FRED Entertainment

BALTIMORE –– Is it really the 10th anniversary of the revolution? What revolution, you may ponder. On July 12, 1997, HBO unleashed Oz. This series flipped dramatic TV shows over and sodomized the staid concepts. It went everywhere a network show didn’t dare to roam in language, violence and man love.

It was a unflinching look at life inside the Oswald Maximum Security Correctional Facility. What set it apart from any other TV drama wasn’t merely that it had throat slashing, butt sex and cussing, but that it allowed the bad guys to be the major characters. Even the supposed good guys were shown running their own rackets behind the prison walls. Nobody was all good. Although quite a few characters were all bad. While TV dramas before Oz might have had recurring evil characters, they were either seen as comic relief or constantly being taught that their bad ways would never defeat the series hero. Oz put an end to that tradition. If anything separates HBO from network dramas, it’s the greatness of their villains.

The only series that didn’t have an amazing bad guy was Six Feet Under. Although Nate Fisher (Peter Krause) became such an asshole in the final years that he was as good as a villain. We’re still not sure who is the bad guy in John From Cincinnati, but we’re putting money on Ed Bundy’s bird.

After a long polling process, here’s The Top Ten of HBO’s Diabolical Decade:

10. Atia of the Julii – Rome – (Polly Walker) – She was the most wonderful mother a future emperor could ever have. She fucked for power. She fucked for peace. Occasionally she fucked cause she was in the mood. Her body was the Appian Way for her son to ride to the top. She didn’t mind destroying her close friends if she feared they’d turn on her. For an America that was used to Polly Walker from the charming Enchanted April, her lusty turn on Rome was quite shocking.

9. Phil Leotardo – Sopranos – (Frank Vincent) – For the final seasons of The Sopranos, Phil was the ballbusting mobster while Tony emotionally floundered. Phil snuffed the man who loved Johnny Cakes. Phil wanted Jersey to know that New York runs the family. Frank Vincent was able to up his mobster profile from all his Martin Scorsese roles.

8. Roman Grant – Big Love – (Harry Dean Stanton) – This isn’t just a creepy minister of a polygamy community in Utah. Roman is God’s will on Earth. You turn on him and you’ve banished yourself to hell. And he doesn’t wait till you’re dead to make you feel the heat. He also has a major thing for collecting more wives. If you don’t watch out, he’ll marry your daughter! Harry Dean Stanton’s nails the creepy look when he lowers his cowboy hat.

7. Chris Keller – Oz – (Christopher Meloni) – He was a hardcore killer that had no qualms in snuffing folks. Perhaps his crowning moment is what’s called “Pullin’ A Keller” around the joint. He had a guy giving him a blow job in a private part of the prison. Chris unloaded in the guy’s mouth and snapped the sucker’s neck. I never saw Jack Lord do this on Hawaii Five-O. While Meloni has gone on to star in Law and Order: SVU, it’s hard to imagine he’s really protecting Manhattan. He’s just trying to eliminate the competition.

6. Omar Little – The Wire – (Michael K. Williams) – Whenever you see Omar roaming the mean rowhouse streets of Baltimore with his shotgun, you hide. He’s a wild card on the series. He doesn’t mind robbing the drug dealers, but he’s not cleaning up the town. He just wants the money and the dope. Williams has a hardcore look when he loads up his guns that puts him beyond the normal tough guy actors. Why aren’t rappers wearing t-shirts of Omar Little instead of Tony Montana?

5.Brother Justin Crowe – Carnivale – (Clancy Brown) – Was he Satan? Or just a really creepy minister in league with the devil? Brother Justin was taking over America with his church of the airwaves during the Great Depression. He also liked it rough with the female help. Clancy Brown first went after The Highlander and he topped it by taking on the Carny. Did you know he was the voice of Mr. Krabs on Spongebob?

4. Stringer Bell – The Wire – (Idris Elba) – While Avon Barksdale was serving time, Stringer kept the family drug network running. He even used a community college’s small business course work to revitalize the smack trade. Stringer ran into trouble when he discovered that people in the legit world are more cut throat than underground bastards. Idris Elba was robbed of Emmy glory.

3. Al Swearengen – Deadwood – (Ian McShane) – The ultimate cocksucker ran the town of Deadwood with an iron soul. What he didn’t own or control, he’d destroy. One of his great moments he gave a heartfelt monologue while being blown by a hooker. Ian McShane is now starring in Hot Rod with the guy who put his dick in a box.

2. Tony Soprano – Soprano – (James Gandolfini) – What can be said about the icon? He became the second most popular mobster character behind Don Corleone. He dealt with the issues of his family and his mobster crew. While he showed his human side, we also experienced his beast fury.

1. Vern Schillinger – Oz – (J.K. Simmons) – He lead the Aryan Brotherhood in the prison. When he first appeared on the show, we thought he was a nice guy who had been sent to prison for killing the drug dealer that poisoned his sons. But then he burned a swastika into his bunkmates ass before sodomizing it. Vern was pure evil for six seasons. It was a close vote between Vern and Tony for the top spot. But the tie breaker was that Tony refused to snuff his whiney son. Vern had no problem whacking his offspring when they disappointed him. Simmons is now playing Assistant Chief of LAPD on The Closer. He was also the voice of the Yellow M&M. And now he is the Most Diabolical Character from HBO.

SNAKE WATER

How the hell does Vitamin Water not get sued for false advertising?

I’m trying to cut back on my 3 liters of soda that I slurp down a day. I’m down to one cup of diet soda to hold the caffeine headaches back. The rest of the day I drink plenty of water. I want to get back into fight shape for my upcoming Celebrity Boxing match against Jessica Alba.

During a recent location shoot, I reached into the Igloo cooler for a water, but all that’s inside was Vitamin Water. There’s nothing wrong with water with a little vitamins. Who doesn’t take a drink of water with their Flintstones chewies? But this isn’t water. The stuff I had was “Defense” featuring raspberry and apple flavoring. Sure the bottle claims it “contains less than 1% juice,” but wasn’t that true about Hawaiian Punch? And I didn’t taste water so much as flavor when I drank it. It tasted like Kool-Aid without enough sugar. Is this really water or watered down juice? Water should be clear unless it comes from a Cary, North Carolina tap. Then it’s a nice shimmer grey. This Vitamin water stuff was pretty damn red. It had the capability of staining the carpet. Water gets things wet. It doesn’t dye fabric.

Here’s the funny part, the ingredients listed “vegetable juice (color).” What part of raspberry and apple lies in the vegetable flavor? We can argue tomatoes until Nancy Reagan dies, but raspberries and apples are not veggies. Speaking of seeds crops, Vitamin Water also has crystalline fructose. The folks at sugar.org describe this as “produced by allowing the fructose to crystallize from a fructose-enriched corn syrup.” I’m trying to get the corn syrup out of my diet. That’s why I’m cutting back on soda. But these guys at Glauceau are passing off “water” that’s filled with the same crap that’s in soda.

