Last Saturday afternoon, Olympic aqua-stud Ryan Lochte stripped down to a Speedo, hoisted a bottle of champagne and confirmed what we’ve known for weeks now: America’s douchebag sweetheart is made for Las Vegas. Ever since Lochte flashed a $25,000 American flag grill and started selling sunglasses with “LOCHTE” over one eye, we knew he’d land on the Strip. And so, only four days after the closing ceremonies, the frat-tastic athlete did just that, embarking on a tour that involved sideways peace signs at Tao, faux gold medals at Azure, racing Prince Harry at XS (click here for a recap) and tweeting #jeah from all of the above. (In perhaps his douchiest move yet, Lochte’s now trying to trademark his trademark pseudo-word.) In other cities, such behavior might be scoffed at. But this is Vegas. And Lochte, with his idiotic nicknames, chiseled abs and Olympic bling, is a bona fide, marquee-ready cash cow. A really, really fit cow. Sure, Reezy represents all of the things the world already knows about Vegas. Sure, he probably thinks the Venetian is Downtown and we all live in casinos and women in American flag bikinis grow on palm trees, but ... What’s that? You say he’s single, likes to drink and sometimes jumps into the pool fully clothed? Give that man a key to the city and a part in Peepshow!