Ah, Vegas. Sometimes we envy your laissez-faire ways. Sometimes we just shake our heads in disgust. We're not sure what to do with this one: You're letting minibuses displaying exotic dancers cruise up and down the strip. Really?
I mean, we Californians can't even glance down at a mobile phone at a stoplight without getting the once over from 5-0. Forget about pulling out of a parking lot before our seat-belts have been fully clicked. Even a parking permit hanging from the rear view is a violation.
But you denizens of Sin City are so special. You get to eyeball women in booty shorts and lucite heels while you wait in traffic. We get to look at ultra-bright, “supergraphic” billboards that give us Pokemon seizures.
And these fair ladies advertising the nearby Deja Vu gentleman's club aren't even strapped in? They've got a stripper poll for a seat-belt. Fine. Ingenious marketing. But when the nonexistent airbags fail to go off during a fender bender, we don't want to be there to see the half-naked carnage. Really.