And in a stroke of Idiocracy, the labels also lists “calcium lactate (electrolyte).” Vitamin Water has electrolytes! At what point do you put enough stuff in water that the FDA won’t let you call it water? You put lemons in water and it gets called Lemonade. You put electrolytes, corn syrup and vegetable juice in a bottle and you still get to call it water?

The boys in Glauceau legal came up with a hilarious description of their product.
“Nutrient enhanced water beverage” is what they call their liquid. Under the definition – what isn’t “vitamin water?” Beer is “nutrient enhanced water beverage.” Coffee fits those lines. So does Tea. So is Coke, Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Jolt and Diet Citrus Drop. Even Hawaiian Punch. If you go down to the waste treatment facility, you can dreg up a glassful of sludge and declare it a “Nutrient enhanced water beverage.”

What’s even more shocking is what the boys in marketing tried to hide from me. The nutritional info is obscured by the red top of the label. What does water not have (besides electrolytes)? Go look on a bottle of real water. It should say “O Calories.” When I held the Vitamin Water bottle in a bright light, through the red background, I was able to see that a serving has 50 calories. What’s more showing is that according to Glauceau, one of their 20 ounce bottles contains 2 1/2 servings. Who drinks that little out of a bottle? Does my grandfather work for Glauceau pouring out Vitamin Water in spit sink Dixie Cups? A 20 ounce bottle of Vitamin Water has 125 calories. That’s a lot of your daily intake if you’re sticking to a 2,000 calorie diet.

You know how much water you have to drink to get 125 calories? You can’t. I don’t know exactly what the calorie intake from a One A Day tablet is, but I’m going to guess that it’s not 125 calories when mixed with 20 ounces of water. How can you add this many calories to water and still get to pass it off to water to the American Consumer? This is a beverage that has very little to do with being water. This isn’t a glass of water with a lemon attached to the lip.

Basically this stuff is Gatorade. But you don’t see Gatorade calling themselves Gator Water. While they market the Propel Fitness Water (and I’ve got a beef with that title, too), at least their water is only 25 calories per 20 ounce bottle.

When I reach into a cooler and grab a bottle marked “Water,” I don’t expect to be drinking fattening crap. Forget Formula 50, Glauceu and Coke need to start up a new flavor: Snake Oil. Although the boys in marketing can rebrand it Snake Water with fiery cobra on the label.

DOLPHIN LOGIC

One thing left off my Vegas epic was a visit to The Hooters Hotel and Casino. I thought this was a joke like Otis’ Secret Still Bar. But it was really there in glorious orange and exposed wood. The ladies treated us pretty nice although way too many of them were pregnant. Those hot wings are potent.

What’s even more dangerous is a visit to Dan Marino’s restaurant in the casino. Have you seen all those TV ads where Dan Marino and his football pals beg us to lose weight? The former Miami Dolphin’s quarterback’s health conscious ways don’t visit Las Vegas. A huge sign advertised all you cam eat baby back ribs for $16.99. How the hell does Dan expect America to lose weight when he tempts us with glorious baby back ribs at such an amazing price?

Get with the program, Marino. Either we all lose weight or we all pig out on the precious bones. You can’t have it both ways. Of course he learned this misdirection from his coach. Don Shula also pimps the weight loss on TV. But if you go into his steakhouse, he promotes “The Shula Cut.” This is a 48 ounce porter house steak. If you eat it in one sitting, you get an autograph picture of the coach and your name goes up on his website. Shula promotes one mega-eater that polished off 175 of the Shula Cuts. How can you beg for me to lose a few pounds as you hang out with a guy who has eaten 525 pounds of steak?

If Shula cared about the health of America, he should be praising people who ate the 4.8 ounce porterhouse at his joint.

Why didn’t Shula get Marino a Superbowl? Maybe these two were stuffing their faces during timeouts instead of calling the right plays.

THIS IS IT, GIRL?

Finally had a chance to see Factory Girl, the story of Edie Sedgwick and her time with Andy Warhol. Ever since the book Edie came out in the ’80s, everybody has claimed they were going to make a biographical film about the Youthquaking trust fund girl who was Paris Hilton with a soul. There was once talk of Molly Ringwald in the lead.

The film focused on the quasi-romance between Edie and Andy. Sienna Miller didn’t seem too English playing the girl who fell down the rabbithole of Manhattan. Guy Pearce did the best Warhol since Bowie’s turn under the wig in Basquiat. Halfway through the film, my wife asked me if there was something else on TV. Instead of insisting that things would pick up and get interesting, off went the DVD. The next morning I watched the last hour. Over 20 years of people wanting to make the movie and this was the end result? At least it’s out of Hollywood’s system.

But this isn’t the first semi-biopic that everyone wanted to make and ended up laying on the screen like last week’s potato salad. Bettie (or Betty) Page was also a hot property. The Notorious Bettie Page left me limp. For all the staged debauchery about the fetish star’s career, the movie felt way too clean and reserved. For a film about bondage, I wasn’t wrapped up in the action. Although it did remind us that Gretchen Mol has a great rack. Even the more low budget Bettie Page: Dark Angel was dishwater dull. It spent more time recreating the photo shoots than dragging us into the emotions of the moment. And why did they cast a girl with fake boobs?

The final female film that had a lot of “this needs to be a movie” buzz was Black Dahlia. Nearly 20 years after James Ellroy wrote his fictional account of the case, Brian DePalma made it into a major motion picture. And 20 minutes into the film, I fell asleep. The film has Mia Kirshner as the title role. She normally keeps my eyeballs wide open. Who can forget that very special episode of L Word where she and Sarah Shahi shared a toilet seat? When is someone going to turn that into a motion picture? It demands Imax!

Here were three women that occupied my mind during college. Even I had that hideous thought that I should make their lives into movies. But I left it to the “professionals.” And look what George Hickenlooper, Mary Harron and Brian DePalma did to them? They would have been better off dating O.J. Simpson. It was like going to a 20th reunion and seeing what finally happened to the hot girl in PE class – the first one that had to invest in a jogging bra. Instead of seeing her as an eternal stunner, she’s become the stand-by guest at Jerry Springer.

DINNER: IMPLAUSIBLE

Dinner: Impossible on the Food Network has become highly addictive watching at the estate. Each week Chef Robert Irvine gets stuck somewhere with a little more time as an Iron Chef, but with a semi-inept kitchen staff. He’s got a few hours to create a primo gourmet meal for groups of dozens to thousands. It’s nuts. Recently he had to make such a meal during a Chicago White Sox game using only food in the concessionaires freezer. Talk about a gruesome selection of meats.

What Irvine concocts is rather amazing. We’re going to do try the Dots with margarita mix at a future party. The nice part about the show is a few times he has failed the challenge. He couldn’t create the amazing meal under the deadline. So there is excitement as things come down to the wire.

I dare Robert Irvine to be able to use me a kitchen assistant on an episode. Although he’ll probably have to bow down to my amazing ability to make put stuff on a Ritz Cracker. Can he make the deadline with me mixing up the risotto? And don’t expect to see anything, but shells and gills if there’s lobster in the episode.

