Category: Nevada

  • 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.

  • Giant Prospectors, Goodsprings, Nevada

    The Giant Prospector Twins, Goodsprings, Nevada, United States of America

    Strike it rich with The Giant Prospector Twins! These 12-foot golddiggers have spent the last 70 years criss-crossing southern Nevada in search of the one treasure that’s always eluded them – a place to call home. And now, moving with times, they’re preparing to dig their way into the hearts of Fallout: New Vegas fans.

    The dynamic duo were first installed atop the Lucky Strike Club on Fremont Street, Las Vegas, in 1954. The casino saw an immediate increase in patronage – after all, if you wanna twin big, you’ve gotta go double or nothing!

    Designed by legendary Hollywood special effects artist Katherine Stubergh and made from fiberglass by the YESCO sign company in Salt Lake City, the sizeable siblings were originally electrified, and able to rattle their pans from side to side.

    Bowing to the whims of a fickle American gambling public, the boys were briefly placed into storage in the early-’60s. They were then sold to the western-themed Fort Lucinda Casino in Boulder City. The major miners once again packed up their picks and pans three decades later when the casino – since renamed the Gold Strike – burned down under mysterious circumstances in 1998.

    Don’t worry, The Prospectors won’t tell the cops who did it – they’re good at mining their own business!

    There’s gold in them thar hills!

    When I encountered The Giant Prospector Twins, they were camped in front of what was once Terrible’s Casino, in a remote scrap of dirt known as Jean, Nevada (population: 0). The slothouse shuttered in 2022. It was in the process of being demolished when I moseyed on by.

    It was cold, lonely, and my choice of attire attracted fervent honking from passing truck drivers. The bulky brothers were looking quite the worse for wear. Their gambler hats were tattered, their blouses bedraggled. But not even time and the relentless desert sun could wipe the grins from their bearded faces.

    The lanky legends, it seems, held on just long enough for me to visit. They were packed up in May 2024 and relocated to their forever home in Goodsprings, a rustic village 45 minutes south of Vegas. One Twin can already be found sifting through the dirt out front of the Pioneer Saloon, a ribald mix of gnarled wood and live music and flamegrilled burgers the size of your head. The other is still being repaired.

    “They are 70-years-old and need repair, I would encourage anybody out there who has expertise in fiberglass expertise we could use some help,” Steve Fleming, from the Goodsprings Historical Society, quipped.

    I’d love to help out, Steve, but unfortunately I never completed my fiberglassing apprenticeship.

    Fallout Boys

    E-sports enthusiasts will recognise the Pioneer Saloon as a location in the popular video game Fallout: New Vegas. The Nevada icon was been painstakingly recreated in the game world as the Prospector Saloon, and has become a must-see destination for fans.

    The saloon allows Fallout tragic to live out their fantasies of surviving in a post-apocalyptic world. There’s also a range of Fallout memorabilia inside. Fortunately, however, there’s no deathclaws around to attack you!

    And now, I implore the designers to update the game version with a couple of Giant Prospectors by the front door. There’ll be a bit of a Fallout with the roadside attraction community if you don’t – teehee!

    Finally, after seven hard decades, The Giant Prospector Twins are at peace… and they need names! So next time you’re at the Pioneer Saloon, nibbling on a pecan-crusted rainbow trout, have a think about it. Just remember that Big John, The Big Goldpanner Man and Map the Miner are already taken.

    “If someone has a name suggestion, we have a web site,” Steve chortled.

    How about Bill and Ben the Prospector Men?

  • The Big Fire Hydrant, Las Vegas, Nevada

    The Big Fire Hydrant, Las vegas, Nevada, United States of America

    Downtown Las Vegas has gone to the dogs, because it’s home to the 15-foot-tall canine bathroom – also known as The Big Fire Hydrant. Standing proudly outside the pooch park on Fremont Street, this bright yellow beacon of hope is fully functional and able to spurt out water at the pull of a lever.

