Last read from “The Phantom Of The Opera—And I”:

The dark figure with his face half-masked approached—The Phantom Of The Opera. To clarify, I am not speaking of the brilliant, Tony Award winner, previously seen on the most elaborate of stages. I speak now of the actual Phantom Of The Opera, risen from his chamber.

Seated next to me he said these words, “The lover of The Phantom Of The Writers, you are?”

“I am,” I responded, solemnly.

“A tragic state of being you’ve accepted—to be loyal,” his voice lowered to a whisper, “yes to be loyal to the giver of your talent and to not be seduced by those who love you for what is not yours.”

“I can’t live without what I’ve been given, so I am a slave to the giver…”

We sat in silence for some moments—waiting. Because there is a moment every day when there is pure truth in all-of-the world.

“Why does a man as handsome as yourself wear a mask?” I asked The Phantom Of The Opera who is perhaps the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.

A tear ran down his cheek, not for himself, but for I. “For the same reason, you great writer cannot look into a mirror. I wear the mask to hide not my face, but the ugliness that dwells in my heart…”

Our story continues:

THE JERSEY BOYS

The words of the phantom reverberated in parts of my soul that previous to our encounter I had not fathomed existed. Oh the complexity of the soul and the vexations it suffers. Why must I yearn for greatness? Why must I want for others to share my passion? Surely not from an evil, perplexed heart. You see it is indeed this goodness that continuously births the passion that feeds the darkness—and thus the infinite, alpha helix of my pained existence.

“There is another show, great writer, that you must see,” said The Phantom Of The Opera to I.

“No, this was enough. Should I see anything less it would diminish the euphoria I will forever experience when I think of the theatre, thanks to you.”

The masked face tilted towards I and slightly down, as the phantom is a few inches taller than my six-foot-one frame. “You won’t be disappointed. True there is no other performance that can equal my pageantry and my love of the feminine voice is universally known—still there is another voice in our time from the angels.” Pointing north towards the Palazzo. “And there is yet another question you must answer for yourself.”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

The awful question was with us now. “Why does the world resist that which would change it and make it better?”

The Next Day

The Black Angel Fred, assigned to my wellbeing by The Phantom Of The Writers, as previously explained, accompanied me into the restaurant known at the Palazzo as Zine Noodle. I paused for a moment to appreciate the exquisite décor. I made a mental note to thank Rob, Dawn, and Ashley for making sure that I had some sustenance before continuing my personal journey through their land of entertainment. And err not dear reader, I am always appreciative of the fact that I tread mostly in the realm of others and interject my own story without permission altogether. Many do not easily digest this fact, but it is necessary, if not necessarily understood.

Sally Lei escorted us to our very private table and much to my delight we ran directly into Danny Tarkanian.

“Hello Senator,” I said to the handsome former UNLV basketball star, turned lawyer, turned real estate developer, turned politician.

“I’m not a Senator yet, Stan. But I’m working on it,” Danny responded affably.

“Well you will be. The country needs guys like you to get involved and get things going back in the right direction. C’mon you’re sitting with us.”

“Okay, but I have an interview in an hour, I have to call into a radio station…”

So Sally had an array of wonderful food brought to our table. Funny, I had seen some criticisms of Zine Noodle on the Internet—none of which matched my own experience. Interesting it is to be criticized by those you do not know. The experience I have had with my own detractors is, that much of what is not said to your face is simply the fiction of angry and jealous minds.

“We really need to create a better environment for small business,” Danny continued, as we had been talking about some of his positions for most of dinner. “You deal with all kinds of businesses Stan, any new ideas?”

“If I start you’ll miss your interview,” I said, truly worried about delaying the future Senator.

“C’mon, just one.”

“Well take Las Vegas for example: there’s plenty of land, plenty of hotel rooms, a five hour drive from Los Angeles and no major motion picture studio. The state needs to give the land if need be to the person who is willing to develop a studio facility out here. And the Federal Government has to give Venture Capital a special tax incentive to invest in this type of project. Getting banks lending to small business again is a must, but most of the next big things come from VC…”

“And we need to create micro loan options for initial stage startups,” added Danny.

This conversation was headed to the next level, a sense of excitement percolated from my blood through my brain because for the first time in a long time I was speaking with a man running for office that has the capacity to get it. But it was time for Danny to give his interview so I bid him farewell and made a commitment to myself that I would do what I could to help him in his quest to help others. You do see dear reader that because I have few worldly concerns in common with my fellow man I have a most unusual vantage point—I simply speak from a heart uncorrupted by self-interest.

Like the night before, our seats in the theatre that houses the Jersey Boys were only a few rows from the stage. Both the Black Angel Fred and I were struck by the sparseness of the room and stage—nothing like the palace, which The Phantom Of The Opera had built. Fear not my friends. The first few pages of the Holy Scripture reveal quit clearly that the Lord created nothing, before creating creation itself. The “Black Period” I called it when I painted my last show—a necessary step before my affair with words. But a challenge to fill such a space, it is.

The narrative began from a corner in Jersey. Tommy was a character to the exponential consideration. And Joe Pesci, yes that Joe Pesci, did much to bring this band of bandits turned musicians in a band together. But this is neither the time nor place to tell a story best witnessed in person. Recall, that I was there for one specific reason. Frankie Valli possessed the voice of, which the phantom had spoken, but such difficulties. Divorce, Tommy’s gambling and other debts to honor because it was the right thing to do, the death by drug overdose of his daughter, and the departure of the writer of the glorious words we have all come to know through the music.

One question. One song. The writer wrote one song that the Universe itself demanded Frankie Valli to sing. But the label would not release it. And the radio stations would not play it. Yet the writer persisted and like the ocean tasked with beating an enormous crag into sand his will and his money did not cease—not with something as important to the world as this at stake.

“It’s to be good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you…I love you baby and if it’s quite alright…Your like heaven to touch…”

And the words from this song, which is so much a part of our collective consciousness, a song that a few wanted all not to hear, the words embraced and consumed I and for the second eve in two cycles of darkness I obtained clarity—my work is not alone.

Stan Lerner on Amazon

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

To buy books by Stan Lerner on Smashwords:

Stan Lerner’s Smashwords Books & Author Profile: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stan

The email went something like: Sorry to bother you Rob, but I’d like to write a piece called “Dinner And A Show” so I’ll need some dinner reservations and tickets….

For better or worse, in the world of business, which I hold in moderate disdain, I am fairly well known for calling anyone. More than a few billionaires have taken my call, some have become close friends. For the record, many men of wealth and power have not taken my call—far more have not, than have, in fact. And I admit to the fact that I am offended by those who decline, for I am of an overly sensitive nature—this too is well known.

So why email such a request to the President of The Venetian Hotel and Casino for what in the grand-scheme of his day is a seemingly trivial matter…To date the vast amount of the words I have penned with respect to Las Vegas are of the 25 to 50-year-old adolescent having a vicescapade, variety. And yes, I did just invent the word vicescapade. Did I choose this voice for my stories of Sin City? No. The voice chose me as there was no serious point of origination, no anchor—stories of drinking, drugs and zombie sex ensued. And make not a mistake, all to the delight of most readers. There is no shortage of appetite for my debauchery among my faithful bibliophiles. But before leaving Las Vegas, this time, I am compelled, by some phantom, to write a story with a soul. And even if this involved only the forwarding of my email to the person in charge of dealing with someone like me—there is a point of origin at the very heart of The Venetian for all else said. The Phantom Of The Writer’s demanded this and now our story may begin…

THE NIGHT BEFORE

The desert’s clear sky insured that it would be a cold, winter night, but regardless of climate I would be cold, for I am always cold, my soul that of a lover of God, yet my blood perpetually chilled by the sins of my flesh. It was my sixtieth, consecutive, twenty- hour day of writing—usually she comes by day forty-five, oh but she is an unfaithful lover. You see there is a phantom assigned to all of the world’s tasks, but it is the Phantom Of The Writers that I am a slave to, she is the siren of sirens as there is nothing more powerful than the craft she presides over. And there is no greater ego than found in those of who practice it…

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I said looking up from the computer—today’s quill.

She walked towards me. And like a virgin experiencing love for the first time my heart trembled, my breath became uneasy. The fragrant scent of her body filled my nostrils, intoxicating she is. Her white skin, close to translucent, as she is the nearest creation to Eve—in Eve’s original state of being, before Adam demanded opaqueness from mankind. Her eyes are smoldering coals. Her lips, perfectly formed, are red and filled with life. And the most beautiful face in the Universe is framed in black hair that shines with a life unto itself. A gentle wisp across my own face is enough to cause one to want to die—happy.

