In what starts out as a harsh (but fair) commentary on our fair pueblo's inundation of crap gift stores (Walgreens, I'm looking at you), Gizmodo writer and former Tucsonan Cord Jefferson lets both Tucson and Las Vegas have it in this story of his trip to ASD Las Vegas, one of the largest consumer trade shows in the world.

In nearly every corner store in Tucson, the thrifty shopper can find posters that read, "Arizona: It's a dry heat!" above a drawing of two skeletons roasting in a desert; keychains in the shape of saguaros; roadrunner magnets; and, for the true desert memorabilia connoisseur, a dreamcatcher adorned with a kokopelli, an American Indian fertility god that's about as prevalent in certain parts of the Southwest as meth.

For years and years in Tucson—and then after, in places like Key West, Honolulu, New York City, even Sarajevo—I have drowned in the mediocrity of so many tchotchkes, and wondered where they were born. From what warehouse in what ring of hell do ceramic dogs holding signs that say, "Wipe Yer Paws," originate? Or is it opposite: Does God make "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" t-shirts? I finally found out where the world gets all the garbage with which she fills her card shops and gift stores and gas-station toy racks. This stuff doesn't come from hell. It comes from somewhere innumerably worse: Vegas.

The whole story can be found here.