And if he doesn’t want me, can I please get to try out for Ball Busting with Gordon Ramsey where I get 1 hour to make everyone in a three star kitchen cry like baby or attempt to strangle me? Beef Wellington? More like Biff Smellington!

NO CAKE FOR ME

The Food Network has informed my that my Ace of Cakes segment has been banned from the channel. Somehow a cake of Alex Rodriguez with a bat shoved up his ass wasn’t considered family friendly.

While I’m blown away by the Charm City creations from Duff Goldman, it’d be nice to get a price tag on a few of those cakes. How much would it cost for me to get the plane slamming into the Titanic cake? Will I be forced to sell my kids on eBay to pay for their birthday cakes? Does he use his electric saw to remove the arms and legs of customers that come up short? Although fondant can be used to stop a bleeding artery.

DAMN VHS

Did you know there’s no way to reduce space on your VHS collection without getting rid of the tapes? When it came time to shrink the DVD shelves, I put the shiny disks in sleeves and tossed out the plastic cases. You removed the box from a VHS tape and you’re pretty much stuck with the same amount of space minus a few cubic millimeters.

BIRDS AND SHIPS

This is a great time for classic animation on DVD. Showing up in the mail over the past week has been Popeye The Sailor: 1933-1938, The Woody Woodpecker and Friends Classic Cartoon Collection and Tex Avery’s Droopy – The Complete Theatrical Collection. There’s more vintage shorts on those DVDs than Cartoon Network has shown in the past year.

All three sets are prime examples of what can be done when folks who are passionate about animation are allowed to work on these projects. This winter looks good with the final installment of Tom and Jerry and Volume Five of Looney Tunes and the rest of the black and white Popeyes.

LIBERATE CUBA

Daddy Day Camp once again makes me to ponder “Why hasn’t Cuba Gooding Jr. gone nuts and beaten a movie executive to death?” Can he seriously be happy taking all these crappy roles? Why hasn’t he at least camped out on Cameron Crowe’s doorstep refusing to move until Cameron writes him a script? He made Cuba an Oscar winner and now he’s reduced to making films so pathetic that Eddie Murphy wouldn’t cash the check on it. And Eddie needs the work between alimony, the Spicegirl baby and the new fiancé. Lawyers don’t get paid with freebie DVDs.

I have hope that his role in American Gangster will make us forget that Cuba Gooding Jr. made Rat Race, Boat Trip and Snow Dogs. If all goes wrong, Cuba could star in The Wayne Brady Story.

CREEPY ENGLISH PEOPLE

First off, bad news to the producers of John From Cincinnati. With the new episodes of No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain back on the Travel Channel every Monday night at 10 p.m., we’re going to watch your show OnDemand on Tuesdays. We’ve already bumped you from Sunday nights because of 4400. The freaky nature of John is enjoyable, but it’s just not “must see” TV cause it’s just too damn confusing. We want to see Bourdain getting lost around the globe versus a bunch of messed up surfers getting lost in a plotline.

We are enjoying Meadowlands on Showtime. This is best described as The Prisoner-family style. Something evil has happened and the family is forced to relocate in an experimental town that’s filled with witness protection people. It’s kinda like Arizona. The father is played by David Morrissey. It’s pretty obvious why he wants a new identity in a town where no one knows him. Did you see Basic Instinct 2? Morrissey probably doesn’t want you to remember him staring at Sharon Stone’s snatch. Felicity Jones, who plays the daughter, wins our Summer Sizzling actress. She knows how to work the bangs.

They did tip their hat to the old Prisoner series when during a soccer match, they had Morrissey wear the “6” jersey.

BECKHAM BLAHS

Did I really watch a soccer match to see a guy come into a match with a few minutes left? Not really. I was only flipping back to the LA Galaxy vs those English players game during commercial breaks of Ice Road Truckers on the History Channel. I can only handle so many shots of a guy sitting on a bench.

If you’ve seen Once In A Lifetime: The Extraordinary Story of the New York Cosmos, you’ll see that when Pele arrived to elevate soccer in America. He didn’t spend too much time on the bench. People tuned in the next game to see the amazing ball work and goals. When it comes to Beckham, they want us to see if he will actually warm up with 10 minutes left. All the hype. The countdowns. The moaning from Europe. And we end up with a guy who would look best on a bench between Sebastian Telfair and Ryan Leaf.

And Herbalife? Why is that on the Galaxy jersey? Did Est not have $25 million ready to burn? Dianetics not ready to get that involved with the beautiful sport? Wonder if Herbalife has a cure for bum ankles? Red Bulls should have sponsored LA since you’ll need a case to stay awake long enough to see if Beckham will take off his sweatsuit.

LAS VEGAS – Lady Luck is about to bitch slap Sin City.

I’ve come out to this town eager to party down at Lindsay Lohan’s 21st birthday party. During our time in rehab, I had promised Firecrotch that her first legal drink was going to be a fuzzy nipple poured across my fuzzy nipples. For those wondering; yes, I did have a relapse on my Sudoku addiction. Damn those numbers and boxes. While I won’t go into details because I don’t want the tabloids to exploit this story, Lindsay saved my life. All I wanted to do to repay the strength she gave me with my struggles with addiction with a few top shelf mixed drinks to welcome her into the world of adulthood.

I arrived in Las Vegas and scooted down to Pure at Caesars Palace to secure my VIP booth. I had IV bags filled with Red Bull to insure that I wouldn’t miss a minute of fun. TMZ was going to be my playground. I sat in the booth for three days. I understand that Lindsay is late because she’s a busy girl. And I know that soon I’d be the reason she’d be late for the set. But then I was informed that there would be no birthday wildness for Lindsay and her friends. I was also told that I had to pay my own tab. They charged me $30 for gummi worms! How could she do this to me? We were supposedly Best Friends Till Step Five! What about the ecstasy, Lindsay?

And so I was stuck in Sin City suffering from Firecrotch withdrawal. Walking the Las Vegas Strip, it became apparent that what stays in Vegas isn’t always the debauchery. Mostly it’s your cash.

TROP-A-PAINA

Augie once declared that Vegas hotels didn’t need spa services since every employee knew how to give you a massage. In the past this town knew how to rub you just the right way so that you didn’t think about all the cash that floated from your wallet. A tourist smiled as they slid a tip to a casino employee. And they knew how to tip you back with sweet comps. Everybody wins – although odds were you weren’t winning cash.

You didn’t care about how much money you blew in Las Vegas. But now every dollar you burn comes with a receipt. Before you have a chance to pour your dollars into a slot machine, the hotel is nickel and diming your ass. A perfect example of this is the Tropicana hotel. We booked the place because it seemed like it was semi-Old School Vegas. After I locked down a great rate thanks to the roaming gnome, I discovered that the package deal didn’t include the “Resort Fee.” The hotel is tacking on a surcharge of $5 a day for their services we could never find in the complex. They charged me for using the pool when we checked in at midnight. They stuck us in a smoking room. Under old school Vegas rules, the desk clerk would have perked us to make up for stinking us in a room reeking of Viceroys and Kools. Even when we got a non-smoking room the second day, they didn’t even send a bellhop up to transfer our luggage. We might as well stayed at a Budget Inn.