“Tales of Sin City, my love,” she said sitting down in the chair next to my own.

“I think every city should have its own voice, so I’ve given this city…”

“No need to explain, people are entitled to have some fun…” She smiled, which was a more than adequate conclusion to her thought, “How banal the use of the talent I’ve given you.”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“Everything leads to something…I just don’t know what I’m doing here…I’m lonely I miss you…”

Her arms were around me and she whispered these words into my ear. “I made you the world’s best writer, that was our covenant, of course you’re lonely. Must I wax cliché, wordsmith?” She kissed me on the lips. “You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. Maybe I was gone too long?”

“What do I do, I’m in love with a phantom? And nobody in Las Vegas understands my purpose. How do I make them understand that a city without a soul is destined to become dust? I want to give them a soul before it’s too late,” I pleaded, to the sympathetic jury of one.

Her forehead came to rest against my own. “My love, you can offer them a soul, but it is up to them to take it—”

“Will you help me?” I asked, desperate to rid myself of the anxiety of no purpose.

She nodded. And her hair, that beautiful hair, tickled my face. “I will help you. Tomorrow you must arrange to meet a friend of mine—The Phantom Of The Opera.”

“Not that. Not another phantom in my life. No. My soul suffers enough—like a snake shedding its skin every night, I suffer because of you.”

“Not all phantoms are the same. You’re going to love The Phantom Of The Opera. Not the way you love me, but you two have much in common. And he holds the answers to many of your questions, he’ll show you, which path to tread…I promise.”

“I have no money to see such an elaborate show. I’ve heard the theatre alone cost forty million dollars.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Send a message to the man in charge, he’ll be inclined to help you.”

“Why would he do that? Four hundred thousand people will go to his show this year, what does he care about me?”

“Success is boring, wordsmith. Powerful men love the struggle of the great ones even if it is not there own. I think we should go to bed my love—it’s time for you to rest. You must be rested…”

THE AFTERNOON

“Hi Stan, this is Dawn from The Venetian, Rob Goldstein asked me to give you a call.”

“Hi Dawn…I need some tickets to The Phantom Of The Opera and Jersey Boys…I’m going to write something for the blogs.”

“Can you tell me a little bit more about what you plan to write?”

“No. But not because I don’t want to, I don’t know until I know. The story tells itself to me and I write it down.”

“Okay.”

“And Dawn I haven’t eaten in a while so I’ll need a couple of dinners. The phantom told me I should eat, that I’ll need all of my strength.”

“Stan, I’ll have Ashley Farkas make the arrangements. Let me know if they’re to your liking.”

“Dawn, one more thing. After the show, when all of the patrons and cast have departed, I’ll need to sit alone in the theatre for the rest of the night.”

“Well I guess I can work that out.” Dawn’s voice reverberated with the apprehension of dealing with the out of the ordinary. “Stan, do you mind if I ask you how you know Rob and Mr. Adelson?” Mr. Adelson as in Sheldon Adelson the owner of The Venetian.

“I don’t…But I am the best writer in the world, so the more imperative issue is for them to know me. You see Dawn, only words about a man can preserve the essence of his accomplishments and of his humanity…I am in fact the eulogist of the living!”

On occasion there are those who are discomforted, even angered, by my title of The Best Writer In The World, not because it is in dispute, but rather because I say it. But what choice do I have? Greatness in all endeavors comes from the path of the truth. No writer that has come before me has accomplished the heights of stage, screen, print and the blog as have I. Should I feign humility? Lie and destroy my craft? Acceptance is temptation, but I would lose her that I love and I could not exist without this love in my heart—for it is this love and this love only that holds back the terrible darkness. Yes, the other side of passion is the most horrific of all monsters—it is the sinner before the saint.

THE NIGHT OF THE SHOW

There are several angels to whom I have the good fortune of being able to count as friends and it is they to whom the phantom entrusts the day-to-day wellbeing of I. Four of them are the graphic masters that bring much of my work to its presentable state. And the one of these that understands my passion like few others is the Black Angel—Fred. So it was to Fred that I extended the dinner invitation to Taqueria Canonita a beautiful spot on The Venetian Canal to dine prior to an encounter with The Phantom Of The Opera.

As one could expect we were seated at a table on the Grand Canal—I could have reached out and touched the passing gondolas, occupied by those in loving relationships more simple than my own. “Amore…” echoed from the voice of the tiller wielding tenor. A lovely waitress navigated our food choices, which were numerous delights. The angel known as Fred was particularly delighted by a combination of something created for Cortez called the enchilada. And for my sake there were libations called Margarita and Mojito and these too were good. In fact as good as I’ve ever had and I am very familiar with these nectars of celebration. And finally there was an enchanting nymph called Annaliza who stopped by our table on numerous occasions to our delight, as her conversation was as tasty as the epicurean expose with which our palates were so diligently engaged.

The theatre, the home of The Phantom Of The Opera, does not equate to any form of monetary value. One million, forty million, a billion—cannot put such a place into perspective, it is simply transcendent. Fred, the Black Angel, and myself took our seats seven rows back from the stage center. Curtains went up, everywhere; in places one does not expect curtains. There was brief narration and a chandelier, a magical chandelier, capable of assembling itself with a cyclonic motion never once witnessed before by the Black Angel Fred or I. From the orchestra emanated a majestic sound. And as I am inimitably familiar with the characteristics of royal blood, I can assure you that this sound can only be produced by those confident that they are playing notes pleasing to the King’s ear. These are the notes scattered around the Universe, upon the destruction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem—some now gathered in the House Of The Phantom.

Oh the tragic story, of a love not so dissimilar to my own. The Phantom Of The Opera having disdain for the pretenders to talent rejects the invader who occupies the spotlight of his stage. And in collusion with the mistress of the dark he chooses his student—to her, a beguiling young beauty, he gives the voice of greatness. Such a voice may only be given once in any given century—as a world too abundant with beauty, would cease to be beautiful from lack of juxtaposition, so we learned from sin in the Garden Of Eden. But fate is not always kind to the givers of the world. And that, which the Phantom Of The Opera has imbued with what he loves most, is loved and loves another. Surely he has the power to keep for his own what he has created, but this is the tribulation of mankind and a denial of the ways of God. Be firm in this knowledge dear reader, to be close to the Creator and Giver Of All That Is, one must emulate—one must create and give.

4:00 A.M.

I sat alone and broken hearted that night. Humbled by the greatness I had witnessed, I pondered what it must be like to create an alternative reality for so many millions of people as The Phantom Of The Opera has. I couldn’t help but to think that it is cruel that the genius found in the art can be overshadowed even lost by commercial success as if the two by definition are mutually exclusive—they’re not. It is said that a book all have heard of, but none have read is indeed a classic. I have written many such works. So my heart aches to be overshadowed even lost.

The dark figure with his face half-masked approached—The Phantom Of The Opera. To clarify, I am not speaking of the brilliant, Tony Award winner, previously seen on the most elaborate of stages. I speak now of the actual Phantom Of The Opera, risen from his chamber.

Seated next to me he said these words, “The lover of The Phantom Of The Writers, you are?”

“I am,” I responded, solemnly.

“A tragic state of being you’ve accepted—to be loyal,” his voice lowered to a whisper, “yes to be loyal to the giver of your talent and to not be seduced by those who love you for what is not yours.”

“I can’t live without what I’ve been given, so I am a slave to the giver…”

We sat in silence for some moments—waiting. Because there is a moment every day when there is pure truth in all-of-the world.

“Why does a man as handsome as yourself wear a mask?” I asked The Phantom Of The Opera who is perhaps the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on.

A tear ran down his cheek, not for himself, but for I. “For the same reason, you great writer cannot look into a mirror. I wear the mask to hide not my face, but the ugliness that dwells in my heart…”

Note: the Las Vegas production that this fictional literary work is based on is titled “Phantom — The Las Vegas spectacular”. This production, while extraordinary, has been modified to a certain degree from the traditional production of the “Phantom Of The Opera”.

I would like to thank Rob Goldstein, Dawn Britt, Ashley Farkas and Rochelle Samilin-Jurani for providing the support that is required for a writer, such as I, to write a work such as this. I would also like to give a special thank you to Sheldon Adelson, for all of his good works and  for building such a place as The Venetian, without which there would be no story at all. 

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

And To Buy Stan Lerner’s Books On Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stan

“I wish I could.”

