WELCOME TO HELL... Part 3.

Here's where it all started going down...

We headed down Interstate 15, in a white convertible, on the way to the Palms Casino, where the Real World Vegas was taped years ago. Vegas traffic is pretty non-existent, at least for what you'd expect on a Saturday night. But the night was already off to an ominous start...





I was already so-so saucy off the green bottle, so I laid off the wheel and did my best to hold the camera steady. During this, my co-hort behind the steering wheel almost killed us after panicking when another car shot almost directly in our path while trying to Debo our lane. The car jerked hard left, and the camera almost fell out of my hand and into the street at 80 MPH. This would have been the part where the shank came out, but luckily my reflexes are A-1, unlike my credit...





That sign you see should have been a warning. No, not the half-lit Palms sign, but the red octagon with the white letters. But of course, we proceeded. There's not much to talk about here, except that I can truly say that what I expected to happen on the roulette table... didn't. $60 given back to La Cosa Nostra the local economy. Could have been worse.

After smoking about 6 cigs to celebrate my loss, I looked up and saw Hart & Huntington, another reality show landmark located on the casino level of the Palms. I thought about having my 10-year old Playboy bunny tattoo remixed into something hotter, but then I flaked. It happens. But I did take a shitty picture outside of the venue...



After that, we copped a few more mixed drinks by standing close enough to the tables to look like gambling patrons, who always drink for free in Vegas. Makes sense, don't it? After 3 free G&Ts, I was ready to leave the house that Viacom hyped.

And the verdict...



THE PALMS IS DEAD.



So we rode out to The Bellagio, then to so many bars and clubs that I'd be lying to you if I said I remembered. But I do remember these moments...


(Don't blame the photo, blame my drunken hand)


(You'd look this way too if you could hold a tractor trailer load of liquor in your liver)


(Big ups to one of my suppliers, who actually kept it gangster behind the bar and gave me a few extra drinks on the lowski. T-Pain would be proud)


(This chick had her matching purse and outfit game at a high level. I got me a hug)




And it went on, and on, until things became fuzzy...

(Kids, don't try this drink at home...)


I'm feeling hangover flashbacks just looking at these pictures again. Vegas is built for more fun that the human body can withstand in a 72 hour period. You squeeze in as much fun as you think you need, and then push it just for kicks and giggles. Then you get a moment of clarity and check your ATM balance. Good lawd.

When the night ended, I still made out pretty well with the budget. Only $150 blown and somewhere around 20 drinks in 24 hours. Fantastic. Unfortunately I couldn't get the camera into the club, which was probably a good thing. Being that I can't even remember the name of a single nightspot with a dance floor I stepped on, I would have wanted to scythe myself if I lost my brand new digital.

So we'll leave the rest to your imagination and my memory.

CHECK BACK IN TOMORROW NIGHT/FRIDAY MORNING (when I feel like it) FOR THE CONCLUSION.