The moron who decided to slap the Resort Fee on the bill didn’t understand that it pissed me off so much that I decided to take my main gambling action down the road. It’s not like they weren’t going to get that $20 from me after I stumbled across the That Girl slot machine near the elevator. But I played it at different casino (it might have been the Hooters casino behind us). I didn’t play it too long since t wasn’t paying off. I don’t want to feel angry at Marlo Thomas for taking my cash. Plus there wasn’t any winning panels featuring the Impeccable Hair of Ted Bessell. Marlo will be getting $20 from me in August, 7 when That Girl: Season Three comes out from Shout! Factory.

How was the Resort action for my $5 a day? Blah. The pool had too many leaves floating in it. Nobody seemed too eager to clear the floating futz. And the towel they gave me felt like it was stolen from a United Nations Refuge Camp.

SKIN OFF

The big thing the Tropicana pushed was Bodies. No matter where you were in the hotel or on the strip, you weren’t far from the image of a Chinese guy whose skin had been ripped off, head cut in half and organs left dangling in space. It was on posters. It was on the marquee. It was on the top of cabs. It was on rolling billboards. It was on my room key-card. It was too much.

Am I wrong in thinking that this is a pretty gross image? How exactly do we have Congressional hearings over Janet Jackson’s barely seen nipple (that was nearly hidden by a strange piece of jewelry), but nobody seems to care about posters of a dissected corpse plastered all over the neighborhood? Am I to believe that if Justin Timberlake had ripped the flesh off Janet’s chest during the Superbowl show, we’d all say, “That’s educational and entertaining!” Is there not a single parent in America willing to demand that the advertising for Bodies needs to be toned down? Or do all parents think their five year old kids need to involuntarily see a skinned and sliced human being as they look out the mini-van windows? Slim Goodbody was gross, but he didn’t quite look like the Incredible Melting Man.

I’m not going to get into the politics of where these bodies are coming from. Although it is strange they said that exhibits supposedly agreed to be used this way. Who donates their body to Showbiz? Joan Rivers doesn’t count. What’s strange is that after the Chinese government decided to tighten up and slow down adoption of their babies by American couples, they’re renting us their corpses. Is this a cradle to the grave policy shift?

There were a lot of Asian guests at the Tropicana. I wonder if they felt uncomfortable knowing their neighbors were on display in the main exhibit room. Did any of them recognize the guy on the keycard? Did any of them fear that if they protested the resort fee, they’d end up playing Poker with their innards on the outside?

VEGAS TIPS

Don’t rent a car if you fly into Vegas. You don’t need to be clogging up the Las Vegas Strip.

The town is filled with cabs. Put them to use. Why not risk a chance to be on HBO?

The roaming gnome told us to take the Grey Line from the airport to the hotel. It was $5 per person. We didn’t wait too long to load up and head out. But the ride back turned into a nightmare. They were supposed to pick us up 2 1/2 hours before the flight. No need to cut it too close knowing how fast those security lines grow and how slow the scanner cops work. Do they get paid by the hour or the bag? They have to be careful cause they can’t allow too much breast milk near the planes.

We stood outside the hotel a half an hour before the designated time to make sure we didn’t get missed. They missed us. Or just didn’t give a crap in the city built on craps. What was more frustrating than waiting in 112 degree heat was calling up the Grey Line’s phone number to find out where the hell they were since we were sweating in the hellish afternoon. I never got off their hold system. I was dumped off it on several occasions and had to call back. I burned through 50 cellphone minutes getting no response. Even though we pre-paid for the return voyage, I had to hail a cab. Once again, another Vegas company that doesn’t strike me as willing to give me a massage or pick up the phone.

Although while waiting in the heat, we got to watch a Jerry Springer level meltdown between a couple in front of the hotel. This woman went nuts on her baby’s daddy. And the guy was trying to keep his woman in check while constantly having to worry about his half off pants falling all the way down as he chased and pleaded with her. When are urban posers going to realize that nobody wants to see the top half of your boxer shorts? It’s not fashion. The only reason we watch you is because we sense that your pants will drop, you’ll trip, hit the ground and “impersonate” Phil Leotardo. We’re rooting for your demise, speedbump. Buy a belt.

For getting around during the day, The Deuce is cheaper than a cab. These are the numerous double decker buses that roam the Strip and run down to Freemont Street. If you sit up top and look down, you’ll be treated to more thrills than the roller coaster on the Stratosphere. I can’t even count the number of near misses that took place during one short trip. These buses cut through the traffic like a cow rollerskating through Swan Lake. The best part is that for $5 you can ride around for 24 hours. It’s like you’re gambling with house money when you watch multiple crashes without risking your car insurance.

The only bad Deuce incident we experienced was a late night trip to Freemont Street. We ended up waiting 45 minutes for a departing bus. There was this loud drunk fat guy who kept shouting at people in convertibles. He had to tell his friends about everything they had just done. During the early days of Vegas, mobsters must have killed these dorks in order to make the rest of us enjoy our stay. Do they make double sized holes in the desert? Luckily he grabbed a cab 2 minutes before the bus arrived. Nothing worse than being stuffed against a five day old Dread Snapper in a sardine can.

NETHER VEGAS

Once you go past the Stratosphere on the way to Freemont, you leave the world of mega-casino-hotels and enter a shady zone filled with wedding chapels, tattoo parlors and tiny motels. While staring out the Deuce window looking at these creepy sleepovers, I’m struck with the thought that every night clerk must has a story about Andy Dick calling for room service at 4 a.m. The Party Favors would like to congratulate Jon Lovitz for attacking Andy Dick at the Laugh Factory. A decade ago, I’d talk to Andy often on the phone. He was a great guy to talk to at odd hours. But since then, he’s become a monster. For a creative and funny guy, Andy has pissed it away. Hopefully Lovitz bashing his face will allow him to understand that there is a price to being an asshole. The incident has inspired a new VH1 series: Who Wants to Beat the Crap Out Of Andy Dick? Three people get to plead their case as to why Andy pissed them off. The audience votes and the winner gets to lay a beating on Dick. The runners up get to hold him down.

CRANE GAME

Here’s a joke you’ll hear every time you talk to a Vegas local: What’s the state bird of Nevada? The crane!!!

It’s funny cause it’s overwhelmingly true.

You want to get treated like a king in this town, don’t show up with Sean Combs and Britney Spears. You roll into town tugging a crane. Every pit boss on the strip will comp your ass. You’re a high rise roller. They’ll offer you everything under the sun to make sure you don’t take your skyscraping action to Dubai. Here’s a late to the party stock tip: Invest in cranes! They’re all going up! Is that a Wall Street construction joke?