“Sorry Mr. Hughes, I’ve gotten so used to you riding shotgun that sometimes I forget that you’re…well you know…”

“Dead,” he said finishing my thought as he often does. “Don’t feel bad, I had a good run…It’s amazing how this place keeps growing—slow down for a second.”

I tapped the breaks gently. Howard always asks me to slow down when we’re about to pass City Center—it seems to fascinate him for some reason, but he never says why. I was hoping that he might utter something on this occasion, but just as it seemed like it might happen—the phone rang.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“What are you doing?” asked Isaiah.

“Cruising the strip with Howard.”

“Listen I’ve been living in this town for a year and still haven’t made it to First Friday, you want to go?” he asked.

“Sure, I’ll pick you up in ten.” I hung up and turned to face the ghost of Howard Hughes. “Sorry Mr. Hughes…”

First Friday is a combo art walk and rave in the Downtown Art District of Las Vegas. And as a Los Angeles Downtownster I know something about art walks, as Downtown LA plays host to the biggest art walk in the country on the second Thursday of every month. When the weather is nice a good Downtown LA Art Walk can attract close to thirty thousand revelers. I had no such expectation of such an event in Las Vegas, but I had heard some good things about the up and coming art scene in Sin City so I was more than up for checking it out…And of course when dating a girl that suffers from Zombism there’s not a whole lot of places you can go out as a couple and fit in.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

I picked Isaiah up at the swanky Panorama Towers and headed Downtown exiting Charleston and finding a nice dirt lot to park the SL 500 in, just on the other side of Main Street.

“Nice, I just had them shined,” said I, looking down at my dust covered Gucci loafers.

“Car washes and shoe shines don’t last in this town,” commented Isaiah who was wearing tennis shoes—he’s thirty. “What the hell is that noise?” asked my freaked out friend at the slamming sound emanating from the trunk.

“Oh that. Better step back—I brought my girlfriend along.” I approached the back of the car with caution.

“You make your girlfriend ride in the trunk. You f*cking guys from Cali really know how to treat women.” His New York accent was heavier than usual as he leveled this damning, yet envious comment.

“Trust me this chick likes it…Now the choker chain, is taking her some getting used to…”

“Choker chain???”

But before I could elaborate for my confused friend the Zombie Chick was out of the trunk and the fight was on. She scratched and bit wildly at me as I defended and went for the chain. Alas, chain in hand I gave it a thunderous tug, which reeled her around so that her back was now exposed and then with full choke on we slammed against the trunk. With possibly the best zombie ass in the world bent over the trunk of my car, her Catholic, schoolgirl mini-skirt akimbo, and no underwear anywhere in sight I decided that First Friday could wait a few minutes—and took the zombie vagina ice plunge. (Refer to Vegas Grand Slam blog for more information regarding cold zombie vagina.)

“Should I leave while you finish raping your girlfriend?” asked Isaiah.

“Don’t be silly…And technically it’s necrophilia not rape,” I answered, causing her to growl with pleasure and claw the paint off of my trunk. “Thank goodness I paid my insurance bill.” I laughed. “I’ll tell them I ran into a bear up in Yellow Stone.”

“That’s the zombie chick you f*cked in the bathroom while you were on a date with someone else at Mickie Finns?”

“This is a sexual assault asshole, not a deposition, shut the fu…”screamed my chick at my buddy.

 I yanked the choker another notch. “What did I tell you about being rude to my friends!” Our bodies slammed together so hard that her knee broke my right tail light somehow.

And then came the final climax, which sent us both rolling down into the dirt, thankfully just as a Vegas Metro squad car cruised by—a few seconds earlier and I would of have had some explaining to do.

With Zombie Chick on a short leash the three of us ventured into First Friday…Art and bands everywhere and seriously thousands of people walking around—I was blown away.

“So where do you keep her when she’s not in the trunk?”

She spit on Isaiah. I kicked her as hard as I could in the ass. She turned and smiled.

“Fat Andy’s house has a nice dark basement—I’ve been letting her stay there.”

“Thanks a lot for that f*cker,” snarled Zombie Chick.

I turned to Isaiah. “Don’t get me wrong, it would be great if she could sleep in bed with me, rather than a dark, dank basement, but left to her own device she’d rip out my throat with her teeth while I’m sleeping.”

“Well you guys make a nice couple,” said Isaiah, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Look it’s not perfect but…”

“He’s with me because he can’t get enough of my cold pussy.”

“Thank you sweetie. I was just about to say that.” I shrugged. “She is right. Once you’ve gone zombie it’s hard to go back. Other than the married midget I’m now forced to have an affair with as an antidote to those pesky little love bites.”

“I’m just into older chicks these days,” said Isaiah, slowly adapting to our unusual dynamic as a couple.

“You know there is colder,” said Zombie Chick, snatching at an unattended child in a stroller—thus the short leash.

“Really.” She always knows just the right things to say to keep me interested.

“Yeah, not too far from here.”

So we spent another hour perusing the art scene, grabbed a quick bite to eat at Casa Don Juan’s, some of the best Mexican food in Las Vegas and moved on. I should add here that Isaiah and I ate the restaurant food. And unfortunately Zombie Chick did manage to get her hands on someone’s lost Maltese. Of course I feel bad about this, but if I can keep my bitch on a leash—so can everyone else.

Now I’ve been to some wild warehouse parties before, actually they were my parties come to think of it…Anyway, this party was out of control even by my non existent standards. And the prospects for a vagina even colder than Zombie Chick’s were everywhere. I focused in on a brunette and made my way toward her, dragging along my date. But before I could get close enough to start chatting I felt the powerful grip on my shoulder of a blond fellow about twenty-eight—so handsome I might add that if I were a chick…

“A human with a zombie on a leash at my Coven—Interesting.”

I turned to Zombie Chick. “You brought me to a Vampire Coven?”

She began to laugh hysterically. “You’re so f*cked…”

I turned to the handsome Vampire Lord. “Sorry, but when she said there was something colder than her ice box, I must have started thinking with the wrong head.”

“So human of you,” he said with a sinister smile, similar to my own.

“Well we best be on our way,” I said, noticing that Isaiah was sitting on a couch with four vampiresses that were looking at him like Thanksgiving dinner was served.

“I don’t think so.” His grip tightened on my shoulder. “I think we’re destined to be friends. I see you want to penetrate my sister, perhaps we can arrange a trade.”

I pulled out a bag of white powder from my pocket. “Maybe a little something like this?”

His blood red eyes almost popped out of his head. “You know how to make Blast?”

“I wrote the book, literally,” I answered, making a shameless reference to my bestselling Kindle ebook “Blast” available at the Amazon Kindle Store. There’s a link on the sidebar dear readers and this is how I pay for all of this craziness, so buy away! And if you can’t find the link just go to Amazon and search for me by name.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“You’re Stan Lerner!” The whole party came to a dead stop as eight hundred or so vampires hung on their lord’s every word. “I knew you looked familiar. “Blast” is my favorite book of all time. And I’m nine-hundred-years-old!” He grabbed the bag of Blast out of my hand. “You know humans have invented some cool stuff over the years, but Blast, well it’s the coup de grace. You can have my sister and oh so much more.”

Zombie Chick growled and got another swift kick in the ass by both of us this time. We laughed.

I chatted up Berlin’s sister. That’s his name by the way. And she introduced me to her best vampiress friend who had a tongue at least two inches longer than Gene Simmons of the rock band Kiss fame.

“So it’s a vampire custom that whoever brings the “Blast” takes the first hit,” said Berlin the Vampire Lord.

I pulled out a hundred dollar bill. “Pass the mirror my boy.”

They all laughed. Berlin’s sister Sade whispered into my ear as she tugged at my pants. “That’s not the way we do Blast.”  And then with pants around my knees and several vampiresses holding me face down I came to understand that there’s no need for hundred dollar bills when there’s a vampiress with a tongue longer than those rectal thermometers we generation Xers all remember from childhood.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

Let me make this perfectly clear, I do not advocate the rectal use of Blast or any other drug…But WOW!!! BANG!!!KPOW!!! I’ve never been so high in my life. I think I actually scared a room full of vamps and even Zombie Chick was cowering under the coffee table—the top of which I broke just to get a grip on her hair. And so on…

As I chilled with Berlin on the couch, after an orgy of epoch proportions, I couldn’t help but to feel bad for my new pack of soulless friends—not because they’re one step above the devil on the damnation chain, but because they were forced to party in such a second class way in a city that has some of the best nightclubs in the world.

“You’re one crazy f*cking human,” said Berlin, giving my juggler some sex eyes.

