So I went to Las Vegas. I was going to do a story about what to do in Vegas if you're under 21. Here is that story:

Don't go.

Now the story you have been waiting for, even if you did not know it - the story of what happens when the Collins family hit the strip.

We got on the airbus, that is to say Southwest Airlines, in Phoenix on Friday afternoon. The flight originated in Austin, Texas. There were Texans on the plane. They were going to "party," said one cowpoke.

The safety instructions were given in English and in Texan.

Southwest Airlines gives you peanuts. They issue two packets of peanuts to every passenger. My mom and I were sitting in the window and middle seat, respectively, and there was a man in the aisle seat. The flight attendant gave him six packets of peanuts to distribute in the row. He gave my mom two packets and put the rest in his shirt pocket. It was a strange thing to see. But times are desperate everywhere, you see. People worry about that next paycheck. Hell, people are working for peanuts.

We drove down Tropicana, where there is a small sign that welcomes visitors to Las Vegas. They were going to tear down the sign a couple years back, but the community rallied and saved it.

As you drive down the road the casinos begin. It's like a crystal canyon. It's like a movie set because there is nothing behind or around the casinos.

They have genres. The Luxor is a pyramid, the Excalibur is a castle. There's the MGM Grand that looks kind of like the Emerald City. Caesar's Palace looks like Rome, circa "Spartacus".

It's really like the exact opposite of the Smithsonian and perhaps a far more important and relevant testimony to what is important to people today.

Coming soon: New York, New York, a miniature Manhattan. My sister and I overheard a woman say, "Is that the London Bridge?"

No lady, it's the Brooklyn Bridge. The London Bridge is in Lake Havasu City. You should check with AAA. You should stick your head out of your tract home more often. If Graceland is the Mecca of white trash, then Las Vegas is Jerusalem. Because there are more buildings.

A man told me the Luxor had a great informative boat ride about pyramids. But they have taken it out. I'm sure it was educational. As my family looked in the dry Nile River basin in the casino, a lady expressed her disappointment at the missing ride.

"That's what I come for," she said. The Nile gives us life.

We parked that Friday night at the MGM. Las Vegas is the only U.S. city with ample parking.

Famished, we ate dinner at the Oz buffet, having not eaten our fill of peanuts. There are all-you-can eat buffets all over the strip. It's a tradition. And what a spread of a salty food. In the friendly confines of Oz, bright green and yellows and many, many people provide an intimate dining experience.

But enough about food you say. Tell me about the gambling.

Well, you see, there, as they say, lies the rub. I ain't 21. I can't couldn't gamble. My sister and I watched my parents play the slots from a good distance. The law is if you aren't 21, you must be 15 feet away from gaming.

So on Saturday my parents sent their children where children are meant to be sent while their parents gamble: Grand Adventures. This little amusement park is tucked away behind the MGM, and has a raft ride, log ride, bumper cars and silly little shows.

Pan-Tar Moretti: Ultimate Thrill Show featured a man in tights with a muddled European accent shooting crossbows to bad techno music. He was quite a shot. For his fantastic finale, he picked a volunteer up from the audience. The volunteer chained him up and he got into a box.

The volunteer then stuck swords through the box. A mere mortal would have perished, punctured. But this is a kids' show.

The swords were withdrawn and out popped our hero in a clown suit banging on a drum.

Veery interestink, but stoopid.

The rest of the night we wandered the street. Up and down.

We saw a volcano erupt outside the Mirage (home of Siegfried and pal Roy - and the tigers that one can see "frolic" in a cage that looks like Atlantis, you know, before it sank). Pirates fight in front of Treasure Island.

In Caesar's Palace's Forum Shops we saw a day pass in matter of hours on the ceiling. Howie Mandel was performing there. We did not go to see him and we are better people for it.

At some point we drove down to the Fremont Experience. The old strip. The waving cowboy at Glitter Gulch. And all the discount souvenir stores you ever wanted to be in.

I bought my roommate a plastic shot glass. I'm a classy guy.

Fremont used to be a street, but they took the cars out to allow the people to wander freely. They put a strange psychedelic cowboy light show on. They are trying to compete with the shinier, newer casinos like the MGM.

There, as all over the casino canyon, wandered men and women (over 21) with, get this, open containers of alcohol. Drinking right there on the street.

See, that's the surrealism. That's the con. The lights, noise, free drinks and all-you-can stuff in your face food. That's the shot.

I heard the sounds of a casino in the bathroom fan where we were staying. My mom heard them the next day. We all dreamed about casinos.

Marketing is a meaningless course of study for the mass of businessmen. But when you pack them in, you can adjust everything. Everything becomes part of the grand design. An experiment.

The Stratosphere opened recently and has been having trouble getting people in. But one woman said she won a lot of money there. The slots are loose. It's a Pavlovian promenade.

We went to church in Las Vegas.

We went to a brand new church with a Liberace piano player and a cantor who sang like Liza Minelli. The man who hoarded the peanuts was in the pew behind us. No joke.

There was a sign there that said, "Coming soon, The Virgin Mary." No joke.

Elvis Costello once said, "If the customer likes it then they'll keep on drinking. If they keep on drinking then they'll end up staying."

Elvis Presley said, "Viva Las Vegas." He greeted us when we got off the airplane, and may I say once more - no joke.

My sister said Las Vegas Boulevard is "Mill Avenue for old people," and she's right. It's anti-culture.

Physiologically punch drunk from the sheer amount of input, you could blow a hole in your deficit.

Not my mom, though. She played the nickel slots and drank Diet Coke.

Like one man said, "How 'bout you buy tonight at the Mirage and I buy tomorrow at McDonald's?"

There's one right there.

I'm Tom Collins and I hate everything.

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