Party Like a Spliff Star

Bobby hosts a rockin’ party for Spliffstar Threads at The Palms.

One sticky afternoon in July I was pleasantly surprised by a trio of female faces suddenly peering around the door frame to my office: Renée Perez, Charlie Laine and Andie Valentino (Penthouse Pets for November 2005, February 2006 and May 2007, respectively). They’d just left The Howard Stern Show and had stopped by to gift me with a copy of their latest erotic DVD, My First Girlfriend. When, in the course of chatting, I mentioned that I’d be in Sin City around Labor Day for the Vegas Cup, Renée invited me to a party she was hosting the next night at the Palms for Spliffstar Threads, a 420-friendly clothing company she models for. I called up Spliffstar owners Nick and Colleen Smitley, and within minutes they’d recruited me to be Renée’s co-host and DJ for the bash. There was one caveat, I informed them—I only play rock ’n’ roll.

“Absolutely,” chuckled Colleen. “Done.”

Once in Vegas, Pot Star and I rolled into the Palms around 4:20 and met up with Nick at VIP check-in.

“Dude!” he cheered as we knocked fists. “We’re totally sold out! I’ve had people coming up to me offering me over $100 a ticket to get in. This party is gonna be off the hook!”

And off the hook it was. Having originally booked the Crib Suite, we’d now been upgraded to the larger Real World Suite—thanks, ironically, to MTV’s renting an entire floor for their upcoming Video Music Awards. The suite was…well, sweet. It had five rooms tricked out with neon lighting, each one with a flat-screen; there was an aquarium, a full bar, a Jacuzzi—even a purple pool table. With the addition of a sound system in the corner of the living room, the nerve center of the vibe was established, and we were ready to roll.

My Burning Man camp mates were among the first to arrive. They quickly commandeered the “confessional room” (where the former reality TV inhabitants used to bitch privately about their housemates) and turned it into a gravity-bong vortex. Soon the air was thick with pot smoke and laughter. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas beamed out from the monitors, Led Zeppelin blasted over the speakers, and all was right with the world.

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