When we left our gallant santas they were munching it up in the Golden Gate casino's restaurant.
Moving on, Santa acquires some unofficial supporting troops...
...on the way to "Hogs N Heifers"...
...a bar on the popular Coyote Ugly theme (dancing on the bar encouraged).
The staff are...friendly,
and santas feel at home right away...
...although they do feel the need to institute a more interesting door policy.
  
Santa plays nice with the locals...
...until it's time for the ladies to show...
...some serious bar dancing prowess.
The bar staff try to show Santa up, but just end up looking foolish.
Next Santa moves on to Mickey Finz Tiki Bar,
for a very quick cocktail before a fast relocate to...
...some other dark place,
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the name of which Santa forgets...
...and finally to the Beauty Bar,
where the last of Santa's energy seems to run out.
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Finally at around 4am, the last of the straggling Santas collapse at Fitzgeralds' casino restaurant,
for a pretty good breakfast and some very quiet, croaky conversation.
One of our honorary Santas, finally exhausted by his titanic adventure with the Red Horde.
Santa can rest.
I make my way out down Fremont Street,
to the nearest bus stop,
and don't have long to wait before...
...the Deuce double-decker carries me to the Strip.
One last look before I catch my bus home.
It has been, on the whole...
...an exceptionally good night.
By the time I hit the sack it's gone 6am, and I catch about two hours of sleep.
Now I'm groggy, headachey, a bit nauseated and feel a bit down from the after-effects of exhaustion and alcohol. But when I think back over last night I don't regret a moment. I think of the tourists happy and confused faces as they got their photos taken with dozens of santas waving beer cans and shouting anarchistic slogans. Of the sad and lifeless expressions of casino slot-machine addicts turned to joy and wonder as we swept by, singing at the tops of our voices and handing out candy canes and condoms.
I think of the conga line we formed as we arrived at the Gold Digger, managing to incorporate almost every single person in the club. Of the bouncer who tried to drag us off the go-go dancers' stage, and the happy stream of santas climbing up behind him as fast as he yanked us off. Of the anti-gay religious protestor on Fremont Street we spent about five happy minutes annoying the hell out of. Of the Chippendales who abducted the lady santas for a free photo opportunity. Most of all, I think of the many unhappy people we met along the way who were enveloped in waves of Santa hugs and walked away smiling.
It's good to be Santa.
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