From Hunter S. Thomspon. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

(This is an example of a completely bias laced description.)

The Circus-Circus is what the whole hep world would be doing on Saturday
night if the Nazis has won the war. This is the Sixth Reich. The ground floor
is full of gambling tables, like all the other casinos... but the place is about four
stories high, in the style of a circus tent, and all manner of strange County Fair/
Polish Carnival madness is going on up in this space. Right above the gambling
tables the forty Flying Carazito Brothers are doing a high-wire trapeze act, along
with four muzzled wolverines and the six Nymphet Sisters from San Francisco...
so you're down on the main floor playing blackjack, and the stakes are getting
high when you chance to look up, and there, right smack above your head, is
a half naked fourteen-year-old girl being chased through the air by a snarling
wolverine, which is suddenly locked in a death battle with two silver painted
men who come swinging down from opposite balconies and meet in mid-air
on the wolverine's neck... both men seize the animal as they fall straight down
toward the crap tables-- but they bounce off the net; they seperate and bounce
back up toward the roof in three different directions, and just as they are about
to fall again they are grabbed out of the air by three Korean Kittens and trapezed
off to one of the balconies.

This madness goes on and on,but nobody seems to notice. The gambling action
runs twenty four hours a day on the main floor, and the circus never ends. Meanwhile,
on all the upstairs balconies, the customers are being hustled by every conceivable brand
of bizarre shuck. All kinds of funhouse-type booths. Shoot the pasties off a ten foot tall
woman and win a cotton candy goat. Stand in front of this fantastic machine my friend,
and for just 99 cents your likeness will appear, two hundred feet tall, on a screen above
downtown Las Vegas. Ninety nine cents more for a voice message. "Say whatever you
want, fella. They'll hear you, don't worry about that. Remember you'll be two hundred feet
tall."

I could see myself lying in bed in the Mint-hotel, half asleep and staring idly out the window,
when suddenly a vicious Nazi drunkard appears two hundred feet tall in the midnight sky,
screaming gibberish at the world: "Woodstock Uber Alles!"

We will close the drapes tonight.

Nobody can handle that trip-- the possibility that any freak with $1.98 can walk into the
Circus-Circus and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Las Vegas twelve times the
size of God, howling anything that comes into his head. No, this is not a good town for
psychdelic drugs. Reality itself is too twisted.