I’ve been an “Elite” status Yelper for 3 years now…I love Yelp! I find it to be an invaluable resource about everything from restaurants to mechanics to doctors. I’m an honest Yelper… so if you’re thinking of asking me to write a good review for your business as a favor, THINK AGAIN! I won’t do it! But if you’re looking for HONEST, unpaid (i.e. un-ass-kissing) reviews of Vegas establishments ranging from brothels to strip clubs to swingers clubs to bars and restaurants, hikes and attractions….check out my reviews!!
Yelp literally changed my life — thru it, I met a food critic who introduced to me a bunch of professional writers, one of whom hooked me up with my first-ever professional writing gig. I’ve also dated people I met thru Yelp…I owe them a huge debt of gratitude!
HOWEVER, some butt-hurt establishments that have felt the wrath of Wonderhussy apparently can’t handle the fuckin’ truth, so occasionally my reviews gets censored or removed from the site. Below, please find some of these reviews.
1. Terry Fator (ventriloquist show at the Mirage) (1 star — lowest rating available)
I had little interest in seeing Terry Fator, though his big fat smarmy redneck mug has been leering at me from local billboards for years. Ventriloquism? Puh-leaze! I’m *WAY* too highbrow for that.
Then he dumped his wife to shack up with his 20-year-old assistant. NOW I wanna see his show — I gotta see the Hawaiian ho-bag that broke up a God-fearing, Jebus-lovin,’ cancer-kid-tribute-song-writin’ all-American-hero’s 20 year marriage! That must be SOME gash!
A friend got free tickets, so I went to check it out for shits and giggles. I wasn’t expecting much, but I should have been warned by the fact that I had two extra tickets, and I couldn’t even GIVE them away. I approached several people on the Strip on my way to the show: “Hey, would you like some free Terry Fator tickets?” “Terry WHO?”
My bad; I should have known better to approach anyone younger than 95 or with more than 4 teeth in their mouth. Because that’s the only people who dig his lame, white-bread, borderline-racist, sexist, homophobic, obscenely pandering shtick. Seriously; I looked around the theater when I got there, and it looked like a trailer park church social in Rustbucket, USA. Depresssssssssing!
Terry himself is a great ventriloquist, but his puppets and shtick are SO lame and tired that it’s not even fun to get drunk and laugh at. His puppets cover every stereotype known to Flyover Country: the funny fag, the jiving Nigra, the horny old woman, the slutty young homewrecking assistant — oh wait, that wasn’t a puppet, that was his WIFE! Who, incidentally, is built like a brick shithouse, and whose apparent purpose in the show is to wear a succession of slutty costumes and be leered at by Terry.
Each puppet was onstage for about 5 minutes of shtick, which consists of singing along to a live band. The fag sings fag songs, the Nigra sings Nigra music, the horny old lady sings horny old lady songs. The Hawaiian hoochie doesn’t sing (or speak a single word, for that matter) — it’s too hard to sing with a mouth full of cock.
Apropos of NOTHING, Terry takes two breaks from his racist/sexist/homophobic shtick: “I’d like to be serious for a moment, folks.” UH-OH!!!
The first time Terry gets serious, it’s to sing a self-penned piece of uber-schlock called “Horses in Heaven,” all about Little Timmy the Cancer Kid. All Little Timmy wants to know is if there are horses in heaven, presumably so that when he dies, he can suck horsecock for the rest of all eternity under the watchful eye of Jebus.
The second time Terry gets serious is when he asks all the “folks” (I hate that word, it’s a Flyover Country Alert signal) in the audience who have “served our country” to stand up and be applauded. All the poor old WWII vets in the room creak to a semi-erect position: Yaaaaaay! God Bless Amurrica! Thank you for giving up years of your life to serve your corporate masters! So glad you escaped being blown to smithereens so that you could be here tonight in Vegas, listening to this racist, sexist, homophobic pabulum! I KNEW WE FOUGHT THOSE WARS FOR A REASON!
But aside from those two brief intermissions, it’s non-stop yuks. When Terry’s not onstage, this funny wacky Nigra kid comes out and does funny Nigra dancin’ to keep the audience from nodding off. THAT’s the kind of show this is.
