MultiPoker has a reload bonus, but it's only worth it if you have no other bonuses to clear. It's good through April 10 and is 100 percent up to $100 (deposit $100, get $100) using bonus code APR05RELOAD. But here's the kicker: 20x raked hands to clear within 20 days. That makes it the highest clearing requirement of any Party skin. And it sets a bad precedent, because if it goes over well, other skins may also increase their raked hand requirement.

Still, if you're playing anyway, it's better than nothing, eh? Now if I could only clear these things with SnGs, I'd be all over it, but I'm skipping this one for now (particularly because there's a rumor Empire is unloading a $150 (7x) bonus tomorrow).

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I know I'm way behind in updating and adding links in the righthand column, but I've been pretty lazy since I moved. Have been feeling pretty insular of late, and haven't been keeping up with other blogs since the blog convention in December.

But I did laugh at this, Terri Schiavo's blog.

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The Key West ballroom in The Palms is in definite need of one of those trading spaces TV shows but for slot tournament purposes, it fits. The theme is apparently the roarin' '20s judging from the handpainted cardboard flapper girls and gangsters perched atop the banks of slots, but other than that it's pretty generic.

The whole thing has the air of a high school project.

This is my first time in a tournament at The Palms, and talking with other people, it seems most are locals. Thing about locals is they hate the Strip and are quite vocal about it -- they prefer The Palms or the Station Casinos or Sam's Town. This could be my Christmas future, but for now I like 'em all. Each has its own personality and quirks and I'm just glad there are so many to choose from; unlike, say, Atlantic City where I'd mainly shuttle between the Borgata and the Taj.

A notch above a continental breakfast was available: scrambled eggs, potatoes, bacon, pastries, cereal, yogurt... I had some of each. Also bottled water, coffee, various fruit juices, and soda.

Not too bad, particularly since I wasn't expecting to be fed at all. Now I had the opportunity to have a second breakfast.

And here's a tip: if you're ever at The Palms on a weekend morning and see a sign that says "VIP Slot Tournament," pop in and see if they're serving breakfast. If they are, help yourself! There's no carding going on.

This is the most sedated tourney I've participated in. There's no music or excitement. Even the slot machine sounds are muted. It's a long-ass 20-minutes to be mashing a button and I felt every bit of those 20 minutes. The emcee is the youngest, prettiest, and bustiest, but she's mostly window dressing with a tranquilizing voice. No pep at all and her presence practically disappears once the tourney begins.

Even if Luxor's slot tourneys didn't contain so much money with their $100K prize pool, it'd still be head and shoulders above the rest, and I didn't hesitate a bit in spreading the Luxor gospel to other Palms players. At Luxor, it's an event. They hold the tourney in the main casino (as opposed to cordoned off from the public). There's a roving video camera filming everyone that they later compile and edit together to show at the banquet. And speaking of a banquet, there is a banquet (Palms just announces the winners and pushes you out). They make you feel important. This gets other slot players curious about the tournament, wanting to know how to get invited. The emcee walks around doing Rodney Dangerfield impressions, while hitting your machine for luck. Everyone's slot hosts are in attendance, going up to each of us and also slapping our machines, calling us by our names and wishing us good luck.

But the worst thing about The Palms' slot tournament is the machines themselves. Here's the payout structure for the lucky 7s on each machine:

10,000 red-white-blue 777
5000 red-red-red 777
600 white-white-white 777
450 blue-blue-blue 777
240 any 777

Quite a significant jump, just from 600 to 5000. And above that is the red-white-blue 777, paying 10,000. This makes it seem more like a video poker tournament where any royal hit is an assured win. There's really no sense in continuing past the first round if you don't hit the 10,000 at least once. All the other scores from 600 down will never add up to 10,000. It barely will approach 5000.

At Luxor and Sunset Station, even if you don't hit the jackpot during your round, you could continually hit smaller payouts and accumulate enough to match that high score and still feel you're in competition.

At The Palms, there's a huge difference in scores. Mary Lou hit the 10,000 three times and the 5000 once, which would automatically catapult her into the top 20 for all three rounds, even if she skipped the next two rounds. Pat hit for 46,000 in the first round, and she will probably win just based on that. (Update: Pat won 1st, Mary Lou won 5th.)