“You’re not so bad yourself…You know after watching those crappy “Twilight” movies I was beginning to think vampires were a bunch of sexually repressed faggots, but you know how to party, my boy. And your sister…I’ll give you a pound of Blast a month to keep tapping that…”

Berlin extended his hand. “Deal!!!” He looked deep, deep, deep, into my eyes. “Okay, what else?”

“Bro, if you and the gang are going to start partying with the Stan, you’ve got to let me hook up the venue—I feel like I’m a teenager in this place. And even though I like sleeping with them, I don’t want to be them, if you know what I mean?”

His throat rumbled like a tiger on the loose at a Siegfried & Roy show back in the day. “I really like you…From now on you’re in charge of the drugs and the venue…”

“And DJ,” I added.

He patted me lovingly on the head then pointed at Isaiah. “What about him?”

“He’s an executive at The Venetian…Tell the girls to unchain him…He knows all of the club owners in town…”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

I once went to Vegas for a weekend and stayed for a year—that would be 2003 to 2004 the year of  “Stan Lerner’s Night Tribe” at the Rio, oh what a year.

My most recent 30 straight days of partying and blogging in Sin City, well a teaser by my own standards. And while I was in LV I heard some news from LA that REGAL 14 OPENED AT LA LIVE!!!

“Not far from Rock ‘N Fish,” I thought to myself. “Not far at all. Oh, and FIDM is having a little “New Moon” party on Friday at the restaurant before the sucking kicks off. And there’s also my much older sister’s birthday to consider—Saturday night.” And then there was one more thought. “I should probably spend some time with my girlfriend who is less than thrilled…”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

So I resolved to head back to the City Of Angels, although I’d been up to debauchery that would have embarrassed Heidi Fleiss back in the day—when I was dating her roommate Dianna.

Down the 15 to the 210, cut through Pasadena, down the 110, off on 9th, right on Flower, cheap parking lot—pick up girlfriend— head straight to Rock ‘N Fish meet with seriously up an coming producer, collect $150,000.00 down payment on three new projects, say goodbye to seriously up an coming producer—order Spicy Tuna Roll and Ahi Tuna with Spinach and Mac ‘n Cheese.

“Edward…Edward…Edward…Do you like Jake or Edward?” the girlfriend ranted on in a “Twilight” frenzy that alleviated all guilt for the things I had just done in Vegas.

“I’m going to head into the party. Why don’t you hang at the bar? Maybe Edward will show his glowing little face that I’d like to punch in.”

“You wouldn’t…”

I walked into the party and looked for Sarah Maxwell—who was responsible for putting together the little soirée.

I ran into Chris first. I actually met Chris and Sarah together some time ago, when Chris spotted me carrying a couple of boxes of Hygee Danishes. If you don’t know what Hygee Danish is, go to the dining section and read my blog “Let’s Hygee”, suffice it to say giving one box of this pastry crack to Chris and Sarah made us friends and business associates for life. Anyway, I was chatting with Chris about a hotel in Vegas he and his partners had just taken over when Sarah walked up.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

I gave her a big hug—tempted to let my hands wander down a little bit, but noticed the girlfriend spying on me from the bar. “Where’s F’n Edward when you need him?” I mumbled.

“Wow you’re really excited about this movie,” commented Sarah, having no conception of my dilemma. “Come on you guys come mingle.”

We let Sarah go first into the sea of attractive young FIDM students. I thought about what it would be like to be in bed with all of them at the same time—then turned to Chris who nodded toward the bar area. “Drinks?”

“Good idea,” I concurred, and headed down the steps toward the much safer environment.

Amusingly, Chris decided to pull up to a spot at the bar right next to my girlfriend—whom he did not even know existed.

And in my “Rock ‘N Fish Rocks”  blog I predicted that the bar at Rock ‘N Fish would be the place to hang out at LA Live—SURPRISE I WAS RIGHT!!! The bar was hopping and so was the restaurant for that matter, much more so than Katsuya or Wolfgang Puck. And I can eat and or blog anywhere I want. By the way, no offence to the original Katsuya on Ventura Blvd. which really is one of my favorite restaurants in the valley. When I was working out of Universal, I had many a good meal there.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“Drinks gentlemen?” asked Michael, the always, friendly neighborhood bartender.

“The usual,” I answered.

He set a bottle of Jack down in-between our two very large glasses partially filled with Diet Coke.

Chris did the honors and the party was on.

“You see Chris what makes blogging so powerful is the emotional connection between the writer and the reader…And the reason larger companies are having so much trouble monetizing social networks is that they don’t understand that you have to marry the right social networks to the right blogs—content is always king…” And of course I couldn’t help but to be distracted by my snooping girlfriend eleven inches south of Chris. “And Chris if you just turn around for a second I’ll introduce you to my girlfriend.”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

Disclaimer: my girlfriend is young and hot, but she’s the only girl in my blogs that I’m not having sex with—something to do with her being mad about my promiscuity.

Off to the movie theatres, all 14 of them, big building, lots of people, architecture has nothing to do with the rest of LA Live, which is inexplicable, cool regional manager although not overwhelmed by the presence of world’s greatest blogger. NOTE: I’m ecstatic that there are nice movie theatres FINALLY in Downtown, but the surfaces are disappointing. Hopefully Regal will do something spectacular with the floors, walls, and lighting in the common areas of the theatre in the near future. The Grove still sets the standard for what a theatre lobby should look like and this shouldn’t be acceptable to LA Live. The movie experience once seated, however is state of the art.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“New Moon”, well it’s like watching, what when I was growing up we called an after school special. The amazingly predictable story about a 109-year-old vampire who has a thing for teenage girls…Okay, I can’t fault him for that…Bottom line is the girlfriend loved it and couldn’t wait to go home and fantasize about Edward the rest of the night.

The Next Day

Picked up the girlfriend, went to see “2012”, which is an Academy Award contender in comparison to “New Moon”. After close to three hours of watching the world come to an end I was hungry and ready to throw a nice little birthday bash for my much older sister—at Rock ‘N Fish, of course. I know I eat there a lot, but after thirty days in Vegas and another thirty on the way after Thanksgiving, I’m intent on getting my fill. For the sister and girlfriend I ordered everything on the menu…I usually get the Ahi, but I ventured into the Blackened Halibut…To really change things up I skipped on the bottle of whiskey and ordered a bottle of Conundrum—the girls loved this wine. For desert, bread pudding and lava cake, both off the hook.

I love the anything goes wildness of Las Vegas but…

Dinner and a movie…Really Rock ‘N Fish and a movie, it’s still a magical night out…Los Angeles is a movie town and I’m a movie maker (sometimes). What else can I say, this born and raised Angelino / 15 year downtownster is happy to come home and eat a great meal with friends and family, walk a few hundred feet and see a movie. It took a long time for this experience to come back to Downtown and while downtownsters need no encouragement to go try this night out—I urge the rest of my fellow Angelinos to join in. Holiday season is here, take a trip Downtown to the fashion district and do some shopping, maybe take the kids to Pershing Square for some ice skating, go to Rock ‘N Fish or some of the other great Downtown restaurants and have a dinner you’ll never forget—and then go see a movie. It’s been a challenging year, so we all deserve a night out Downtown.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“I have no interest in watching MMA, let’s roll to Hofbrauhaus and drink some beer and…” said my buddy Isaiah, an exec. at The Venetian.

“You go, I’m watching the fight. I’ll come over when it’s done.”

So I’m talking to Ken the dentist visiting from San Diego to my left when a kid, by kid I mean 22-year-old, pulls up next to me in the seat Isaiah had just vacated. I was hoping for someone of the female variety, obviously, but he seemed decent enough. I was slightly alarmed that he ordered a beer rather than a real drink, like Ken and I, but I reminded myself that the youth of today, well let’s face it, they’re little girls when it comes to vice. Anyway, I included him in the fight conversation with Ken and unlike my buddy Isaiah he did indeed have an interest in some good old ass kicking.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“So what is there to do around here,” he asked.

“This is Vegas, what is there not to do?” I responded. “You’re not from around here are you?”

“I’m from Sweden, I’ve been here for four hours…”

“You’ve never been to Vegas before?” He shook his head. And that’s when I notice two average looking young girls eyeing me, they had “college kids playing hooker in Vegas” written all over them—so I waved them over. I figure that I don’t really give as much money as I should to charity, but I make up for it by helping kids like these two get through school. And since I was feeling particularly philanthropic I nodded toward my new friend from Sweden, thinking that he might like to get a proper start in Vegas.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“So do you want to go up to your room and get naked, the four of us?” asked part time college hooker number one.

