The week preceding this achievement was actually about as Las Vegas as Las Vegas can be. Every Iconic Resort/Casino within 5 miles was visited and each sexually ravaged my wallet. Shows like Fat Elvis, Cirque du Soleil's O, and that screaming bikini-clad black guy on the sidewalk left me in awe and wonder. A hike into the endless expanse of the Grand Canyon convinced me that T-rexes are still alive and that I should probably stop smoking cigarettes if I want to keep hiking. Fine dining, whiskey, and cigars at the top of the enormous stratosphere showed me that money is the most important thing in life. Needless to say, when it comes to Las Vegas I'd done everything short of ordering strippers and roofie-ing myself. Joined by my father of all people, the final night before departure landed me front row and center stage at the Luxor hotel for the Fantasy Strip Show.
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| They plan on releasing a new poster with me in the background |
At the end of an action-packed week, I was honestly extremely tired and wanted nothing more than an early turn-in for the night. The fact I was close enough to see every pore pore on the lovely ladies was exciting, but I was kind of hopeful that they wouldn't choose me for any audience interaction. Above you see the lovely host, the sassy, alpha female over a pack of mostly naked goddesses, and she immediately did exactly the opposite of what I'd wished for. After and opening song and flirting for a moment with a few random horndogs farther back in the audience, she began surveying the front row for someone to come on stage. Her eyes locked on me, she smiled, and she beckoned "cute Paul Bunyon." I had to tell of my heritage and talk in my southern accent. I had to sing. I had to booty shake. I got a hug that was really just my face being pushed in her cleavage. Then she tossed me back to the sea of seats. Despite my exhaustion, I can't say I didn't enjoy it, but I was glad for it to be over. Surely if there was any more interaction it would be with someone else. I mean, they wouldn't just keep the spotlight on me the whole time, right? Wrong. Dead wrong.
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| This crazy ass knows no bounds |
In between the various sexy dance numbers by this league of solid 10's, there were a series of short comedy skits. Sean E. Cooper emerged with a wild opening, speaking in over-the-top ebonics that left the crowd in hysterics. The dust finally settled, then Cooper abruptly said "Alright let's get that guy back up here. What was his name, Taylor, right? Where's Taylor?" I was pulled back on stage, this time, dead center and blinded by the spotlight. I was honestly a little terrified as I had never experienced this level of stardom. Upon finding I was from Tennessee, jokes about incest and inbreeding were abundant. The fact I was at a show designed to elicit sexual arousal with my own father didn't help that. Still, it wasn't all bad. Actually it got good. Damn good. "You look a little lonely up here, Taylor," Cooper chuckled, "why don't we get you an entourage?" Immediately the bass dropped, and I was surrounded by a flock of burlesque angels, each rubbing and dancing on me. They were then instructed to "have your way with him" and pulled me by the hand behind the curtains. Backstage I was adorned in a costume, led up a walkway, and then pushed back out front and center and began dancing about with my own personal harem. I was a king. Literally, the king: Elvis.
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| I always show this at holiday gatherings to aunts who ask if I'm dating yet |
After it was all said and done, despite my initial nervousness, I'd had a blast. Through barking laughter, Cooper assured me "You'll remember this night for the rest of your life, boy!" He was right! For a few moments I'd been the main event at a world famous strip show, and that's always a good line to utter--especially if you tell it out of context. Back to my seat I went to enjoy the rest of the show, happy to relax and immerse myself back into the audience. The girls paraded about as cheerleaders, cowgirls, and victorian dutchesses, each completely topless and a genuine pleasure to behold. Once again, Cooper returned to stage, this time for a musical number. Moaning and Moon Walking, he'd dressed as the prince of pop. Donning the white-faced, high-pitched Jackson persona, he did a hilariously accurate impression. Then, once again, he turned all eyes back to me. "It's so great to see all of you out in the crowd! I always love when an audie--wait a second! Is that....is that Taylor?" That son of a bitch inched closer and closer, begging me recall the days in which a 5 year old me enjoyed his company at the mansion. He told of all the fun games we'd played, sang my name until he reached a moaning crescendo, and even forced me to hold his glitter-gloved hand.
The final performance played immediately after featuring a powerful vocal number by the host and a dance that showcased all the girls. At the end, they went down the line and named the ladies, each getting an individual applause. After the last name was called, the audience thanked, and the curtains prepped to close, they gave a last second shoutout: me. "Let's give it up for Taylor!" I was met with thunderous applause, cheering and whistles. I was, for at least a moment, one of the stars of Fantasy. Afterwards I met all the ladies, got a free poster, which now hangs autographed in my bedroom. I even had families ask for pictures, sending my ego through the roof. This entry is but a taste of the wild world of Las Vegas, because anything can happen. As much as that bastard humorously antagonized me during the show, he was right with his final declaration. Right before the crimson curtain hit the stage, he threw himself to the floor, pointed at me, and shouted with madness in his eyes. "I told you you'd remember this night for the rest of your life!"
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