Las Vegas is a popular weekend recreation destination. Billions of people show up every Friday and leave on Sunday. Everyone on Planet Earth knows this, with the notable exception of the folks in charge over at McCarran.
The Friday night taxi line is cruel and unusual punishment for all of the newly arrived merrymakers, zig-zagging to and fro like the line for Space Mountain on a Saturday afternoon. Each passing taxi makes you desperately yearn for your chance to escape in one, but once you're finally granted your chariot of freedom, your will is too broken to experience any joy. Word has it that they're extending the monorail to McCarran, and it can't happen fast enough.
Speaking of trains, the best argument by far for building the bullet train from Anaheim is undoubtedly McCarran International Airport.
The security checkpoint on Sunday afternoon is not an improvement over the taxi line. You're crammed in with several thousand other hungover visitors, winding around nearly every corner of the airport. When I finally arrived to the front of the line to have my chat with the elite defenders of national security, the TSA guy confiscated a small bottle of lotion from my carry-on while leaving a couple clearly visible books of matches that I had carelessly packed. Kinda missing the point, professor.
In short, this place is terrible.