In sum: if some random bitch comes at you on the Las Vegas Strip, trying to pawn off two free tickets to see Terry Fator….
2. Old Homestead Steakhouse (inside Caesars Palace) (1 star — lowest rating available)
My visit to this unbearably pretentious establishment was humiliating
I wanted to thank a very good friend, who had done me a HUGE favor, by taking him to this restaurant. I knew it would be pricey, but this was one of those “special” occasions that are worth it. Plus, I love Caesars Palace and have always had a good time there.
Thanks for fucking that up for me, OHS
I knew Old Homestead is the new steakhouse in town, so it would be packed. That’s why I had my friend, who is a Seven Star Member (high roller/gambler at Caesars properties) make the reservation — Caesars takes care to kiss its high-rollers’ asses, so that they don’t take their gambling dollars elsewhere.
My friend booked us a table for 8:45pm, so we rolled in around 8:40. We checked in at the hostess podium, and an uber-bitch logged us in. Apparently, a reservation here means little — once you show up, they put you in for a table. HELLO? Isn’t that the point of making a reservation — TO HAVE A TABLE READY FOR YOU WHEN YOU ARRIVE?!?!
So now we were “logged in,” and had to wait for a table to clear. Even Outback has the class to give you a fucking buzzer, so you can wander off and be buzzed when it’s your turn. NOT HERE! Your choices are to either stand around the hostess podium waiting, or go the bar for a drink.
So we went over to the bar to have a drink while we waited. We sat down, and the DOUCHEBAG wannabe-Brandon-Flowers bartender made us get up, because the bar seats were “reserved.”
RESERVED?! A quick check at the hostess stand revealed that bar seats cannot be reserved. So, someone was lying to us.
Either way, we were forced to stand around like idiots in front of the hostess stand, waiting for a table to clear up. AGAIN: WHAT IS THE POINT OF MAKING A RESERVATION IF YOUR TABLE ISN’T RESERVED?!?!?!? Stupid!
We waited for 25 minutes before finally being seated — AT THE WRONG TABLE! My friend specifically requested a table by the window — and he put in his reservation 10 hours in advance. Still, we were told that if we wanted to wait for our requested table, it would be a longer wait.
Since we’d already waited 30 minutes by this time, we just took the shitty table in the back corner that they gave us.
After that uncomfortable and humiliating experience, I didn’t even want to eat…but I figured we were there anyway, so might as well make the best of it. We had a completely unremarkable $350 meal: shitty wine, Caesar salad, two filets mignon, two baked potatoes and a side of crab legs.
BIG FUCKING DEAL! I’ve had as good a meal at Outback. SERIOUSLY!
The salad was fishy and way over-dressed (the lettuce was totally coated in shitty sub-par Caesar dressing). The steaks were fine, but nothing about them stood out over Outback. And they were $50 EACH!
The potatoes were FUCKING BAKED POTATOES. Who the fuck charges $12 for a BAKED FUCKING POTATO?! I don’t care who the fuck you are — Wolfgang Puck, Guy Savoy — NO ONE can make a baked potato a $12 baked potato. Especially when it’s just crusted in sea salt and served with sides of cheddar, sour cream and Bac-Os. LAME!
The bread basket was the same old crap they served when the place was Nero’s — pretzel bread (Omigod, how revolutionary) and the usual junk. BIG FUCKING DEAL!
Dessert: a $12 dish of frozen berries, with a side of whipped moose jism. YAWN!
Now, I know this is Vegas, and gouging people is the norm. But, seriously?! $350 is a LOT of money for me. I was trying to impress my friend, and I was willing to fork over the bucks for a truly exceptional experience. THIS. WAS. HUMILIATING.
Also, I ***WORK*** at Caesars… and these people treated me like LESS THAN SLIME. I’ll remember that, assholes.
I work in the showroom right down the hall, and people ask me all the time where’s a good place to eat. I swear, I will ***NEVER*** recommend this ass-joint. Rude staff, a fucked-up business model, and shitty food…why the fuck would I recommend this?!?!?
