvigorate the area, which had fallen into disrepair. That goal was most certainly met. The end result is a Big Thing that’s garish, outlandish, and kind of beautiful – just like Vegas itself.

    SlotZilla is flanked by two scantily-clad showgirls, each 35 1/2 feet tall. Known as Jennifer and Porsha, they aren’t to my taste, but certainly draw the attention of the masses.

    A stream of Elvis impersonators and sun-kissed tourists spill from SlotZilla’s mouth like sparkling coins, thanks the landmark’s award-winning zipline. This breathtaking ride quickly established itself as Las Vegas’s premiere tourist attraction, providing a welcome distraction for those who have thrown away their life savings on blackjack and outrageously-priced food and drinks.

    Dozens of celebs have taken the plunge, including pop royalty Katy Perry and my old friend Norman Reedus. He dropped his tough-guy façade just long enough to enjoy a hair-raising flight from that zooms past five city blocks.

    The owners shan’t be able to add the name Bigs Bardot to that list, however. No, it’s not that I’m terrified of heights. It’s the $69 ticket price that scares me. But I suppose they had to do something to recoup the $17 million construction cost.

    Unlike Godzilla, the horrifying green monster it was named after, SlotZilla doesn’t want to broil you alive with a high-powered laser beam. It just wants to empty your pockets of any spare change you have and leave you homeless and destitute, begging for quarters on the streets of Las Vegas in order to feed your gambling addiction.

    Trust me, I know.

    You’ve got to know when to hold ’em
    Know when to fold ’em
    Know when to walk away
    And know when to run

    Standing beneath SlotZilla, the hypnotic bells and whistles cutting through the Las Vegas night, one can’t help but be swept into the seductive world of high-stakes gambling. With my addictive personality, I did my best to resist, but felt a tidal wave of neon anticipation washing over my quivering body.

    (I’m no stranger to risk, of course, having long ago plonked my life savings into a little website named Land of the Bigs. On a completely unrelated note, please consider contributing to my Venmo, CashApp, PayPal, GoFundMe, Patreon, Kickstarter or BuyMeACoffee. Please, I’m desperate here.)

    But with the promise of untold riches spilling from the bosom of SlotZilla, my resolve weakened.

    One dollar can’t hurt, I thought to myself, my forehead slick with sweat. And the local economy is, after all, built on the misery of others. So, in a way, I’d be stealing if I didn’t gamble. They might even lock me up and throw away the key.

    As appealing as an evening with heavily-tattooed Mexican gangbangers and drunken American frat boys was, I shrugged my shoulders and succumbed to my deepest carnal desires to wager everything I had on the whim of a machine. Plucking a shiny coin from my slacks, I turned to the nearest one-cent slot and hoped for the best.

    To my delight I won a small amount. The celebratory klaxon filled me with the sense of achievement and companionship I’d been yearning for my whole life. Plonking another coin into the machine, I settled a little deeper into my chair. A mocktail was ordered from a passing waiter. My downfall was imminent.

    The following hours are a blur of dopamine and shame. At some point I stumbled to a pawn shop to trade whatever trinkets I had on me for extra cash. The poker machine soon devoured that as well. A burly security guard hurled me, financially and emotionally ravaged, into the windswept street.

    Peering up at SlotZilla through my tears of shame, my bank account bereft of funds and my few real-world friendships destroyed by the calamity of gambling, I wondered whether it was all worth it.

    Of course it was, I thought to myself, rifling through a bin for a coffee cup to shake at strangers. It might’ve cost me my financial security and any residual feeling of self respect, but I got to see a big slot machine, and that’s all that really matters.

    We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at SlotZilla.