They did a little whispering in Sweden’s ear.

“I’m just a student…” he uttered, nervously.

“They looked at me. “I’m trying to watch a fight here.” They left and I turned to Sweden. “How much did they want?”

“Six hundred, for both.”

“They were worth three hundred each all day long. If I didn’t just do a threesome at the Hilton I would have picked up the check.”

“How did you know they were…uh…uh…”

“Pros. I’ve been coming to Vegas since I’m three and I own blogsincity—it’s my job to know these things.”

“I want your job…” he sighed, then continued. “My friend that I came with fell asleep up in the room and I lost a hundred and twenty gambling.”

I’m such a sucker for a sob story and let’s face it blogsincity is kind of an unofficial ambassador. “Do you like gentlemen’s clubs?”

“I love strip clubs,” he answered, his face aglow.

Fedor caught Brett Rogers with a right in the second, down went Rogers. “C’mon I’ll take you to the best gentlemen’s club you’ve ever been to.”

I called Treasures to let them know I was on my way. They offered to send the limo for me, but I was feeling okay to drive.

A Few Minutes Later

“This is your car?”

I nodded. “Beats the hell out of a Saab, doesn’t it.”

“I can’t believe this…It’s like a dream. I come to American and now I’m hanging out with a famous writer—and driving in this car, this is crazy man.”

And then, top down, I rolled toward Treasures with Sweden riding shotgun, which I hoped would not be too upsetting to the ghost of Howard Hughes, who’s grown accustomed to the seat. If Sweden only knew the company he was really keeping.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

Now given that there is no vice, which doesn’t hold some interest for me, I think of gentlemen’s clubs as the closest I’m ever going to come to good clean fun. And for the distinguishing gentleman there is no club as distinctly elegant as Treasures. There is a time and place for clubs with fully nude eighteen-year-olds and clubs with a bunch of young lasses that look like they’ve jumped from the pages of Playboy onto your lap, but given that I’m pretty sure that Sweden is in Europe, geography is not my thing, I felt that the European feel and vibe of Treasures was just what the fight doctor ordered for my young friend.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

I said hi to Alson, Nick, and my old buddy Jacko Smiley, all of whom I’ve known since the days of producing “Stan Lerner’s Night Tribe” at the Rio Hotel and Casino. It’s always good to see the boys and even better to sit at my table—that would be table 37 for my readers who enjoy excessive details. Jacko, who always knows just what I’m looking for, sent what I term my Mrs. Rights—two of them anyway. Both Riley and Mercedes are what dreams filled with precipitation are made of. My hart warmed as Mercedes took Sweden off for a VIP adventure. And I have to admit that I was almost overwhelmed by the thought of what it must be like to be a proud father, and yes it’s a reoccurring theme of this blog, but I really think I’d make the coolest dad ever.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“I wish you were my uncle or something,” said Sweden.

I held back tears. “Hey, it’s no big deal. I just wanted you to have a good impression of America and Americans—you can’t believe all the bad press we get.”

“What are you talking about? I’m going to move here when I’m done with school. This has been the best night of my life. And I’m going to tell everyone in Sweden about your blog…Maybe I can work for you.”

I raised Jack and Coke number twenty. “I’ll drink to that. But if you want to work for me you better never let a two for six hundred hooker deal get away.” We laughed and toasted.

“I promise boss, never again.”

“You hungry? Because in Vegas, if you roll with me, breakfast is always around three or four. Of course sometimes it has to be room service, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m up for anything.”

So I took junior for a ride down the strip to the Bellagio for breakfast feeling good about doing a good deed. See good deeds are like bouncing a ball, you put your hands on it for a moment, send it the best direction you know, and then you just never know where that ball bounces to—hopefully to a great place.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

And although I usually just stick to storytelling, I enjoyed taking Sweden to Treasures so much, I’m going to make this a part of blogsincity’s mission statement. I have a bottle table at Treasures every Tuesday and Saturday—late night. If any blogsincity readers want to join the party just text me at 213 400-4559 and let me know. You can ride in the limo with my posse and you won’t have to pay to get in—but the Mrs. Rights are on you!!!

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“Yeah, he has an extra bedroom,” I responded…Norm usually gives me the business about my lack of interest in the business around this time of year.

“You have fifty-seven unoccupied houses, two in Vegas, why are you crashed out at Fat Andy’s?”

Frankly, I had forgotten about the houses in Vegas. “That many houses? I didn’t realize…I get lonely, I prefer to stay with friends…”

“Stan, fifty-seven houses, one hundred and four automobiles, a G-4 and a Citation all costing money and nothing you seemingly have any interest in. Besides my fiduciary responsibility as the trustee that you appointed, some of your friends and family are calling me…”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“C’mon Norm you’re stressing me out…Why don’t you come out and have some fun?”

“I read your blog last week along with a million other people…You don’t really think that the ghost of Howard Hughes is riding shotgun with you these days?”

I looked over at Howard who was indeed sitting next to me in the Benz…Apparently he really likes my car. He mentioned, that had he not died, he would have designed this exact automobile.

“Norm, I was kidding about Howard…I’m delusional not crazy! Anyway, I need to pull into Starbucks and do some writing can we pick this up tomorrow?”

“Stan you have to grow up again…I mean what happened, you used to be a business machine?”

“Money is base Norm…It bores me. To be continued…” I hung up the iphone.

Howard gave me a thumbs-up. “I thought you handled that superlatively,” he grinned that haunting grin.

“Norm means well. And he’s made me like a billion dollars or something, but I just can’t get into it. I like to write, it’s my passion.”

“I know, I felt the same way about flying…You will be confronted with the catalyst for your change (awakening) you know—sooner or later.” Again that haunting grin.

So as I sat at Starbucks updating my facebook status it really was no surprise that the last girl I had wanted to marry, before giving up on the conventional empire building life that Norm wishes I would regain my zeal for, popped up with a comment. I don’t know how Howard knows the answers to everything from curing zombie fever and if I may digress for a moment, I don’t know what’s better, having sex with the zombie girl who keeps on biting me or the antidote of sleeping with the married midget who looks like a mini Megan Fox, but this is, in no small part, why I haven’t gone back to LA…Anyway, Howard was right again, we all have our own path, but there are circumstances that for better or worse influence how we get to where we are meant to go.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

Out of kindness I’ll just call this girl G…

“Vegas baby! I’m in Vegas for my Birthday!” Read the comment on my facebook status.

Since we hadn’t spoken, but for a chance meeting ten years ago in Central Park, for fifteen years, I found this to be an incredible coincidence. But the fact that we had become facebook friends surely meant that there was still some type of closure needed…I accepted her invitation to meet her and her friend at Tao for dinner.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

To her credit she was nice on the phone and she was actually at Tao. When we dated G was the kind of girl who could better deal you at a moment’s notice and leave you hanging in a city where you didn’t know a single person – on your own dime of course. Another plus, she actually looked good for her age. Given 18 to 21 is my preference this too says a lot, but the hint of old age that comes to us all around 40-years-old was in her face. I could see old G not too far in the future—white pearls and all. Finally, the personality still had some of the bubble, which caused me to want to be with her all those years ago, but she was still full of sh*t—knows all the big shots, but doesn’t have a pot to piss in…I always say, even a mutt is cute when it’s a puppy, but when it grows up it’s a mutt.

I should mention here that her friend was about as charming as a wet, mildewed, rag. If there is such a thing as a personality lobotomy—she had one. You know the old saying, “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy,” well after ten minutes of this spinster in my presence the only thing I wanted to make love to was a bottle of Jack Daniels!

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“You said you’d see me when I’m forty and single with nothing…” G gabbed on…And I did tell her that, but at the time I was trying to get her to understand that it’s hard to find a good guy and if you do, it’s best to close the deal—I didn’t really mean it to be a curse. And by the way, to all of my female readers, if you find a good guy—don’t f**k it up! You don’t want to be this girl. “And I think it’s great that you’ve done everything you’ve ever wanted…” she continued.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

Anyway, the night wouldn’t have been complete without the two of them complaining to the manager about the bill…I kind of wondered if they didn’t have some lesbo thing going on, which might have been interesting to watch, but no such luck, we went up to the club where G gave her friend the rag a tour and they both were too tired, thankfully, to drink or dance.

“We’re exhausted, we’ll go out tomorrow, which is really my birthday anyway.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“Are you alright here on your own?”