CityCenter’s construction site had at least two dozen cranes of various sizes in play. It was like a Dr. Seuss book illustration with all the around the clock activity. What’s amazing is this latest Kirk Kerkorian mega-resort/casino has a price tag of $7 Billion. For those who thought the Dallas Cowboys were going overboard with their billion dollar stadium, here’s a place where that state of the art dome’s budget is meaningless. A billion will probably be the cost overrun on this project. Crammed inside the 76 acres will be numerous towers containing 7.500 hotel rooms and condos, hundreds of offices and a space shuttle launching pad.

The huge projects on the Las Vegas Strip now flowing onto the other side of the airport. The mega-casinos will flow for miles. Now before you decide to strike it rich land speculating, here’s a warning: Those “For Sale” signs on the empty lots on the Las Vegas strip are lies. All that land is being developed. Nobody is selling their land – especially buy putting up a sign. The land owners rent the sign space to realtors. When you call that number thinking you can become Steve Wynn Jr., they’re going to come up with a “it’s under contract” BS and then try to interest you into desert acreage that’s on the “next big zone.”

The city does need to change its slogan to “Pardon Our Dust.” You couldn’t walk anywhere without encountering a construction zone.

The hotels on the strip are following the McMansion craze that’s sweeping the nation. There’s no real approach space. Most of the casinos are slammed against the sidewalk. The casinos are so slammed together, it almost feels like downtown Manhattan.
The lush entrance of Caesars Palace has been tossed aside as they dump buildings all over what was a magnificent view. There’s no space for future Evel Knievels to leap over the water fountain. The once stunning landmark has lost its splendor with all the faux Roman junk filling the acreage. It’s a nutty neighbor’s lawn that’s been covered with plastic animals and windmills. It looks like one of those places that sell concrete yard statues.

Cinematographers do an amazing job to create the illusion of space when they shoot in Vegas. It’s hard to line up a shot that doesn’t look busy or show the other five casinos in the row. And its just going to get worse as even more hotels transform on the strip. The New Frontier is about to get demolished to make way for a resort that will look like the Plaza Hotel in New York. What’s the point of that? I’d rather be in Manhattan to experience the real deal. This was the first casino to book Elvis. And soon it’ll be rubble. We dropped by to see the Gilley’s bar that was hosting female mud wrestling. The place looked dead and we didn’t see any hot women lurking near the main bar. We decided to spend the Mud Wrestling ticket price in the Elvis themed slot machines. It only seemed appropriate. It’ll implode soon like so much of this town’s legends.

We were also told Tropicana and Circus Circus will be doing major reconstruction. The Aladdin is still making its transition to the Planet Hollywood Casino. How did that miserable relic of the ’90s dining afford a casino? While you’re waiting for your next blackjack hand, the dealer will attempt to sell you a t-shirt. What’s odd is that the Planet Hollywood restaurant is across the street at Caesar’s Palace. By the way, have you ever heard Caesar sing?

MAGIC MAN

Whenever we passed a parking lot, I’d yell out, “Is Criss Angel performing here, tonight?” The greatest trick Criss Angel has ever performed was making us think that he performs. Mindfreak was shot at the Aladdin/Planet Hollywood casino. But when I asked the guys at the Planet Hollywood ticket office when Criss Angel was going to be on stage, they laughed. Neither had ever seen a real stage show with Angel. What exactly is the point of Criss Angel becoming a magical personality if he’s not doing it every night on the big stage? They said he was now signed to perform at the Luxor. But the big headliner at the Luxor was CarrotTop.

My hotel window looked out at a 40 ft. high picture of CarrotTop in front of the Luxor. A mega-screen on the side of the MGM Grand pimped the prop comic by showing him barechested. After that sight, I was unable to achieve an erection for five days. Images of a half naked CarrotTop and the butchered Chinese guy don’t need to be shown in public.

We did see a lot of posters for Pam Anderson’s semi-act. The star of Stacked is only a magician’s assistant for the guy performing at Planet Hollywood. What does that say about your talent when you can’t even slap together a lame song and dance routine for 45 minutes? Jayne Mansfield did it. She didn’t even have Autotune. The least Pam can do is juggle her old implants. They really fixed her up on the poster so she didn’t look so burned out.

A more visually pleasant view is the side of the Flamingo Hotel covered with a giant picture of Toni Braxton striking a Lola Falana pose. Not sure about the show. They push the $100 tickets with “Toni Braxton takes audiences on a visual and musical journey through her life.” Make sure you eat a good meal before the show cause it sounds like a long trip.

WATER STOP

In case you get a dry throat from all the dirt in the air, don’t drink from your hotel room tap. It was chunky style with a tangy after taste. Luckily the nearby Walgreens Drugs had 2 1/2 gallons of drinkable water that cost as much as small bottle of Dassani in the hotel’s Coke machine.

BAD TELE

If you live in Las Vegas, you don’t need me to explain that your local television sucks. Not that it sucks any worse than most any other city in America. The local channels either had the news, Oprah, judge shows or Jerry Springer marathons. Whatever happened to I Love Lucy reruns? I’m in Vegas – shouldn’t there be a channel showing Vegas? Where’s the Dan Tanna love? While laying low in the hotel room to avoid the heat, we ended up watching the Elmo’s World segment of Sesame Street. There’s a chance that Elmo will end up in rehab next year. He’s showing a little meth-mouth around the gums.

We couldn’t take the constant news. Most of the local reporters were recounting the poor woman who was beaten to death on her Scoot-around. It was like they were promoting an episode of CSI. Something about old women being beaten to death in 113 degree heat that makes me ponder the up side of moving to Las Vegas.

Besides the crappy local TV, the Tropicana had crappy TV sets. The screen was barely 15 inches. I wasn’t expecting a 60 inch HiDef entertainment machine. But why a set that’s smaller than my video camera’s viewfinder?

The cable channel selection barely had ESPN. They had TNT, but no TBS. I was denied Comedy Central. And they didn’t have HBO. Nor Showtime. What hotel doesn’t have a single HBO channel? The creepy Crescent Motel on US 1 has HBO. And they don’t charge an extra $5 a day as a resort fee. Luckily we weren’t staying on a Sunday night. I can’t bare to miss John From Cincinnati. The first episode I miss will be the one that makes sense out of the show. When did Ed Bundy get the power to heal the dead?

The Tropicana didn’t even have any porn channels. What’s the point of being in a Vegas hotel without sanitized hotel porn? Sunny Lane was supposed to have a Spectra-vision debut! Did you know you can watch hotel room porn in Salt Lake City? Sin City gets trumped by Sprite-ville.

And the damn set didn’t have RCA input jacks so I couldn’t patch in my portable DVD player. Although the monitor on my DVD player was nearly as big as the hotel TV. We ended up watching network crap as we recovered from Keno madness.

Why are there two shows about people not knowing the lyrics to pop songs on network TV? Why is there BINGO on ABC? Why exactly are the network suits broadcasting star impersonators? Do I really care if you can dance? Why has network television been reduced to a UHF station booking amateur acts for a telethon? This crap wouldn’t cut it at summer camp. Maybe next week the dorks at NBC can have Competitive Macramé? And why do we have to import English losers to be on the panel? Aren’t we allowed to judge our fellow Americans? Remember folks that the last time a guy in England tried to control our country, we rebelled. It’s time to throw Simon and his Brit clones into Boston Harbor!