Seeing this and seeing your lowly score of, say, 4000, discourages players. It's not over till it's over, but the odds of hitting four of those 10,000 jackpots in the second round just to be even with Pat is pretty high. No wonder people drop out.

I should write a letter suggesting they alter the top payout to 2400. That's still a big jackpot and is still within reach by others who never hit it. This is the case with other slot tourneys that never clear 10,000 in one round.

Here's the prize structure:

1st = $7500
2nd = $3000
3rd = $1500
4th = $1000
5th = $500
6th-10th = $250
11th-20th = $100

After the first round, my score of 17,584 was good enough to place 22nd out of 156 players. After the second round, my score of 5616 dropped my placing to 62nd. My third round was 15,379 which should put me somewhere in the middle, but not near the top 20 (update: I placed an overall 41st).

While slapping that button, my slot host at Sunset Station called inviting me to their next slot tourney, which I unfortunately can't make. I felt like I was cheating on her by playing slots somewhere else, so much so that I lied to her and said I was out of town! So if she heard slot bells in the background, that would explain it.

In the second round, they handed out gifts of a nice red travel bag with wheels and extended handle. It has The Palms logo on it, thwarting any attempts at future re-gifting.

There's still a chance with the marathon prize. This goes to the top three players who've earned the most points this weekend playing slots.

1st = $5000
2nd = $2500
3rd = $1500

Twelve other prizes are awarded randomly to tickets earned from slotplay. Every 100 points ($1 coin-in = 1 point) gets you 1 ticket (and The Palms has the best deal around in cashing out points, with $1 equaling 400 points... most other casinos are $1 for 600 points).

4th = $1500
5th = $1000
6th = $750
7th = $500
8th = $400
9th = $300
10th-11th = $200
12th-15th = $100

I actually think I have a shot at one of these. Because of people's low scores in the tourney, many won't bother to show up at the 2 p.m. announcement, and you have to be present to win. Plus, many people I talked to didn't seem to be interested in playing.

(Update: I didn't place in either the slot tourney or the marathon. Oh well.)

I'd intended to leave after my second round, but The Palms is giving away $10,000 every Friday and Saturday of April just for swiping your card. And every 100 points you earned would get you an additional entry. My slotplay would work double-duty -- for the marathon prize and for this raffle.

So I played 3 1/2 hours of Deuces Wild video poker (full pay at The Palms, but only the bank near the valet) between the first and second rounds, then used my points to catch the IMAX version of Robots (written by playwright David Lindsay-Abaire!) which had no story and lame jokes but was so nice to look at, it was doubly disappointing they couldn't do something better with the plot, particularly by the author of Fuddy Meers. This is probably the first time I fell for a cartoon character -- the Halle Berry robot resembled a mechanical Virginia Madsen.

After the movie, played some penny slots until 7 p.m., the time of the drawing.

I stood in the crowd holding my tray of Panda Express (all the food court tables were taken) as they announced the winners. Sixteen player's cards were called out and they had 90 seconds to step forward and claim a portion of the $10,000. Six didn't show, so they called six more. Mine wasn't one of them.

Back to slots. Now I had no excuse but the pope and the Michigan-NC game, which I watched while playing. Some DC friends are coming to town for our annual guys-only Vegas trip in May, and lapdances were riding on the outcome.

Lost on slots (of course), which wasn't too bad considering the amount of play I got off it. Then went to blackjack hoping to recover. Sat at one of those automatic shuffler machines, which is similar to playing online because of the shuffling after each hand (except that I'm convinced online blackjack is rigged). Couldn't hit anything and lost three buy-ins before my Red Bull arrived. The dealer apologized to me, and I apologized right back for only being able to tip her $1 (my last one). If I'm left with odd change, I'll throw it at the dealer. It's not their fault I lose, after all.

Those six-deck shoes and automatic shufflers are so loaded with 10s that I think I'll have a better chance at winning double-downs and splits. But those 10s help the dealer make many more 20s.

I play basic strategy, but my luck in blackjack is bad enough that I wonder if I should switch to single-deck, despite the 6:5 blackjacks.