This almost caused me to burst out with a laugh. But instead I gave a subdued nod. “Oh yeah…” I looked at all of the young, underdressed guys at the bar who didn’t stand a chance of getting anything but my leftovers once I rolled up…And this is going to be the subject of another blog, but seriously guys if you don’t start dressing better when you go out—you’re putting yourself at risk of a middle-aged writer pulling your chick. “I’ve been in clubs before…”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

We kissed each other on the cheek, the corners of our mouths glanced just slightly, and some of that old chemistry that once caused me to orally pleasure her for five straight hours one night in New York City was there. I could tell this crossed her mind in that moment and then she was gone.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“Jack and Diet,” I said, cheerfully to the bartender at Tao—the main bar off the dance floor. Some poorly dressed, not so great smelling Pakistani kids had gravitated toward me. And behind me I sensed the presence of a cute girl—the glow from her phone radiated forward as she pretended to text away and squeeze into the spot next to me.

“Hi, where are you from?” she asked.

I glanced down at her low cut top and enjoyed her beautiful olive colored skin for a moment before answering. “Born and raised in Los Angeles. And you?”

She smiled. “You’re very intimidating…I’m kind of nervous right now.”

“Is that why you were hovering behind me for ten minutes pretending to text?” She nodded. And I held up my glass to hers so we could have a little drink to settle things down. “To my new friend,” I toasted genuinely.

We chatted for a few minutes and the youngsters around the bar looked on. Since the word count is getting up there, I’ll forward to the good part. “I’m leaving Las Vegas tomorrow for Philadelphia…I’m getting married, my husband is stationed there.”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

“So this is a one shot deal?” I asked, not wanting to be a home wrecker.

She put her arm around my waist. “Of course it’s a one shot deal. Let’s be honest. You wouldn’t marry a girl like me.”

I stooped slightly and kissed her on the lips. She had soft lips, definitely not a smoker. Our lips parted and I whispered in her ear. “You should see what I wanted to marry.”

She kissed me on the lips and whispered back, “The right one is coming. But the right now one is right here and ready to get out of this place.”

As I walked out of Tao, with a girl whose name I can’t recall as I pen these final words, I felt better about some things that had bothered me for a long time—even though I didn’t know, until Howard mentioned it, that they existed somewhere in my consciousness. I felt a little sad for G, we could have had a nice life together if she had decided to be a better person. Anyway, a few minutes later I was inside of my new little friend and the past was the past. “What a funny magical place Sin City can be,” I thought to myself. “No wonder Howard doesn’t want to leave.” And then trepidation. “What if he’s not the only one?”

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

Because I was born and raised in Los Angeles it was only natural that Las Vegas became my second home. In 2003 I came for a weekend and stayed for a year—producing the “Night Tribe” show at the Rio Hotel and Casino—I love Vegas. So, when my writing career went on to encompass blogging, I started downtownster.com, I was sure that the next city after LA that I’d be blogging in would be Vegas Baby!

Now every good blog needs some regular characters, so let me take this opportunity to introduce Carlos Harper. I met Carlos when he was a young fellow working at the Rio’s pool. He was arguably the best pool guy at the Rio, which meant I was sure to recruit him to do some promoting for “Night Tribe”—he was good at promoting as well. Carlos went on to college, graduated, worked in real estate, and became a VIP host with Pure Group—a star on the rise. As you can imagine he knows Vegas and even though I used to be the boss I’ve come to rely on him to keep me up on what’s going in this great town.

The call went something like this:

“Hey little brother, you up for lunch?” I asked driving towards Desert Inn.

“Sure, where do you feel like going?” he responded.

“Up to you. But first stop Starbucks.”

“Have you ever been to Society?”

“No. Where is it?”

“At Encore. Trust me you’re going to like it.”

“Starbucks?”

“Meet me at Las Vegas Blvd. and Blue Diamond.”

Two cappuccinos in my blood, the top down, and Carlos riding shotgun I was on my way to Encore, which is one of my favorite hotels in the world—particularly the Eastside Lounge.

Funny enough I had noticed Society when I was at Encore’s opening, I thought it was going to be a 24/7 café. As it turned out, it’s not, and upon entering with Carlos I noticed that they added a bar.

 “Mark, this is my friend Stan, he’s the writer I told you about,” Carlos said, introducing me to his friend Mark Steele who happens to be the Assistant General Manager… I remembered seeing Mark around when he worked for Pure…I might have even met him at the Grand Opening, but couldn’t remember for sure, which given the bottle of Blue Label I drank that night, is understandable.

Mark sat us at a prime table in the bar area and the bar itself does really add something to the place—a kind of excitement. Frankly, when I was at the opening I remember thinking that it might look a little high end to just be a café, so the bar is a good move.

“You have to try our Mojito—we have five different types.”

“I’ll take one of each.” Carlos gave me that look. “Just make that one,” I said changing my order to something more respectable.

Let me put this simply: go to Society and order the Strawberry Mojito. I could have put down four or five, but since I was on my best behavior I just drank one…and then finished off Carlos’s pineapple version, which was also a winner.

The Mac & Cheese Ball appetizer went perfectly with the Mojito. And the chopped salad was light and tasty—I ordered mine without turkey. As for the entrée, I had it on good word that Steve Wynn eats the Fish ‘n’ Chips, and I had just written a blog that singled out Fleming’s at LA Live and Chaya Downtown as having the worst Fish ‘n’ Chips I’ve ever eaten. If you browse the dining section onhttp://www.downtownster.com you can read this review for yourself. But to put it succinctly I stated that OPEC had to increase production to compensate for the amount of oil that went into these foul tasting things. So, on a quest for good Fish ‘n’ Chips I ordered.

A nice size portion landed on the table, enough for two people to share—and were clearly made on premise. I liked that they used a high quality Halibut, there was so little oil that they almost appeared to be baked. I asked Mark about this and he explained that they bread the fish and flash-fry it, them bread it and fry it again, which keeps the oiliness to a minimum. Hey I’m sold. I ended with a cappuccino made from a special blend of beans roasted in Seattle for Society. Now if they would just leave this place open 24 / 7 I’d be a happy man.

Blew out of Encore and headed back down to Starbucks. Ran into Dean from Elite Realty, but that’s another story.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

So last we left off I had just left the Michael Jackson “This Is It” premier at the Palms / Brenden Theatre. And I was feeling the terrible effects of the bite from the zombie girl that I had, had sex with in the bathroom at Mickie Finnz…And the ghost of Howard Hughes had given me some troubling advice as I drove to meet Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson who was helping Nightlife Marketing Guru Alicia decorate Cherry Nightclub at the Red Rock Casino…

“This is Stan?” Alicia asked Jessie, as I strolled up to Cherry, which was in the process of getting a large pair of fangs over its entrance—to give it the proper atmosphere for the upcoming Halloween Fang Banger’s Ball.

“Yeah,” responded Jessie.

“He’s hot for a middle aged writer.”

I took her hand and kissed it. “Flattery and money will get you everywhere with me. What would you like me to review?” I gesticulated toward my own finely tailored double-breasted suit. “I was at a movie premiere thus the suit…Otherwise I’ve been dressing more casual so as to fit in and get good stories…Fly on the wall kind of thing…But it hasn’t been working.”

“You look a little pale. Are you feeling okay?” asked Jessie.

“We need to talk, I need your help.”

Jessie nodded toward the club. “We have the whole bar to ourselves.”

This of course made me forget about all of my problems!!! Moments later with a Jack and Diet in hand I tried to think of a subtle way to explain my strange pallor.

“Remember the zombie girl I had sex with in the bathroom while I was on a first date with Roxy?”

Jessie nodded. And Alicia laughed and said, “I loved that blog!”

I sighed. “Everyone did. But she bit me and now I’ve got zombie fever.”

“That’s not good,” said Jessie, probably wishing James “Hollywood Deal Maker” Westbrook hadn’t asked him to look after me while I stayed in Las Vegas indefinitely.

“It gets weirder,” I continued, “the ghost of Howard Hughes was just riding shotgun with me in the Benz and he said the only cure is to seduce a married midget—otherwise I’m a zonbie—f*ck, I can’t believe this happened. Everyone else just gets herpes and I get this.”

Alicia just giggled, clearly realizing that Jessie wasn’t’ kidding when he told her he had never met anyone quite like me.

“Stan do you think the fact that you’ve only slept nine hours in the last seven days might have something to do with all of this.”

I pulled up my sleeve and showed him my see through skin and fluorescent veins.

“Wooooo,” said Jessie, as he stared at evidence of my rapidly changing state.

“Do something,” said Alicia, no longer giggling.