You can get a better steak for $7.77 at Mr. Lucky’s in the Hard Rock.
Fuck you, Old Homestead! I hope you go out of business in two weeks. YOU DESERVE IT! I hope someone shits in your meat locker, and every pretentious asswad who eats in your crummy establishment gets e.coli, and you get sued into oblivion.
3. The Artisan Boutique Hotel (2 stars)
Two words: endearingly shitty
Two more words: CAVEAT EMPTOR!
This review is based on 4 parts: the lounge, restaurant, hotel and pool. Actual rating would be more like 2.5 stars, if that were possible on Yelp. The place frankly sucks, and the staff rips you off, but it has such a cool-yet-gross vibe that it’s hard to really hate it too much. Awwwww!
This place used to be a Travelodge, but some forward-thinking boutique-hotel impresario bought it and fixed it up all Haunted-Mansion-like, which is VERY cool. Weird art and mirrors on the ceilings, black walls, crazy antiques and thrones and shit everywhere. The decor is BAD ASS, and the atmo is really, really cool. It’s also a popular afterhours hangout for the ecstasy-eating crowd, which means the place is constantly being trashed by stupid-drunk bean-eaters rolling around getting piss, precum and Hepatitis C on everything. That’s right, nothing ever really feels clean or hygienic here….but oddly, somehow, that’s part of its charm (for me, anyway). It’s borderline gross…but somehow in a lovable way.
So, for my rating:
The lounge decor is BAD ASS Addams-Family-chic (as described above), perfect for those who like to drink in dusty gloom. Sort of like boozing in a giant game of Clue (in case you’re wondering, it was Wonderhussy, in the library, with the gin rickey). For those who prefer al fresco boozing, there’s also a lush, tropical outdoor patio seating area that is really, really cool.
HOWEVER!!!!!! The bartenders in this joint are shady as hell, and will overcharge you if you don’t watch your back. They have a decent happy hour ($6 wells), but the bartenders will add a buck or ten to that total if they think they can get away with it. On 6/11/12 I ordered two double vodka grapefruits, and I was charged $40. You do the math — since I didn’t specify a vodka, it should have been four $6 well pours; $12 for each drink, or $24 total. The jackass male bartender added SIXTEEN DOLLARS to my tab. Why? My only guess is he’s a sad, desperate asshole. Friends of mine have reported the same thing happening to them here, SO BEWARE!
The food here is subpar and frankly sucks. Bar appetizers are OK, and they have some decent happy hour specials (just watch out that they don’t overcharge you). But overall, there’s no reason to eat here (especially considering the dirty feel to the whole place).
You can TOTALLY TELL this used to be a Travelodge. They basically just slapped some black paint on the cinderblock walls, added some cheap gilt-framed paintings, and called it a day. I find staying in an all-black room oppressive and creepy, and it’s a nightmare trying to do your makeup in an all-black (tiny) bathroom. It’s also very loud, what with the adjacent freeway and the constantly thumping lounge beats. I do not advise staying here, unless you’re simply too wasted to go elsewhere. Plus as mentioned, the place has a slightly dirty feel to it…so be advised.
If you come here on a weekday, when there are no events going on, the pool is BAD ASS! It’s topless, intimate, tropical and lush. No douchebag bouncer at the door charging you $40 to go in, and the daybeds are free for the taking. This is my FAVORITE POOL IN VEGAS — unless you go on a weekend, when they do the pool lounge DJ thing, and the place is full of bean-eaters rolling their balls off. YUCK!
The only downside to the pool is, there is no cocktail service. You have to walk into the hotel, through the lobby, and into the lounge, where the shady bartender will try and rip you off.
I have to admit, I dig this place for the very reasons I hate it: scammy bartenders, gross dirty vibe, crappy cinderblock walls….it has CHARACTER, man. It beats going to Town Square or anywhere on the Strip, hands down. Bonus: they have a weird, creepy looking little wedding chapel onsite that looks more like a place to have a baby’s funeral (or like the place they christened Rosemary’s baby in the movie)…so keep that in mind for your Goth wedding plans!
So…kudos to you, Artisan. You have perfected the art of being addictingly shitty!
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