What was the first Thanksgiving in Las Vegas like? I asked around. Fortunately, a guy who knows a guy was finally willing to talk when I turned off my microphone and put away my camera. .

A long time ago, Vinny the Pill, grim from collecting his weekly vig from deadbeat scum heading to California on a certain wagon train that shall remain nameless, found some natural springs and a little oasis in the middle of a freaking desert. The wagon master, some schmuck from St. Louis named Don the Nose who thought he knew everything, agreed it was a good idea to stop, rest the horses and refill canteens.

Don the Nose was a real tool. I mean, this desert was something else, right? Talk about hot! Let me tell you, no one from the old neighborhoods ever saw heat like this.

Plus, it was freaking huge. Every time they got to the top of a mountain, all they ever saw was another empty valley full of snakes and sand that stretched into the distance. And this sand, it wasn’t like nice soft beach sand between your toes. It was hard packed. I mean really hard packed. By the time Vinny the Pill, grim as ever, reached this oasis, he had a whole wagon full of dead guys he hadn’t been able to dump.

I mean, bury with all the proper respect their grieving families deserved.

So Vinny’s out on the edge of this sort of grassy meadows where the horses were munching on every piece of soft green plant they could find. I mean, they hadn’t eaten hardly anything for days and weren’t looking too good, you know what I mean? They were really happy to be there and this fact did not escape Vinny. Most of the plants out in that desert had these prickly spines and really sharp points on them. You didn’t want to go near those things for fear of accidentally stabbing yourself. I mean, there had already been enough accidental stabbings on this trip, what with all the deadbeats missing their weekly vig and all.

So there stood Vinny the Pill. Grim associates scattered in front of him hoping to scrounge up a meal of their own. He popped into his mouth one of the last licorice lozenges his Aunt Mary had given him back in Brooklyn. It tasted like home. He thought about his mother’s marinara sauce. It was famous up and down the block back in Brooklyn. But forget about it! His immediate culinary prospects were limited to dry bread and the dusty remains of the wagon train’s provisions. Don the Nose had done a poor job anticipating the length of the trip and the food reserves necessary to make it to this pie-in-the-sky place called California. Choosing Stanley the Fishmonger as food steward when they were stocking up in St. Louis was another reason Don the Nose was probably going to end up getting whacked long before they reached their destination.

But that’s another story.

So Vinny decided to try and plant some of those dead guys I mentioned earlier out there in the desert. But it wasn’t easy. As I said, the ground was really freaking hard. Fortunately some local guys with really classy feathers in their hair happened to come by. I don’t remember what union they were with, but they seemed to know what they were doing, know what I mean? They showed Vinny how to find a gully, dump a body in it and then throw some rocks over the body so nobody’s the wiser.

“T’anks fer giving me that information,” Vinny the Pill, grim but less so than earlier smiled. “Maybe you’s guys want to come by our camp later for a little R and R. We got some kerosene lanterns, harmonicas and some bootleg, I mean, homemade gin. Maybe I can even persuade some of our young ladies to get up and dance for us.”

The men with the classy feathers in their hair nodded and seemed to agree a party next to the natural springs sounded like a good idea. They brought with them a bounty of rattlesnake meat, leeks and other vegetables that grew underground along with a juicy, nutritious mash of cactus pulp. They even showed the people on the wagon train how to find these delicacies on their own, which, as you can imagine was very much appreciated.

These super generous nice guys, who ended up getting royally screwed much later, also brought a potent nectar distilled from agave, some funny wild mushrooms and something pretty similar, but different than Virginia tobacco. They also brought many very nice trinkets and jewelery that proved to be quite popular with the ladies, if you know what I mean. The party lasted for days and as other wagon trains passed through, some said the party never really stopped. Vinny’s “T’anks fer giving,” eventually became known as Thanksgiving. He went back to Brooklyn and brought his mom’s marinara sauce out to the increasingly popular oasis in the desert and opened a restaurant.

So that’s one version of our first Thanksgiving. Ask around though, I suspect there might be a few others. But it does explain why you can find a decent calzone and lasagna in Las Vegas even today.

(Like I said. I heard this story from a guy who knows a guy. But you didn’t hear from me, capiche? Happy Thanksgiving ;- )

WEEK #12 NFL picks:

The Bengals falling apart last week against the Raiders in the final minute ruined what otherwise would have been a perfect 4-0. Oh, well. At least I’m back to above .500 for the season! I’d advise staying away from the Seahawks/Rams this week. Something is fishy about that -3 line.

Green Bay -11 at Detroit
Colts -3 1/2 at Houston
Panthers +3 at NY Jets

Last week: 3-1
Season-to-date: 20-19-2

Happy Turkey Day!