View Single Post
(#12)
Old
Veritas's Avatar
Veritas is Offline
Senior Member
 
Posts: 660
Join Date: Aug 2011
Location: Hartland, MI
Default 08-28-2011, 10:15 PM

Actually, searching for cows in Las Vegas turned out to be harder than anyone thought. The five missing Gurnseys seemed to have vanished from the area. It was believed they were still in the desert, not too far from the truck stop from which they had escaped. It was rumored that animal rights activists had hidden them somewhere to prevent their "exploitation" or "murder" at DairyMaid in Brighton (the local chapter of PETA denied this, though they did express concern for the cows' welfare).

The Nevada State Police were alerted to be on the lookout for the cows along the state highways, while the LVMPD were instructed to report any cows in any of the residential or business areas. Ranchers loaned horse and cattle trailers to Animal Control officers for containing the cows once they were found. Police and news helicopters were recruited for the search, the latter with their "eye in the sky" cameras ready to catch the cows for that evening's broadcast.

The local citizenry also took part in the roundup, mostly to videotape their cow sightings to download onto YouTube and other Internet sites for a brief fifteen minutes of online fame. Despite warnings from authorities not to try to capture the cows themselves, many overzealous would-be cowboys brought ropes and hitched up trailers and wagons to their vans or SUVs to bring in the first cow they spotted, in hopes of gaining some sort of monetary reward for bringing them back alive.

All day long, the cows were the top story on the local news. Radio deejays made much of the runaway bovines, making lame jokes while opening up their phone lines for callers with any information as to their whereabouts. A few related their experiences with the Black Angus bull wreaking havoc down the boulevard until brought down by Animal Control with the help of the SWAT team. They went on and on about how big "that (bleeper)" was, and how he took down a police cruiser in front of the Luxor Hotel. One caller reminded everyone about Criss Angel's Raging Bull demonstration: he was in a bullpen with a Mexican fighting bull and vanished just as it charged straight at him.

"Yeah, if I was in the same pen with a bull," the deejay said, "I'd disappear, too."




Criss sat on the sofa, watching the latest news developments about the cow crisis. His cat, Hammie, lay curled up beside him, dozing, oblivious to the broadcast. He decided to spend the rest of his day off in the comfort and safety of his suite. He had had enough of cows and bulls for one day. One encounter with a live bull was enough for him, he thought--let the pros handle the rest. He was just going to kick back and relax right where he was.

He had called the insurance company regarding the damage to his Hummer. The good news was they would cover the damage to the body itself. The bad news was that the repainting of the murals was considered "cosmetic" and therefore would have to come out of his own pocket. He then called Count's Custom Cars to have it taken to the shop for repairs; it was too big to tow, so it had to be driven there. His explanation for the damage had been met with surprise and disbelief, but since Criss was their star customer, they didn't make a federal case of it, and made the arrangements to pick up the Hummer and take it in for body work. It would be a week at most, they told him, but they promised it would be as good as new.

There were no new developments regarding the missing cows, so Criss turned off the TV. Silence. Dead silence. He could hear the blood rushing around in his ears and the air through his nostrils. The silence grew oppressive with every passing moment. He got up and crossed over to the large windows and looked out onto the Strip, gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Out there, life went on. In here, he felt confined, trapped in his gilded cage. He yearned for the open road, the wide open spaces with the sun in his face. What was he afraid of, anyway? A few lousy cows? Get real!

"(Bleep) this, man," he muttered as he grabbed his denim jacket and headed out the door. Cows or no cows, he was going riding.


Keeper of Criss' Bling.