REVIEW: Caesar’s Palace, Las Vegas

image(This is a review of a past trip that I never posted)

I used to like this place but my last trip was an industrial strength colon cleansing.

Let’s start with how the casino has effectively become the United Federation of Douchebaggery on the strip.  Many years ago, Caesar’s was the sh-t & it only took $10k to be treated right.  Then one day, all the hosts up & left, taking their high rollers to Mandalay Bay & Caesar’s Palace was effectively f-cked.  Caesar’s had always been pretty dependent on its VIPs & this exodus rocked the place to its core.  With few whales available to sustain the revenue column on the balance sheets, the joint was forced to re-jigger its image.  That’s when you started to see all that advertising on Los Angeles billboards for the milquetoast Venus Pool Party & that ridiculous TV show, "Caesars 24/7", positioning the resort as a purported "hip & cool" place to stay & play.

Apparently this appeal to the young & infinitely stupid worked:  The tables are packed with guys that have that "I’m a Maxim magazine subscriber" look, playing 6-5 Blackjack on $10/$1000 tables packed ass-cheek to ass-cheek.  One Federline-lookalike got so excited over his $10 double down win I thought he was gonna up & cash his chips in for a Red Lobster gift card right then & there.  Don’t be surprised to see at least one dipsh-t thinking he’s the shizz & splitting tens:  This always has me in stitches because when the dealer bellows "SPLITTING TENS", all eyes lock onto that table for a brief second as if f-cking TeddyKGB himself just opened a package of Oreos.  Then everyone realizes that there’s no way this alcoholic asshat with a tribal arm tattoo is doing anything other than being a Grade-A chode.

And then there’s the gold diggers crawling all over black chip players like a fart in a spacesuit. Yes, the ghetto ‘Paris Hilton’ skank parade here is quite possibly at the root of why Caesar’s has degenerated from a once proud denizen of upper class well-dressed high rollers to wife-beater-wearing lowlifes that adorn their Ford F150’s trailer hitches with "truck balls".  The soulless atmosphere of Caesar’s casino is a side effect of all the 21-year-old-lip-gloss-laden brats trouncing about half-naked in this biohazard of a casino.  You can sense these self-important harpies leeching the joy out of everyone else in the pit as they shout intoxicated epithets at each other & spill Red Bull & Vodka drinks all over on their "You say bitch like it’s a bad thing" tank tops.  If they breathe on you, look into getting treated for gonorrhea.

Take my advice:  Even if you completely disregard the horrendous atmosphere, anyone that plays Blackjack here is a masochist.  Putting aside the obnoxious number of 6:5 tables here, the table rules that Caesars has on their 6-deck shoes are possibly the worst on the strip.  It’s indicative of how they’re clearly targeting dumb & dumber.  Check… for ongoing playing conditions but in general, I’ve never seen a good game at Caesars outside of the high limit tables.

What’s there to say about this Roman bastion of commerce?  The walkways are loaded with f-cktards that wear faded clothing labeled "Hollister", "Affliction", & "USC Football".  Oh, by the way, in case it wasn’t clear, buying anything here is about as enjoyable as a prostate exam from Rosie O’Donnell but what were you expecting?  Going to a 4-star hotel’s shopping mall & being surprised at the craptacular markup at "Brookstone" is like buying hot wings at a nudie bar:  Wrong place, wrong agenda, dumbass.

But let’s face it:  No one you know is really buying anything dangerous here.  While you drink yourself silly at Fat Tuesdays & hurl insults at Pete Rose who’s usually signing autographs at the sports memorabilia joint, your girl’s gonna get moist over the leather in Salvatore Ferragamo’s, ogle the red soles of Christian Louboutin which she once saw on "Housewives", then get self-conscious & head on over to Banana Republic to buy something cotton that her self-esteem will actually allow her to buy.  The big ticket purchase isn’t likely going to happen here so you can holster that Amex, Tonto.

And you know what else isn’t going to happen here at Caesars?  You getting laid.  At least not with anyone that doesn’t work for Benjamins & hangs out at Cleopatra’s Barge.  For those of you looking for that kind of play-for-play action, those ta-tas hanging from the barge aren’t just a coincidence:  It’s an "open for business" sign.  Yes, this place is tacky enough that anything with double-X chromosomes & even a few brain cells that can recognize what a classy Vegas experience is isn’t going to be bend-me-over-the-mini-bar impressed… which of course only reinforces the explanation as to why there are so many Vegas virgins here.

Seriously, this was tough to take after being used to the Caligulan hedonism of the Palazzo & the Wynn. Check in was done with all the delicacy of a gang rape – front desk tip or not. Either the desk clerk wasn’t interested in meeting Mr. Andrew Jackson or someone was on the heavy rag that day because based on the tone of little Miss Sunshine, I was somewhat certain I was halfway to getting shivved from across the registration desk had I uttered one more word. The Augustus Tower beds are large & approaching cardboard texture relative to premium hotels, the Internet access maxes out at 400kbps, supported by P.o.S. Nortel routers – a company with networking equipment so phenomenally lousy they went bankrupt which leads me to wonder if Caesar’s getting spare Nortel parts off of eBay, & the furniture & décor can be described as garish at best. Plan on bringing your own power strip if you’re a business traveler because with the lack of outlets near the desk, you’re otherwise going to be charging your cell phone next to your razor & toothbrush in the bathroom.

It’s possible that the Roman empire might have defeated by their Achille’s Heel: Their restaurants. Every time I find out someone in our party has made reservations to eat on the property, I know they’re not reserving anything at the 5-star “mortgage your house” joints so I instinctively feel like shouting, “Tonight… we dine in HELL!” Yeah, I know… Guy Savoy & Bradley Ogden FTW true, but other than that… what’s left? Everything else is consistently resort-level mediocre. I give a pass to “Joe’s Steak Seafood & Stone Crab” & “Raos” but the rest of the restaurants is a drop in the MEH bucket. Not to mention that it’s home to some of the most overrated cuisine I’ve ever had: MESA Grill from Bobby Flay? Overpriced, underwhelming, with a side of ROFLtastically bad service. Hyakumi? Anyone that eats here deserves any symptoms they contract later in the evening, & being Japanese, I’m going to ask you this only once: “You’re in Vegas… WHY ARE YOU EATING HERE?” Nero’s? Zeros. There. I’m spent.

The Casino gets -1. The rooms are a 1. The Forum Shops are a 2. The restaurants are a 3. The “Qua” baths & spa, which I didn’t go over was the one bright spot in the joint so they get a 4 but I don’t have the time to write about it.

2-stars.  (out of 5)

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