    Sensible and practical it may be, but the story behind The Big Fire Hydrant is absolutely bonkers.

    Back in 2013, the owners of upscale doggy daycare centre The Hydrant Club were looking to stand out amongst the glitz and glamour of sin city. Enter venture capitalist and all-round oddball Tony Hsieh. He suggested building a Fire Hydrant of epic proportions, and had the connections to make it happen.

    Building Bigs was, apparently, Tony’s modus operandi. He also installed a massive metal mantis just up the road to promote a local restaurant precinct.

    “The idea is every block or so have something interesting,” Tony told an enraptured journalist. “We’re building the world’s largest functioning fire hydrant next to the dog park, building all sorts of things. And the idea is to get people to walk one more block, because Vegas has been a very car-focused town.”

    Tony, sadly, never got to enjoy the fruits of his labour. He descended into madness shortly after the completion of his magnum opus, squirrelling himself away in his house to suck on cans of nitrous oxide and starve himself of both food and oxygen for the fun of it. I guess the pressure of topping The Big Fire Hydrant was just too much for him.

    He also took to smearing poo all over the walls, with close friend Jewel – yes, that Jewel! – describing the inside of his home as “Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory”.

    Ewwwwww!

    The lunacy came to a chaotic crescendo in November 2020 when Tony, high on goofballs, set fire to his backyard shed and then locked himself inside. He didn’t survive, and the world was robbed of a true Big Thing visionary.

    Golly gosh, if only Tony had built some sort of enormous water-spurting contraption outside his house – teehee!

    Come On Baby, Light My Fire Hydrant

    The years following the Fire Hydrant’s inauguration were good ones for Las Vegas’s dogs (and their humans). They had space to play, a place to do their business, and lots of pet-friendly cafes in which to enjoy a frothy puppaccino.

    Then terror descended upon this peaceful corner of Las Vegas. Ruffians took up residence in Fremont Streets, and things would never be the same again.

    “The kinds of threats that really lead me to the decision that this neighborhood was no longer a safe place for a standalone small business were things like gun violence,” The Hydrant Club’s owner Owner Cathy Brooks told an appalled journalist. “Things like large groups of unruly individuals.”

    “When 100 guys drinking tall cans, getting hammered and getting stoned, are riding bikes right down the middle of the street,” Cath continued. “Then they throw their bikes all over your property and you ask them really politely, ‘Hey would you mind moving over so you are not obstructing the business’ and I get called all manner of names… What am I going to do?”

    To make things more tragic, the bikes in question, shockingly, weren’t even big. They were just regular bikes. Faced with unimaginable brutality, the owners of The Hydrant Club shut the doors and never returned.

    “Two hours after the last dog left the building, two people were shot about two blocks away,” Cathy wept.

    The Big Fire Hydrant, once a symbol of downtown Vegas’s bright future, lay abandoned. It’ll take more than a few maniacs to stop Bigella and moi from admiring a giant working fire hydrant, however.

    But our trip to The Big Fire Hydrant very nearly cost us our lives.

    How I Wet Your Brother

    Shortly after arriving at The Big Fire Hydrant, a tribe of bad boys in sequinned leather jackets rode up on a three-person tandem bicycle and started mincing around in front of us. Bad intentions danced in their eyes. This crew had run the owners of The Hydrant Club out of town, and now they’d come back to finish the job.

    When one of them tossed an empty can of beer at the base of the Hydrant, I decided things had gone far enough.

    “Boys, I should warn you,” I snapped, rolling up the sleeves on my custom-printed Land of the Bigs tunic. “I get pretty dang mad when people don’t show respect to The Big Fire Hydrant. And you wouldn’t like me when I’m mad.”

