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It’s not easy being a 3 inch tall Showgirl, the toothpick machine gun certainly helps, coupled with the fact that Elvis, and everyone else who is attacking me, are just as vertically challenged as I.

It has begun. The padded grey upholstery of the barstool on which I’m standing seems rough beneath my bare feet. My heart is pounding. My breath is shallow. I’m building up the courage to just run for the nearest weapon and then duck into some kind of safe haven. My strategy needs work though. Hiding in the shadows picking off cowboys and tourists only works for so long before I could be spotted and taken out by a ray or chip gun from the lamp shades above. Running in the open though, makes me an easy target. I jump to the nearest table and spot another showgirl dressed in an array of pink satin, sequins and feathers. I want to embrace this kindred spirit, but she’s holding a dice gun and it’s pointed right at me. I react the only way I can. Running safely away from her first volley, I aim my gun and pull the trigger. Sharp toothpicks go speeding towards her like quills from a porcupine. The machine gun is vibrating as they’re projected on a deadly path, and it’s slipping in my now sweaty grasp, but I’ve hit my mark and she explodes in an awesome display of stars, feathers and body parts. There’s no time to mourn the necessity of my actions against my fellow entertainer; It’s now vital that I run across the roulette table and collect more ammo. All I have left is a boxing glove, and I don’t want Fat Elvis getting that close.

There’s a whizzing sound nearby like a mosquito looking for a meal. Suddenly my back is thumped hard and burning palmetto juice is searing the delicate smooth skin of my exposed back. I start to panic. Losing control, I look wildly about in an attempt to find the coward shooting me from behind with olives. I must try to stay calm and am desperate for more ammunition. I take a deep breath and relax the grip on my empty firearm. Dodging and sprinting away across the table I’m half way towards my goal when I spot a vision of pink vengeful fury to my left. The dice are thrown; they seem so innocent the way they bounce like a child’s rubber ball in a game of jacks. Then they land right in my path. Snake eyes. I run. I jump. It’s too late though, they explode viciously, making me cry out in agony. A moment later there’s nothing left of me but pieces all over the soft, green velvet of the roulette table.