Ended the night in a foul mood brightened by a razzle-dazzle (hot fudge and raspberries) from the frozen custard drive-thru, which at $4.36 including tax, was pricey but worth it especially if it was going to bring me some luck which, historically, it has always brought.

Today was the third round, which didn't add enough to my final score to put me anywhere. Went home to make sure my rent check was in on time, then wrote the above, then returned to The Palms for the 2 p.m. winner announcements.

The razzle-dazzle wasn't working.

I was meeting Kathy for a play at 6 p.m., so I hung around the Strip. Went to MGM and got my name down for 6/12 in their new poker room, but though there were empty tables, I still waited 45 minutes. Left to NYNY.

Played blackjack there and won what I'd lost at The Palms plus $50 (thank you, razzle). Since NYNY dropped me from their promos, anything I can do to take money away from them gives me a perverse satisfaction that I'm bucking the system.

Arrived at the play late because I thought it was a different theater and entered a studio where women were learning how to pole-dance. Like seeing someone naked who I wasn't supposed to see, I quickly looked away. I should probably have stayed.

Kathy was late as well, and we sat in an audience of seven people... including us. It was two one-acts by known playwrights, but the first one was acted so poorly I couldn't tell whether the play was bad or they were just making it bad. This is my biggest fear in getting anything produced, and it's why I'm careful selecting who to submit plays to. It's amazing how the same script can be done wonderfully with one group of actors and then horribly with a second group. I've had mostly pleasant experiences with my plays, but a couple times I've seen some interpretations that I would want to disown (ahem, Florida). One production (ahem, Maryland) used a trampoline as part of the set dressing... the bouncing of relationships? The ups and downs? Couldn't figure it out, but I should be glad they didn't use the trampoline. I think I can safely say that I'll never have a trampoline in one of my shows again.

Because of the level of acting here, I would not want to submit anything to the local Vegas theaters for fear they'd accept it and put on a subpar show.

After Kathy and I hashed out all the things wrong with the show (found a copy of the play in one of my boxes and read it... it's better than I thought, so the playwright isn't to blame), I went back to The Palms to play poker.

The Palms is trying to boost their low turnout nights, so they're giving away $1200 on Sundays and Mondays throughout April, with drawings for poker players between 4 p.m. and 11 p.m.

Played slots while waiting for my name, then played blackjack while still waiting. Colored up once a player in second base doubled down on 12 (dealer's 5 showing). I'd also doubled my buy-in (thanks, razzle) and lost a few hands in a row, so I wanted to lock in a win before I went down further. Naomi was a terrific dealer, which means she dealt fast and anticipated draws, doubles, and splits. And, of course, because I won.

On the way home, I realized not for lack of trying, I hadn't played poker all weekend.

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The problem with strip clubs is I fall in love too easily. All it takes is a slight compliment with a smile from a pretty girl that seems half-sincere, and I melt like A-1 sauce.

I also tend to be monogamous when it comes to dancers. I stick with one until she's too tired and has to move on. Silly, really, but I've never been one for too much variety, perhaps feeling like I'm cheating even with another stripper. Hey, if I can feel guilty playing slots at another casino, I can feel guilty with someone else on my lap.

Sure, they're only after money, but damn if I don't develop these fantasy attachments to them.

Good thing I don't live here, otherwise I'd really feel an attachment. Oh wait...

Pauly and Senor were in town and last Sunday we headed to The Palm at Caesars' Forum Shops to meet up with the Poker Prof and his dad. The Palm is Poker Prof's favorite steakhouse, and I'm more than happy to check out any favorite (when it comes to food, I'll go anywhere). I've been to The Palm in DC and it looked exactly the same, down to the menus and caricatures on the walls. This time, the coatcheck girl did not pick her nose.

We each ordered our 16 oz. steaks medium-rare (Senor's was rare), and Pauly placed his order of a salad. Okay, not really, but a medium-well steak might as well be a salad. As soon as he said "medium well-done," everyone in the restaurant stopped in mid-conversation as if he'd said, "E.F. Hutton." Even the cow came in from the kitchen and shook her head in shame and disappointment. Pauly tried ordering a McDonald's bun to stuff his burnt meat between, but they were all out.