INFLIGHT REVIEWS

The nice part about traveling with a portable DVD player is not being held hostage by bad in-flight movies. Perhaps hostage is a bad word when relating to air travel. Hopefully that sentence won’t put me on the Homeland Security Don’t Fly List. But I feel terrorized by Will Smith inflight movies. Crap. I shouldn’t have said terrorized. Remind me to pack lube in my carry on case so the anal probe will feel seductive. How much Analez can you take onto a plane without being anally probed as a terrorist for transporting anal lube?

What was on my DVD player heading out to Vegas? It was a double feature of documentaries. If you were underwhelmed by last year’s Miami Vice,, then you need to pick up Cocaine Cowboys (Magnolia Films). This is the inside skinny on how the Columbians turned Miami from a retirement community into the location of Miami Vice. Jon Pernell Roberts and Mickey Munday give thrilling tales of how they smuggled the cocaine into Florida and dealt with the Columbians. The movie makes it sound like in the early days, the cocaine business worked like Amway. Everybody was getting rich and living the good life. Things go bad on the arrival of Griselda Blanco, the Colombian Godmother. She’s as bloodthirsty as they come. She doesn’t mind having kids killed during hits. She’s the reason Miami became the Murder capital – to the dismay of Detroit, Washington D.C. and Newark. If you have all five seasons of Miami Vice, Blow and three different releases of Scarface on the shelf, then you better get your hands on Cocaine Cowboys. It’s also cool that Jan Hammer did the score for the movie. I was told that they hired Hammer after getting a quote for how much it would cost to license the Miami Vice theme. It was cheaper to hire “Jan the Man.”

The second feature was You’re Gonna Miss Me (Palm Pictures), a documentary about Roky Erickson. You might not know him by name, but you’ve heard his song “You’re Gonna Miss Me” on Dell computer ads. He was the main man behind the 13th Floor Elevators, a Texas psychedelic band that has a cult following amongst those who appreciate Nuggets. Before the guys could make it big, Roky flipped out. The film charts his mental breakdowns and attempts at recovery. It kind of reminds me of The Devil and Daniel Johnston since both men lived in Austin, Texas and hung out with the Butthole Surfers. Here’s a quick tip, if you are attempting to stay sane – do not hang out with the Butthole Surfers. Gibby Haynes is the anti-Oprah. If you are trying to get your head straight – do not let Gibby touch you. He’s like Madonna when she sucked the career out of Britney Spears mouth at the VMAs. The film isn’t told with only vintage footage and talking heads. We get to see Roky’s brother tries to rescue him from their mother. Can Roky flourish in the straight world?

YELLOW CAB FEVER

Leave it me to get HBO’s Taxicab Confessions and Discovery’s Cash Cab mixed up. I’d like to apologize to Ben Bailey for what I was doing with the two Glitter Gultch dancers while he tossed me the questions. The nice thing was that I was able to get a free cab ride back to the Dean Martin suite and pay for my dates using my knowledge of Francis Weber. I do feel bad for Ben having to hose out the backseat behind Circus Circus, but I was the winner. Those off duty clowns were merciless to Ben as they kept squeaking their noses as he scrubbed organic matter off the floorboard. My episode will be airing on the Pay-Per-View special.

PRICE IS WRONG

All along The Party Favors has declared that Todd Newton was lined up to take over The Price Is Right after Bob Barker laid down his skinny microphone. The network and producers have been making Todd’s life hell as each week they float another potential big name host whether it be George Hamilton, Rosie O’Donnell or Drew Carey. Why are we sticking with Todd? Because he hosts a live version of The Price Is Right at Ballys each afternoon. We had plans to drop by and see his live audition. There was only one thing that prevented us playing Plinko. They wanted $50 for a ticket!

What the hell is that about? To see the real show with Bob Barker was free. To see a recreation in Vegas, they’re charging $50. We’re not blaming Todd Newton for this price. We’re still rooting for him to be Mr. Showcase Showdown. But that’s a fierce price for afternoon entertainment. Although I would have paid for the adult version to see Dian Parkinson drop her bikini top while demonstrating the Turtlewax rub.

We ended up spending our afternoon playing the Wheel of Fortune slot machine.

RABBIT TROUBLE

Another thing we skipped was the Playboy Club at the Palms. We drove by the place and saw the giant bunny on the side of the tower. But decided against visiting when it was explained it was about a three hour wait to get into the place. My parents went to one of the real Playboy Clubs back in the ’60s. They didn’t wait in line for three hours to see real Playboy Bunnies with the fuzzy tails. I’m not going to stand for three hours for the hope of going inside a space to wait another two hours for my drink. Do they even have the Rabbit head swizzle sticks? What would “Ace” Rothstein say if he discovered people were standing in line for three hours to get into a club? He’d go nuts knowing that it’s three hours that we’re not gambling.

The Palms is another reason why Vegas is losing its cool for me. Old Vegas was a town that made you feel beautiful. No matter how big of a schlub you were, the doorman made you feel handsome and wanted. They even had greeters to make you feel like you had arrived. But New Vegas wants you to prove that you’re young and beautiful enough to dare visit. It’s like a party at Nicole Richie’s house. The velvet touch has become the velvet rope. Probably what stays in Vegas is your self-esteem. Are you pretty enough to hang out at Rehab or the faux-Studio 54? New Vegas doesn’t want Gene Hackman hanging out at their pool. This is a town that begs for George Clooney and Brad Pitt to crank out Ocean’s 21. Sleek and soulless structures glittering on a cramped street.

Remember a decade ago when Las Vegas wanted to be family friendly destination? Las Disney? Well that didn’t work out too good after the news media focused on roaming children while the parents remained glued to the roulette wheel. New Vegas wants to depict itself as adult playground, but what it really wants is those overgrown imbeciles that earn more cash than sense. What’s the point in begging to be accepted into a society that worships Paris Hilton and the cast of That ’70s Show? Do you want to have to rub elbows with Brandon Davis to get past the velvet rope?

NO MOUSE CASINO

We pondered the weird question: Why doesn’t Disney have a casino? They have the perfect characters to use in various slot machines. Three Poohs pays off the honeypot. They have themes for their hotel rooms. Why won’t the Mouse collect cheese in the desert? Is it because of the children? Nope. It’s because Disney doesn’t like the idea of having to pay off winners. The mouse didn’t get rich by giving it away. Nobody rides the monorail for free!

COST VEGAS

Las Vegas has always been seen as a cheap vacation. Ask anyone what they think of a trip to Vegas. They’ll talk about cheap hotel rooms, cheap buffets and comp show tickets. And what did they do with all the savings? They doubled down! But New Vegas doesn’t want any of that cheap crap. Think you’ll be getting a deal at Wynn, Venetian or Bellagio that rivals Circus Circus? The beautiful people must have all their fat in their wallets.

