You venture out off the beaten path, in search of fine luxury rivaling only that of being smothered in between the thighs of a lady deathclaw.
You know that you're not yet ready for the New Vegas strip because you're only a level 1 Courier instead of a level 100 Jeff Bezos, but you have an irresistible urge to observe super mutant muscle girls in their natural habitat—in caves filled with kidnapped human skeletons that were snu-snu'd to death after being force fed FEV from the super mutants' breast milk, bringing forth their daughters, then being disposed of after fulfilling their purpose, which is to increase tourism in New Vegas.
Some call it a conspiracy orchestrated by Dr. Louse, hence why it's called "Lucky 34", which is a reference to the 34 Amazon-ian super mutant clans throughout New Vegas. Which obviously isn't true but I can edit Wikipedia so bite my shiny metal ass.
You hop over some small canyons with invisible walls impeding your way, but you push on because nothing's going to get in your way of enjoying big, mean, meaty, green, speckled, heavy, saggy, juicy, green milk-filled super mutant orc titties.
Those droopy, plump, eclipsing, swolen, purple-areola'd, bumpy nippled, sweaty, hairy, jerky-like hulking ogre marsh tits.
Those behemoth, rhinoceros, milftastic, rough, seasoned, mature, experienced, bruised, battered, lactose-spilling, battle-scarred, matriarchal war boobies.
Those skull crushing, mankilling, mortar and pestle grinding, brain draining, marauding, bone pierced, tribal tattooed, boobs-glued-to-pecs monster mommy milker wrecking balls.
Those-While you've been lost in thought, a blind deathclaw smelled your anticipation from a mile away, it charges up on you then interrupts your day dreaming with a roar that knocks the wind out of you.
Are you just gonna let it deathsplain you like that, Courier?