    “Pffft,” snarled the lead thug, shaking his mohawked head. “You call that a big fire hydrant? It’s not even the largest in the continental USA.”
    “Yeah, there’s a 24-foot working fire hydrant in Beaumont, Texas that is far more impressive,” added another tough guy as he swung a metal chain around.
    “And that one’s painted like a Dalmatian, if I’m not mistaken,” claimed a third delinquent, who had a skull painted on his face and peg-leg. “I feel it adds a kitschy ambiance that is most welcome.”

    Bigella had heard enough of their bigotry. She stepped up to The Big Fire Hydrant, then paused for dramatic effect.

    “You boys still look a bit wet behind the ears,” she boomed, reaching for the fireplug’s oversized handle. “Say ‘hy-drant’ to my little friend!” Then, with a flick of her wrist, she released a torrent of icy water upon the goons, giving them a jolly good soaking.

    “Wow, Bigella, you’ve really made a splash around here!” I chuckled.

    The trio of punks huddled together like drowned rats. The leader stepped towards us, sopping cap in hand, shoulders slumped.

    “We’ve learned a good lesson today,” he lisped, wringing out his crop top. “Maybe it’s time for us to give up on crime and violence, and turn our attention to something valuable – like preaching the gospel of America’s incredible Big Things.”

    The five of us, different people from different worlds, came together for a group hug in the middle of Fremont Street. Tony would’ve wanted it that way.

    And that, my friends, is how Bigs Bardot and Bigella Fernandez Hernandez solved Las Vegas’s gang problem.

  • Claim Your Destiny, Dry Lake, Nevada

    Claim Your Destiny, Dry Lake, Nevada, United States of America

    Wander through the Nevada desert long enough and you shall come across Claim Your Destiny, a colossal beer can that just might hold the answer to all life’s mysteries.

    Or just take the Ely exit as you’re driving out of Vegas, trundle along Las Vegas Blvd North for six miles, head up the dirt track on the right as far as you can go, swagger across the abandoned train tracks, and there it is. You can’t miss it.

    Claim Your Destiny was created by enigmatic graffiti artist Aware, who painted an abandoned water tank to look like a tin of the popular Pabst Blue Ribbon lager. This remarkable example of guerilla art, completed sometime in 2019, serves as a commentary not only on alcoholism, but on the wider ills of American society.

    Although the paintwork has been lashed by the intense Nevada sun, nothing can dilute the power of its message. The words encircling the base of the big beer can provide a sombre, biting meditation on life and the human condition, and read thusly:

    Drinking tin flavored piss water is as American as small-pox covered blankets, shooting unarmed black men, diplomacy by drone, date raping drunk sorority girls with impunity, or over consumption of everything always.

    Golly, and they say that no one ever found any answers at the bottom of a can of economically-priced Pilsner!

    Bigs Bardot and the Vial of Destiny

    Resting in the shadows of Claim Your Destiny, the hot wind sending tumbleweed trundling across the scarred landscape, I was forced to confront my own morals and question my contribution to society. What was I doing, traipsing around the cosmos in kaleidoscopic clothes, taking photos with Big Things and writing about them through a patchwork of puns and outdated cultural references?

    I ruminated on my existential crisis for hours, until the smouldering sun sunk behind the tangerine hills and a chill crept over my body. The desert stars unfurled above me, timeless and sober. I searched within myself until I came to the centre of what it means to be Bigs Bardot.

    Turns out, I like Bigs Bardot. And I’m proud of what I do.

    If I’ve shone a light on forgotten artworks from across the globe, and told the stories of those who built them. Made someone laugh in troubled times. Preserved a little piece of our history. Worked hard. Created something meaningful and kind-hearted and informative and real. Then it’s all worth it.

    If I’ve brought back cherished memories of childhood. Inspired just one person to push past their boundaries to explore the weirder corners of our planet, and see Bigs that nourish the soul. If I’ve made an effort to showcase the good, not the bad. Then I’ve done my part, however small, towards building a better world.

    I’ve claimed my destiny. What about you?

  • 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.