5/5 Would Let Cameron Ruin My Diet Again
Listen up, desert…read morerats and accidental Salton Sea tourists: if you're cruising past that apocalyptic inland ocean and your stomach starts growling louder than your regrets, you NEED to slam on the brakes at the Ski Inn.
Why? Two words: Cameron. And her curves. Sweet baby Jesus on a jet ski, this woman floats behind the bar like a mirage you actually get to touch (the drinks, people, touch the drinks). She's serving looks so dangerous I forgot how to blink. Hips that could cause a 20-car pileup on the 86. I ordered a beer and accidentally proposed. She just laughed, poured me another, and said "Honey, slow down, the burgers aren't going anywhere." Ma'am, neither am I.
Speaking of the burgers... these world-famous bad boys are so juicy they should come with a towel and a safe word. I'm pretty sure they're 50% beef, 50% black magic, and 100% the reason I now need new pants. One bite and I saw God. He was wearing a Ski Inn t-shirt and nodding approvingly at Cameron's... service skills.
Pro tip: sit at the bar so Cameron can lean over to take your order and you can die happy right there between the peanut shells and your own drool.
10/10. The burgers are life-changing. Cameron is a national treasure. My cholesterol is crying but my soul is full.
Ski Inn: Come for the greasy perfection, stay because Cameron smiled at you and now you live here.