(But first, the erstwhile Stephen Ochs forwarded this from The Weekly World News.)
This is not Robert Urich’s Vega$. For one thing, there’s snow on the ground. One heretofore surefire cure for Vegas Cough, that respiratory condition you get about two hours after landing at McCarron, is to get out of the casino and breathe. As Chloe said at the KSEX booth, “Don’t even think about going anywhere.” If the precipitation keeps up, the Sands is going to look like the Overlook by the end of the weekend.
John “Buttman” (equal emphasis on each syllable, not like “Herman”, and not to be confused with Seymore Butts, and while we’re at it, they might take my Vibe Award away for being so reductive, but the tubby Dr. Dre of Yo! MTV Raps fame is not the same as the one who declared this the millennium of Aftermath – way before he met Mr. Gram Ponante, who’s got dibs on the next thousand years. Peace to Drizze – how could a brother know?) Stagliano says that the no-nudity cabaret version of his instant porn classic Fashionistas will stay on the Strip until it starts to make money. Mr. Stagliano, I was born in Las Vegas. Naked. That’s the way you have to do things here. He also mentions that he only did porn to have enough money to do a dance show. Buttman, you have stolen my dreams.
AVN, community pillar and noble sponsor of the AVN Foundation, notes, “The bevy of sights and sounds on Day 1 was almost overwhelming.” Stick to it, AVN! You’ll come out OK!
What’s with the Olsen Twins ‘do, Jesse Jane?
People are passing out fake invitations (Tod spotted some for the Pure Play party) like brown acid at Woodstock. Now that AVN has started a foundation, for Christ’s sake, can’t people follow their lead and be honest like them? I learned at my first porn convention to be wary of parties that had invitations and guest lists: the best thing to do is CREATE A DIVERSION or say you’re the sommalier. I always say I’m Vince Neil.
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