And the cheap eats are nearly a thing of the past. We went to the Spice buffet in the Planet Hollywood. It’s was $25 a head. They seemed to offer an amazing variety of international food. But every item had something off. The biggest offender was the King Crab legs. They were Viscount size. Plus they were boiled to the point of being shredded rubber. The stuffed grape leaves seemed like they were filled with paste. In order to slow eaters down, they wouldn’t let us refill our drinks. We had to wait for the waitress to perform this vital task. And our waitress was extra busy hiding from us.

Here’s a quick tip if you’re stuck at a buffet that won’t let you refill your drink as you reload your plate: as for a soda and a water. The buffet in the Tropicana also had the no drink refill policy. But they had an amazing omelet chef. He was a cheerful face on a rough morning.

The best buffet we found was Circus Circus. They didn’t try to overwhelm us with international selections. It was hardcore American entrees. They served meat! The offerings on the row would be best described as gambling fuel. Chow down and roll out. The pork and chicken were moist. The veggies crisp enough. And I could refill my soda whenever it was time. Circus Circus is still living up to its Diamonds Are Forever legacy.

THE BEST GAME IN TOWN

While some people go on vacation to play golf or ski or run with the bulls, I have my own favorite sport: Time Share Tours. It’s a true test of my will power against harden pros. In Vegas, I had two chances to get stuck with 1/52nd of a condo. Vegas is the prime city for hardcore time share action. While Orlando has more units, Vegas features the most annoying radio ads in the world. “It’s Las Vegas calling!” Tanya Roberts croaks. She’s the spokeswoman for Tahiti Village. I had to see if I could hold out against her and Alan Thicke. Vegas has been home to many great boxing matches and a Wrestlemania. How would I be able to deal with the heat in the 90 minute presentation?

Here’s three tips if you want to play to win:

1. Never admit you’ve been on a time share tour. Remember that all information you put down on the survey will be used against you when the finance guy arrives at your table. If you admit you’re a vet, you’re going to get pounded twice as hard. They will hit you with that nasty question about how you could be on a “free vacation” if you’d bought the timeshare in the past. Also claim that you work for a small company and rarely get a chance to go on week long vacations.

2. Don’t let your wife talk. This isn’t a macho move. She is considered the weak link by the sale staff. They know that she really controls the checkbook. If she seems curious, they’re going to double their powers to break her and take you down. The same is also true with children. The salesmen will turn into camp counselors to make the kids whine, “Daddy, we want to come here every year!” Your family ties will be wrapped around your neck as they force you into submission.

3. Don’t take too much pity on the salesmen. Most of them are really nice guys, but let’s face the simple fact: You’re only there because you want the promised freebies. You’re there to play the game and not make friends. You’re not looking for real estate.

The first place we hit was on the far side of the Palms. Their big selling point was a series of pics of the company owner hanging out with Arnold Schwarzenegger. Our primary salesman was a young kid that we nicknamed “Bill or Ted.” He was really laid back in his selling style. At one point he let us know that he’d already sold 3 units that day so he was under no pressure to hardball sell us. How laid back was he? At no point did he tell us the actual price of the unit. When the finance guy arrived, he kept talking vague numbers, but no point was there a hard number written on the scrap paper.

We had made the mistake of mentioning we’d visited a timeshare in Orlando. The finance guy went straight for the whole business of how we could have been visiting Las Vegas for “free.” He was all about making us feel guilty for not buying into the life. The key to competitive Time Share presentations is to not lose your cool and shout. You have to break their “No is merely a reluctant yes” salesmen philosophy. You want to see their posture deflate into the “These people aren’t buying” exhale. We had a 20 minute battle that made me draw into the strength that Robert Hegyes displayed on the tug of war finals of the first Battle of the Network Stars. They pulled out the brilliant logic trap of “If it wasn’t about the money, would you buy it?” Of course it’s about the money. This is the sex with a monkey for a million dollars joke. if you answer yes, they’ll spend the next hour trying to find the payment plan that’ll enslave you. You need to answer that you can’t deal with another piece of real estate at that moment. Once you give them a number, you’ve opened up a cut over your eye.

My defense story was that we were in the process of buying a bigger house and didn’t have the cash to invest on vacation property. They gave up on us. And we went off to collect our tickets. Our “winnings” included 2 tickets to V: The Variety Show and Nathan Burton plus 2 buffets at Spice. That’s a good amount of freebies for less than 2 hours of struggle. That’s better than the payout on the Match Game slot machine.

Of course they had the last bit of revenge. They had shuttled us to the time share joint. We wanted nearly 40 minutes in the 105 degree afternoon heat as vans drove past us. Finally we had to grab an off duty driver and beg him to return us to civilization or the World of M&Ms – whichever was closer.

I feared that the Tahiti Village would be my Waterloo. How can I compete against an all star line up that included Butch Patrick and the ghost of Al Lewis on the walls? We had a nice enough of a salesman giving us the tour. Although it was an odd tour since they were selling units for the new phase that was under construction. This was a series of buildings that would house over a 1,000 condos. He told me a lot of info about the town. Tahiti Village is on the side of the Strip that’s going to be under construction soon. Three casinos were going to be springing up in the neighborhood. He pointed out a spot that they were building a multi-billion dollar indoor ski slope like the one in Dubai. Why exactly you need to spend a fortune to build a ski slope since Vegas isn’t that far from skiable mountains? Think of all the energy that will be needed to keep that fresh packed powder snow on the phony slope in 115 degree heat. Al Gore sheds a tear for you, Las Vegas.

The sales guy almost had me thinking that this would be a great investment. But then he showed me the price. A two bedroom unit cost nearly $50,000. On top of that the yearly maintenance fee was $500. Ouch. They needed me to leave a deposit of $8,000 if I wanted to get in on the ground floor. When does the free part of time share vacations kick in? I pretty much didn’t have to make any excuses why that was too rich for my blood. I might be distantly related to the Maloof brothers, but not close enough to know their pin number. What’s even more frightening is a quick crunch of the numbers showed that the apartment had a price tag of $2.5 million if you bought it for the year. While the apartment was nice, it wasn’t $2.5 million nice. For that price, I expect hot and cold running hookers. I want a hot tub in the middle of my revolving bed. I want a bidet! And when you factor that unit price into the phase, Tahiti Village is a $2.5 billion dollar piece of real estate. That’s why Las Vegas can afford to keep calling you on your local sports radio channel.

When the finance guy arrived at our table, he tried to make a weird deal where we’d buy a single unit that we could use every other year. I went into the home upgrade story and he backed off. They didn’t even send the closer over to double team us. We were taken straight to the window to collect our booty. This time the tickets involved 2 tickets for Ice: Direct From Russia , Folies Bergere and the Tropicana’s buffet. After this hit, we were set for three nights of Vegas entertainment and two free meals. Now that’s old school Vegas.

Unlike the first joint, the Tahiti Village didn’t have us waiting long. Guess they needed to remove the odor of resistance from the lobby. It felt good to go 2-0 in my Vegas debut. I don’t want to brag, but those UFC guys don’t battle it out on back to back nights. Time Share Battling is a man’s sport that needs to be run on Spike. But were the shows worth the blood and missing teeth?

