Term Life for Male Smokers

So I haven't been out of my apartment in a long, long time. Quite awhile, actually. A serious stretch, to be sure. Mostly because I'm tired a lot. Which is mostly because I drink a lot. Which is mostly because I'm tired a lot. Circular arguments aside [not to worry, we'll invite them back presently--along with a few false analogies, a couple o' straw arguments, an "either-or" assumption or two, some unjustified conclusions, and (of course) some serious misuse of statistics], I just haven't ventured out in a lengthy spell--and therefore I could be misinformed about recent events, I'm just not certain. Quick question: Did the Sands casino really close? Really? Wow. A shame. That's all I can say, a shame (twice). It had good scotch and a nice putting green. Tough combo to find these days. I can recall the marquee like it was yesterday: Elayne Boosler. Goodbye Norma Jean, indeed. Still, I'll always have my memories of the Copa Room (was that one "p" or two?) and the Wayne Newton pickle sandwich (was that one "pickle" or two?). Anyway, let me know if need some old matchbooks (yes, with the penguins on the inside flap) or laminated casino guest cards. I got plenty.