“Okay, no big deal, I’m a VIP host I can make anything happen in this town. Why not this? How long did the ghost of Howard Hughes say that you have?”

“He didn’t, but I don’t think too long.”

“Look it’s Halloween all weekend. I’ll just invite a bunch of midget couples to our table at Prive…I’m sure you can take it from there.”

“No, I’m going to need your help. My girlfriend is flying in tomorrow, so I’ll need you to keep her distracted.”

“You have a girlfriend????” asked a stunned Jessie. “You’ve slept with nine girls and a zombie in the last six days.”

“This is funnier than your blogs,” added Alicia.

I sighed. “I tried to break up with here when she turned twenty-one, but she just won’t leave me alone.”

This puzzled Alicia. “Why’d you try to break up with her when she turned twenty-one?”

“Well now she can drink—way more expensive to date. And I can’t leave her outside when I go to clubs anymore…”

Alicia nodded and turned to Jessie. “He has to hang out with us all of the time…”

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT

“Hey get that off of my head,” said the midget whose head I had accidentally rested my class filled with Jack and Diet on.

“Oh, sorry about that little fellow…I meant to put it down on the railing…”

“Little fellow? If I wasn’t here with my wife I’d let you have it right in the balls,” said the angry midget.

I held up my hands. “Your wife?”

“That’s right I have a wife you loser, I’m married and you’re not.”

Normally this would have hurt my feelings, but on this particular occasion I knew that I would have to overcome my unusually sensitive emotional state.

I handed him my drink. “Here, a peace offering. I apologize for being an idiot…I want to be friends.”

Fortunately the line for the bathroom was long so I managed to down four doubles with my new little buddy in a matter of a few minutes. And by the time his Mrs. made it to the table he was a babbling mess. I should mention here that she was a perfect ten, in the miniature sense of the terminology. I’m talking a three-foot version of Megan Fox—literally. I’ve never wanted anything so little so much. I glanced at Jessie who had my girlfriend on the dance floor dancing away, totally clueless as to what I was up to. At least until she gets back to LA and reads this blog.

“What happen to him?” asked little Megan.

 I shrugged. “We were just having some drinks.”

“Great, I wanted to have fun tonight. Now I’m a babysitter—on Halloween.”

“C’mon sit down and have a drink…” I lifted her up onto the couch. “I’ll have my limo take him home and put him to bed.

“Really, you don’t even know us. And most people aren’t so kind to small people. This isn’t one of those goof on people shows is it?”

“Well I’ve never had a small…I mean I’ve never known any small people before, but if you don’t mind me saying so, you’re f***n hot.”

She stared into my eyes. “Why don’t you have your car take him home…”

Because I like to think of blogsincity as a family friendly blog, I normally at this point of a story would say something like, “I’ll spare you the details,” but I can’t. See since my back surgery over ten years ago I haven’t been able to have standup aerial sex with anyone that’s even close to my size. But with mini-Megan, every spot in the room was new territory—oh, and the long forgotten sex in the shower, I can’t stop smiling even now as I write these words. So, for any of my friends and readers that haven’t have had sex with someone a little over the one-yard mark, you’re missing out on at least twenty positions you can’t possible get into with someone your own size.

I looked up at my new little friend as she road me so gracefully and felt compelled to utter the truth. “You saved my life you know.”

“Messing with zobies were you? Hope you learned your lesson…”

“Tell me about it. Next time she’s wearing a muzzle before anything happens.”

Mini Megan smiled. “Well I’m glad I could help. It makes me feel a little less guilty about this.”

“So if the zombie girl bites me again, it kind of makes this okay?…” My mind processed all of the possibilities as mini-Megan nodded the affirmative. “Well, then I guess there’s really no point of blowing money on a muzzle.”

Later

“Where were you?” asked the girlfriend from LA.

“I had a little something to do up in the room…And you were having so much fun…”

“Jessie’s a really good dancer. I feel bad because I know he has clients to pay attention to, but I’m having so much fun.” She gave me a huge hug. “You’re such a great boyfriend.”

I turned to Jessie who looked like he needed to ask me a question.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Oh, yeah much better.” I smiled. “The little things really do make a difference.” I looked from Jessie to my girlfriend from Cali, who quite ironically was dressed as a dead bride. “Would you like to dance?”

She smiled. “I thought you’d never ask…”

And as Halloween weekend came to an end I couldn’t help but to feel that warm feeling that comes over me when I’m headed to yet another good party—that’s right I was headed to Red Rock Casino / Cherry Nightclub for a little Sunday night fang banging.

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner> 

This story, for me, begins with a text message on my iphone that read “Michael Jackson has passed away,” which I received thirty minutes before other media sources. I decided not to break the story. It’s just not the type of blogging I personally aspire to.

After several days of friends and readers asking me to write something about the death of Michael Jackson, I acquiesced and did so. I chose to define the thru line that the media would take, given the enormous amounts of money that would inevitably be at stake. I said that the King of Pop’s personal life would be faded and his music both rediscovered and celebrated. Good business and frankly the preference of the public.

As I sat in Jerry Olivarez’s beautiful suite on the 32^nd floor of the Palms Hotel’s Fantasy Tower, Michael Jackson “This Is It” was the furthest thing from my mind. Jerry is the Executive Director of PR for Brenden Theatres and I was there to discuss blogsincity business. But as things go Jerry, Joe and I began to discuss the premiere of  “This Is It”, which was being held at the Brenden Theatre just off the casino in the Palms. Because this particular theatre is home base to Johnny Brenden himself it is by definition the company’s flagship. And although it had nothing to do with what I was there to discuss I accepted Jerry’ s gracious offer to attend the premiere.

The event began as anyone would expect, there was lots of press on hand to witness—Johnny Brenden presenting Joe Jackson with a star on the Brenden Theatre walk of fame. And while Johnny himself could be a Vegas reality show, which I’d gladly produce, this blog really takes a turn in a different direction—the movie.

AEG who put up the money for the “This Is It” tour and myself have butted heads on a couple of issues regarding their LA Live project in Los Angeles in the past. The fact that they sold the rehearsal footage to be used for the movie to Sony for sixty million dollars, well added to my discomfort given AEG’s claim of having no financial interest in holding a Michael Jackson funeral event at Staple’s Center. But all of that being said it’s a great thing that Kenny Ortega was given the opportunity to put the footage together into “This Is It” because it answers a lot of questions.

The media, especially Fox and CNN owe an apology to all of their viewers for getting their facts so wrong. Both reported that the tour wasn’t going to happen as promised and on Fox they stated that a choreographer hadn’t been hired and so on and so on.

What “This Is It” absolutely makes clear is that Michael Jackson and company were completely ready to put on a show, and not only a show, but what would have been the most incredible concert experience to date. Mind this fact, I’ve produced a few shows considered to have moved the bar, I’m saying this as a professional—I’ve never seen anything on the level of what Michael and Kenny were going to pull off.

Also, what “This Is It” makes absolutely clear is that Michael Jackson was at that the height of his powers. This isn’t a story that can be compared to the last years of Elvis, Michael appeared to be absolutely at the top of his game. Media asked what he still had left in the tank at 50-years-old, the movie is definitive—more than all of the great talent, which surrounded him. As he rehearsed at half speed to conserve his energy, he still was absolutely in step with dancers half his age. When he was feeling it on one occasion and decided to sing all out—he never sounded better.

Because his personal life and the tragedy of his death have been so reported on, his musical genius had faded from the front of most of our thoughts. “This Is It” changes that. As Michael tells the best musicians in the world how he wants every note played and in one routine tells Kenny that he doesn’t need to be cued—he’ll just feel it…Chilling. And at this point something else comes across, the Michael Jackson “Peter Pan” nonsense that was always being sold to the media, and I’ve always rejected as nonsense—was indeed nonsense. Michael Jackson as demonstrated in “This Is It” was in absolute control and his personality was forceful to the point of being dominant.

So as I watched this movie a sense of profound loss crept over me and my usually cheerful Vegas mood vanished. “The world and all of us who inhabit it have been deprived of something great,” I thought to myself. I thought of all of the books, movies, and shows I myself still want to give…

“Michael, well a lot of people around the world liked Michael, I just happened to be his dad,” said an emotional Joe Jackson as I spoke to Don King, whom I hadn’t seen for years. It was good to see Don, he always makes me smile. I don’t know Joe Jackson, but I’m pretty good at reading people and I can tell you this, he’s nothing like he’s portrayed in the media. Yeah, I can imagine him being pretty tough, but he wanted his kids to have a better life than he had and he saw that they had the talent so he did what he had to. I can’t imagine what it was like being poor and black in pre civil rights America. Hopefully, I’ll have a chance to spend some time with Joe while I’m in Vegas…Interviews don’t interest me all that much, but when I feel the story has been told wrong, I think it’s important to make things right.