SHOWTIME

When we arrived in Vegas, I took at pact to avoid any Cirque du Soleil productions. They just creep me out with the freaky music, the spooky make up and their French Canadian attitude. They’ve taken over nearly major hotel in Vegas with their dangling circus act. Plus none of the Time Share joints offered Cirque tickets as freebies.

Also added to the no go list was Danny Gans. I had never heard of this guy, but his act at the Mirage has sold out for the next two years. Scalped tickets offered by brokers were close to $200. And what does he do? Pull a canned ham out of his mouth? Give you the secret to Keno numbers? Has sex with Britney Spears? Nope. He puts on a pair of glasses and impersonates George Burns. That’s entertainment?

The Producers was playing at Paris, but David Hasselhoff had left the cast. It was hard to tell who was in the show. I was hoping it was Pauly Shore and Chuck Norris. Now that’s worth burning the kids’ college fund. Luckily because of my bounty of freebies, we didn’t have to consult a loan specialist to see Blue Man Group. But were the fresh shows worth the price?

V: The Variety Show is a rough and tumble version of a talent show in what’s being rebranded as the Miracle Mile in the Planet Hollywood. The place still has it’s Middle East motif from when it was part of the Aladdin. V features Two Gauchos act as the MCs for a group of acts that include magic, juggling and balancing. They kept it lively as they had fun with members of the crowd. A few of the acts had appeared on last season of America’s Got Talent. The star of the show is Joe “TV Guy” Trammel. If CarrotTop and Frank Gorshin did so much blow (cut with rocket fuel) that their molecules hypervibrated and they merged, they would have created this act. In a scant few minutes he goes through decades of pop culture with dance moves and props. A day after the show we discovered him on Freemont Street in a jail cell. Turns out that he was spending time behind bars to match Paris Hilton’s hard time. You can actually see highlights of his incarceration on Youtube. We joked about Paris Hilton’s great quote that jail “was like being in a cage.”

The strange part about seeing V was recognizing faces from the Time Share tour. We gave each other that nod that gets captured at the end of disaster flicks between survivors.

We returned the following afternoon to the same theater to check out magician Nathan Burton. He had been a star on America’s Got Talent. I remember his illusion where he flushed a cop down a toilet. He’s a likable enough magician. And his face isn’t as creepy as Lance Burton. He turned each trick into a biographical vignette. It’s a good family magic show that doesn’t cost so much that you have to eBay your youngest.

Ice: Direct From Russia at the Riveria is a new show. They turned the stage into an ice rink including a loop into the audience so the performer can skate out to you. This was the same stage that Dean Martin once roamed. Now it was ready for Gordie Howe’s comeback. The show itself is majestic. A group of over three dozen Russian skaters perform a variety of acts that go between sweet, seductive, comic and thrilling. The opening alone is amazing with 40 people skating on the stage at once without slamming into each other. My favorite routine was a couple skating with kites. You heard it right, not only were they skating in the showroom, but they were flying kites. It was passionate and pure as they always kept moving. Later in the show one woman was hula-hooping on skates. She had so many silver hula-hoops going at once that she looked like a slinky.

We were told by the time share folks that they did two shows including an adult show. Visions of the legendary Showtime special Spice on Ice overwhelmed my senses. Sexy Russian female skaters going topless gets my attention over a bunch of guys covered in blue paint. But since the show had just opened, they only had one family style show each night. But even fully clothed, I got an eyeful of the women in motion. This show was a true reward for sitting through time share assault.

Folies Bergere at the Tropicana is a great Showgirls experience. And they did have the adult show. Strange to see people walk out of the theater when the dancers drop their tops. The upset audience members acted like it was a tribute to Catherine the Great with their sensibilities disturbed. The show featured lots of dance numbers. In the middle of the set, we were treated to a comic who juggled bowling balls. When you visit Las Vegas, at some point you must witness the glory of a statuesque woman with a giant feathered headdress.

All four shows were worth the hassle of resisting the hardcore sales pitch. I don’t recommend the sport of Time Share Pitching to people with weak wills and fat checkbooks.

What was really missing from the trip was the legendary dinner and a show of old Vegas. A ticket seller told me that the dinner and show died with Liberace. Who knew he was the that talented. He performed and cooked for his fans. I only hope that after time in his kitchen, he washed his hands before playing his piano. I also hope that before he cooked, he washed his hands after playing his organ. Please tip your waitress. Enjoy the veal!

ROGER WATER

The video screen outside the MGM Grand pimped the upcoming Roger Waters tour by declaring him, “The Genius Behind Pink Floyd!” Does this mean David Gilmour has to be billed as “The Fraud Who Drafted On the Genius of the Genius Behind Pink Floyd?”

LEAVING LAS VEGAS

We headed over to the Paris casino to get a freebie ride up to the top of their Eiffel Tower. It’s only when you’re 500 feet above the town that can you see beyond the mega-casinos to the small houses sprawling away from the strip. There’s a lot of people eager to live in 114 degree temperatures. Also all of the hotel construction becomes visible in a single glance. How long can it grow at this price?

For the longest time Last Vegas has claimed that it’s recession proof. That people will come no matter what’s going on in the world’s wallet. But all of these projects are costing billions (nobody does anything for a couple million bucks in this town anymore). And the cost of living the good life in Sin City has gone up faster than the jackpot on the Monopoly slot machine. This isn’t the cheap getaway of a decade ago. Everything was cheap in order to lure you to the felt covered tables. Those days seem to be slipping away. You are going to pay and pay for every minute you stay in the city. How long can so many luxury hotels with 3,000 rooms apiece pop up on the strip?

This is probably my last vacation to Vegas. The attitude is stifling. My shoulders felt tense. Instead of feeling like a welcomed guest, the corporate attitude of New Vegas is judgmental. Instead of employees asking me, “Would you like this, Sir?” The company handbook demands a response of “What do you want, now?” If you’re not Lindsay Lohan or a 600 ft. crane, this town has little need for your ass. My next visit to Nevada will be to Reno where I know I can eat a magnificent lobster dinner off Bunny Love at the Bunny Ranch.

FLYING HOME

Kudos to Airtran for installing XM satellite radio in their arm rests. Even though we got screwed twice connecting through Atlanta, being able to listen to the various channels instead of a screaming brat kept me calm. That airport is a mess on a sunny day. We spent 30 minutes on the tarmac waiting for gate to open up so we could race to our connecting flight. And then there was another long wait to get on the runway. But I was able to zone out to these hassles while listening to a baseball game.

The most beautiful moment was on the final leg. As we flew through the night sky, I turned to their ’60s channel. There was the voice of Wolfman Jack introducing the oldies. This was strange since he had died a dozen years ago, but he sounded more alive than any DJ working today. It made perfect sense when he bellowed, “Mercy!” Miles in the sky above the clouds I was listening to the Wolfman howling at the full moon from his heavenly abode. Finally my shoulders relaxed with an aural massage.