After the delicious chowdown (the medium-well excuse for a steak notwithstanding), Pauly, Senor and I went pai-gow hunting.

Senor had never played before, and being the gambler that I am, I'm quick to sit down at any -EV game (even, shudder, roulette). I haven't yet tired of casino play, though I've long tired of losing. Playing with other people grants me half-assed permission to play, though I still haven't been able to convince anyone to play bingo. With the multiple pushes offered by pai-gow, I hoped we'd push a few, win a few, and lose less.

Walking down the Cleopatra Hall, we found the only pai-gow tables... with a $50 minimum. The pitboss graciously lowered it to $25 for us, and we sat like privileged high-rollers. They had no quarters to take the full 5 percent commission, so we gained an extra 25 cents every time we won. Bonus!

As we played, we couldn't lose! Senor won $65, Pauly won $100, and I won $125. Our goal was to pay for dinner, which we did. Senor immediately stopped playing and Pauly and I went a bit further in an effort to pay for a couple future lapdances, and we succeeded in that as well. (Let's not mention the fact I lost $100 a couple hours earlier in Excalibur's 100NL to some horrible beats.)

Senor had to dash to the airport, which was bad for him but good for us because otherwise we would've stayed and given back all our winnings. It feels mighty empowering to take almost $300 from the house and not look back. And we didn't give them our cards, so they can't even track it. Take that, taxman!

I liken the last day of a Vegas trip to the last day of summer vacation before going back to school. It's the worst feeling. I feel for everyone when I hear it's their last day and they have to catch the redeye. But secretly, deep down I have a feeling of joy similar to sifting through the back-to-school sales knowing I don't have to go back to school ever ever, nyah nyah.

Senor hopped the new Song airline back to the East Coast, and Pauly and I went club hoppin'.

Strip club hoppin', to be exact.

I hadn't been to a strip club since moving here. I've been trying to be good with money (the pesky gambling thing keeps getting in the way), so I veer the car away every time it wants to go.

Plus, I don't even have a couch. How can I justify wasting money on strippers?

The previous Friday, the three of us went to Sin, the newest offering of adult entertainment. They've been advertising on the radio pretty heavily, so I knew they were west of Mandalay Bay... somewhere.

It was a near-empty parking lot that was filled by the time we left, and Pauly said some of the lapdances were better than sex.

Sin ranks up there with the best of Vegas strip clubs. A few days earlier (time flies too fast here), grubette went to Club Paradise and dropped $750 for her entourage (whenever she comes to Vegas, I don't see her that much because she travels with a pack of people). I love Hard Rock and the across-the-street vicinity of Club Paradise, but last time I was there was a bad time. The lapdances were barely on your lap and somewhere in Salt Lake City.

Sin was better. I tend to think strippers use their customers as a form of therapy, and we had it in spades from Melody, who talked Senor's ear off. I thought he was into her until she left, and he said he couldn't wait to get rid of her. She roped me into her problems as well, and I got the exact same lowdown that Senor did (used to weigh 224 pounds, hasn't had sex since May, has two kids, yada yada). She had a schoolgirl look to her with her clothes and pigtails, but that yapper of hers was enough to turn anyone off. Still, I enjoy pumping strippers for information about the biz. What I gathered from Melody and others that night is that Spearmint Rhino's management is horrible (reading into this, I take it to mean they have to perform sexual favors with their bosses/djs to get anywhere in the club), many girls are flocking to Striptease, and Sheri's Cabaret offers 10 seconds with a condom in the bathroom (I didn't ask for elaboration).

But back to last Sunday.

Pauly and I had money to burn. We won back our dinner in pai-gow and were ready to spend the lucky money on dances.

First stop was Olympic Garden. That's usually the most hopping place I know, but when we got there it looked like there was some cop hopping going on. Cop cars were in front with concerned-looking club owners. We popped our heads in, saw not a soul in the front area, turned around and left. If there were a chalk outline, we probably would've stayed for the story.

Next stop was Treasures. Comfy chairs and couches, but nary a female who didn't want to serve us alcohol.

What is this, it's the Easter Sunday holiday!

The one and only girl who approached us was a trucker's delight named Julie. She was so drunk she forgot what her stripper name was.