The after party was at moon on top of the Palms Fantasy Tower—I wasn’t in the mood to party and even Maria, a girl I had sex with in a club a night earlier unexpectedly showing up and throwing her arms around my neck couldn’t shake off the effect of the movie. I’ll tell you about the sex in the club later. I tried to talk to Johnny Brenden, and I hope he doesn’t mind me saying this, but like me I think he was too moved by the film to really want to get into a discussion about it. Johnny and Michael had a close relationship.

2:00 a.m. I decided to call it an early night, I didn’t even take Maria home with me. And then as I drove up Flamingo my phone rang Jessie “James Super VIP Host” was on the line. Jessie, knows I’m sensitive so he figured I’d be in a state after the movie.

“I’m at Red Rock with Alicia we’re decorating Cherry for Halloween. Come by and have a drink or two or three or…”

“I’m on my way.”

It would have been a normal drive, but since getting bit by the zombie girl I had sex with in the bathroom at Mickie Finnz I’d been feeling weird—like I can see all of the veins in my arms and I’m cold all of the time weird.

“Come on people can’t really turn into a zombies,” I said out loud to myself.

“Sure they can,” said Howard Hughes, the ghost of whom was now sitting next to me in my car.

“Please go away. I’m okay with being a delusional writer, but this is even too bizarre for me.”

“You had sex with a zombie and now you don’t believe in ghosts?”

“I didn’t say that…Have you had sex with a zombie by the way?”

He smiled a ghoulish knowing grin. “There’s no vagina like zombie vagina.”

“Is that what happened to you?” I asked terrified.

“Don’t worry son, you can save yourself, but you have to act before it’s too late.”

“What should I do?”

“You need to seduce a married woman.”

“Oh boy, that’s not my thing.”

“And she must be a midget,” he added.

“What? I have to have sex with a married midget or I’m going to turn into a zombie.”

He nodded. And we drove the rest of the way to Red Rock in silence…I was going to need Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson’s help for sure.

Roxy wanted to go to dinner—and I was confident that I could squeeze it in, drop her back off, she lives way the hell out there, and still meet Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson at Prive by 10:30. And that’s how good a time I had the night before—I was going back to the same club two nights in a row—unheard of in Sin City. Oh, and then I planned on going to Toa and Noir…I call this a Las Vegas Grand Slam…I know Alec Silverman is out there somewhere waiting to correct me factually given I’ve only named three places, but a Las Vegas Grand Slam has nothing to do with places, so not going to happen old sport.

What I hadn’t planned on was a sexual encounter with a zombie. See, I decided to take Roxy to Freemont Street and enjoy some fish tacos outside at Mickie Finnz…Out of the gutter boys I really wanted fish tacos. Anyway, it turns out unbeknownst to either Roxy or myself that there was a dance of the dead going on upstairs—and a good dance of the dead is always preceded by a march of the dead, in this particular instance down Freemont Street. So there I was in the bathroom minding my own business taking care of business…

“Excuse me this is the men’s bathroom,” I said to the extremely attractive, mutilated, Catholic schoolgirl.

“I’m a zombie…I can use either men’s or women’s, because I’m dead—stupid. Nice package by the way.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I mean I’m here with someone…I mean we’re just friends.”

“I’m dead it doesn’t matter. Having sex with a zombie isn’t cheating.” She sat on the sink revealing that zombies apparently don’t wear underwear when they go out dancing.

“Did you follow me in here on purpose?”

“I’m cold…Are you going to warm me up or what?”

I sighed. “What the hell I’m in Vegas.” The problem of course being that I’m a blogger and nothing I do stays anywhere and I might decide to run for political office one day. Well at least I have no skeletons in the closet—maybe a zombie or two.

Now this is where it gets weird, weirder—she was cold and I mean like really dead cold.

“You’re the coldest person I’ve ever had sex with,” I whispered to her romantically as we had sex in the bathroom, which you could actually get in trouble for these days in uptight California.

“Because I’m a zombie…”

“Whatever,” I responded.

“It’s a medical condition in my case—I’m no wanna be…My heart only beats twenty times a minute and my blood pressure is ninety over fifty on a good day.”

I don’t know why, but this really turned me on.

More about the zombie girl later. When I got back to the table Roxy was not hearing any of my stomach ach-story.

“Really, does your lip always bleed when you have an upset stomach?”

“Spider bite…It got me while I was sitting there.”

Note: boys if you decide to have sex with zombie girls they bite, and I mean really hard. So don’t even think about doing this kind of thing when you’re on a date with someone else.

Anyway, I took Roxy all the way home. And it doesn’t appear that we will be hanging out anymore. But come on, who could pass on anything so random. I should get a get out of jail free card for helping the living dead in need.

Prive was off the hook. Not as off the hook as Friday, but JD spinning had brought a lot of people out for a Friday as mentioned one blog and a zombie ago. The table, the bottles and Miles, Bill, and Isaiah and a bunch of girls. Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson and the party was on. I of course talked blogging with the boys and smoked a Don Vicente Cigar. But I couldn’t talk to any of the girls due to the memory of that cold, hot zombie flesh.

“Let’s go to Tao,” said Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson.

“I need to do something,” I responded.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

And then at the exit Jessie ran into someone he needed to talk to. A girl grabbed me by the arm.

“You’re coming with me…Nobody ignores me all night.”

“What? Who are you?”

“That’s what I mean. I’ve been trying to get your attention all night long.”

“Why?”

“I’ve always wanted to be with a man older than my father. And we’re in Vegas.”

“Oh, in that case sorry to have ignored you, but I just had sex in a bathroom with a dead girl.”

She laughed. “You’re funny…That’s almost as big a turn on as old and bald.”

“I’m out of shape as well.” This closed the deal.

So we went up to her room…I’ll spare you the details, suffice it to say she was warm and normal and before zombie girl this would be every mid life crisis guy’s dream.

With a very drunk Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson in my car I headed for Tao. Tao like Prive was going off and as I followed Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson around the room shaking hands and absconding with drinks from each and every bottle table I noticed that I had begun to emulate Jessie’s unusual style of navigating through crowds. At some point we were visiting the DJ booth and I was drumming away on the ledge that surrounds it and grooving a little to the music.

“You’re the “Night Tribe” guy,” said the brunette that had magically appeared by my side.

“You were twelve when I was the “Night Tribe” guy. Who put you up to this?” I looked around the room for whatever friend was not aware that I had just slept with a zombie and a very hot girl in the same night.

“I’m twenty-six, I was at “Night Tribe” for my twenty-first birthday. You bought me and my friends drinks, you were so nice. And it’s so great when you go up and drum.”

“I only did that every now and then. Did I sleep with you?”

“No, I was too shy.”

I laughed. “Trust me you did the right thing. I’m no fan of my own promiscuity.”

Now she laughed. “Shut the f*ck up.”

Smiling at the absurdity. “I’m serious. I actually believe in getting married and being faithful and all that…”

“I’ve been waiting five years to run into you…” putting her arm around me, “I have a limo downstairs. Let’s take a ride.”

And even though I plan to give all this up soon and get married and have a family—I said yes. It’s not like I was on my best behavior all night anyway.

And for all my friends / readers who have never driven up and down the Strip and had sex in the back of a stretch limo, you really don’t know what you’re missing.

“Where have you been?” asked Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson, as I reappeared at the club.

“Limo ride with an old friend.”

He shook his head. “You’re going to run out of places to…Never mind. I thought you wanted to go see your boy Carlos “Pure” Harper over at Noir?”

I nodded. “Let’s go.”

Carlos “Pure” Harper had a bunch of tables going at LAX so he couldn’t really hang, but I had been wanting to introduce him and Jessie “James Super VIP Host” Gibson for a while, so I’m glad they got a chance to vibe.

“Hey,” said the girl at the bar next to me. My boys were vibing so why not?

“Do you have a room here,” I asked.

She nodded.

“Want to just skip the conversation and go upstairs?” I asked. “Not that I don’t love to talk…”

She grabbed my hand and we left the boys to their conversation.

And yes every now and then my behavior gives me pause, but I really liked all of these girls—especially the dead one. I keep thinking one day I’ll just be too old for this…I guess this just wasn’t that day. I love this city! Oh, and to my boy Alec—that’s a Las Vegas Grand Slam!!!

<Click Here: To Buy Books By Stan Lerner>