Las Vegas is a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah, but there is nothing religious or profound about it, as the city of the desert perpetually festers in its excesses and decadence without intervention or destruction from above.

Ever since Hunter S. Thompson romanticized Sin City in his seminal 1971 work “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream,” every bachelor with a couple bucks in their pocket and a penchant for mind-altering substances has been willingly visiting Nevada with a head full of perverted fantasies in trying to recreate some of the debauchery described in Thompson’s fever dream of a book.

But the secret’s out. The place that was once a swanky getaway for Hollywood stars has mutated into a destination for people who enjoy cruise ships and $20 cocktails in flamingo-shaped cups. If only the scent of sulfur lingered in the air instead of piss and booze-laced sweat.

Now everyone has a Las Vegas story about some degenerate act of humanity. The truth is you can party and lose money anywhere, but for whatever reason it's more acceptable there, if not encouraged.

These thoughts crossed my mind as I sat on a plane back to Colorado after a recent weekend trip to Las Vegas with a couple of friends.

While most amateurs who travel there are interested in huffing ether and wearing aviator sunglasses, we were hell bent for leather, and the only way for us to satiate our heavy metal thirst was to see Judas Priest live and in the flesh. But God had other plans. Unfortunately, Priest guitarist Richie Faulkner suffered a medical emergency and the band canceled the rest of the tour before the Vegas date. Thankfully, he survived and is expected to make a full recovery. We adjusted our plans, and decided to checkout Sin City Slaughterfest one night and ZZ Top the next. There’s always something to do in Las Vegas.

We stayed in a seedy two-star motel on the Strip that was built above a liquor store and behind a tattoo shop.

While the concerts we saw were great, we spent a lot of time hanging out near our hotel amongst the horrors of the Strip.

The relentless waves of humanity that flood Las Vegas Boulevard South each day are filled with toothless show girls who beg people to take pictures with them for money, frat boys who can't hold their liquor stumbling about thinking they're in “The Hangover,” and obese couples wearing matching Raiders jerseys and wedgies. And people here think long lift lines are hell.

Not to mention the noise, my God, the noise is a never-ending cacophony of chaos. From police sirens and loud music to the static hum of a million simultaneous conversations, the voice of Vegas is a harrowing howl. If only the heavens were listening. The most terrifying part? That’s only what’s observable on the surface.

Deep in the darkest corners of Las Vegas lives a sadness so severe no one in their right mind wants to recognize it. The broke and disheartened are discarded and eventually become trapped in this inescapable version of hell on Earth. A homeless man sat on one of the walking bridges above the Strip with a sign that read, “Need money 4 drugs n hoes.” Further along, I noticed a man with dreads dive into a garbage can and pull out a half-empty iced coffee. He sniffed it, shrugged and took a sip before continuing his scavenging.

One night, while walking home from the ZZ Top show, a hooker with a lazy eye approached me about having some “fun.” I acted like I didn’t hear her.

During my early morning trip to the airport, I waited for my Uber ride outside on the Strip. It was 3:30 a.m. There weren’t hordes of revelers. No show girls or frat boys either.

A man with a bottle of beer in each hand stumbled toward me yelling, “Oh, my God” repeatedly. He looked homeless, but a couple nights in Las Vegas will make anyone look like that. I ignored him, but had a strange thought.

Wonder if that’s Jesus, and he unknowingly landed in Las Vegas for the Second Coming. But no one believed him, or cared, and he fell victim to this place like so many had over the years.

This vision reminded me of Genesis 19:17 and the angels that were sent to warn Lot and his family about the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah.

“Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the Plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed.”

As the fallen son came closer, I noticed he was swigging a Budweiser and a Corona. My gaze fell to my phone and the map of the Uber driver’s progress. The drunken prophet then tried to enter the tattoo shop, but a security guard came out to stop him.

“You good?” he asked.

“Oh! My! God!”

He continued down the Strip toward the bright lights of the MGM Grand.

I relaxed in knowing I wouldn’t have to answer for my transgressions hungover and haggard in Las Vegas. The Bible is filled with fire and brimstone, but as Aldous Huxley once said, “Don't try to behave as though you were essentially sane and naturally good. We're all demented sinners in the same cosmic boat, and the boat is perpetually sinking.”