"Spank me," she said. I obliged. For free, I'll do most anything. It wasn't a satisfying spank, as my hand just kind of sat there accepting residual jiggles. No bounce, just a plop.

As any song comes to a close, there's the awkward pause and silence waiting for the girl to ask, "Want a dance? This is akin to the end of a date and waiting for, "Want to come up?" Though in the latter, you're not usually expected to pay for it.

I'm not too experienced with being the one to turn someone down, so after Julie asked, I looked away as if a teacher were asking for volunteers to solve an algebra problem.

Being the only other guy there, Pauly was caught blindsided and said, "Uh, I guess so."

The dance was more lapsliding than lapdancing. Giving a blog brother some privacy, I tried concentrating on the stage, which had a neon pole and two ornate staircases that could be out of a Noel Coward play. A topless Private Lives, perhaps.

After Julie slinked off, half bra on/half bra off, Pauly turned to me and said, "That was the single worst lapdance I've ever had."

He said she was so drunk she kept falling and he had to catch her a couple times. I wondered what kind of workman's comp strippers could get for falling off the pole.

A few more songs and we high-tailed it outta there. I expressed my severe disappointment with the woman at the front, who then said, "Didn't I say it was a slow night?" Nope, she didn't. I lied that no one even approached us. Which was true, minus one.

I knew there were no refunds, but my hope was to get a comp for a future visit. The best she could offer were 2-for-1 drink tickets. I'll save 'em for Pauly's next trip.

We decided to hit one more to see if it really was because of Easter Sunday or if we were just unlucky picking clubs. If it was a "bust," we'd go play some poker.

Arriving at Cheetah's, it took awhile for any girls to come over. The first was a that-ain't-no-girl variety named Stevie who might have been Steve a few years ago. She's worked there for eight years, which in stripper years is 64 years. Stevie seemed more in the 46-year range, though if I were to card her she'd probably actually be in her 30s. Strippers do not age well.

Stevie sat on my lap for awhile and I was mulling how I was going to turn her down ("maybe later" is a good standby), when Pauly bought me a dance.

Like Pauly's single worst lapdance, Stevie's was my single most unerotic. No matter what she did with her skinny body, it did nothing to arouse.

Then girls slowly came around. If they see customers with Stevie, hey, they must be willing to spend money on anything.

I spent a good chunk of time with Dana, who seemed matter-of-fact about everything and had these eyes that would catch me in lies. Being all part of the fantasy, I often lie to strippers regarding my name, what I'm in town for, and what I do for a living. With Dana, I told her the truth, and her eyes (and hands) still searched me to verify.

Dana did four dances and was very generous with the songs, offering to just "lay here" to finish out a short song. I ordered a drink for her, and she took a bottled water (though the charge for that was the same as the price of a mixed drink) and ignored shots from the shot girl.

As her best friend walked by, Dana said, "C'mere, you gotta feel this, it's so big" and took her hand in hers to feel something of mine. She apologized for embarrassing me, though that wasn't the least embarrassing. Any kind of compliment like that and I'm putty.

I would've had her do a couple more songs, but she said she had to speak to a weird guy but would be right back. A Latina girl named Peaches (because her breasts taste like them, she said) took her place, and I liked her accent enough to go to the private room for half a dozen dances.

There's a private room and then there's a private-r room. This one you just pay the regular amount, but it's separate from the main room and you're away from the uncomfortable armchairs. Peaches hadn't had any luck with customers, that she started turning to women. I was her second in four hours, and I probably kept her as long as I did because her voice reminded me of someone.

When I returned, Dana was dancing for Pauly, with a put-upon hurt look on her face that she had looked for me but I was gone.

My odd sense of morals had me feeling guilty! She said we could make it up to them with massages.

Dana was still with Pauly (she said his massage was making her pussy wet), and her friend sat down on my lap. We both gave them vigorous massages. After the song ended, I asked, "Do you want another song?" and she laughed and nodded.

Then we switched strippers, and continued the massages.

Dana said her shift was over and she had to go.

Our final parting words:

Dana: My friend and I are going home.
grubby: Where do you live?
Dana: North.
grubby: I'm south. It would never work.

Sigh.