And then -- ha! The Red Rock Casino Resort Spa presents a free fan appreciation concert -- Bret Michaels...of Poison! One night only! Feast buffet included. All you can eat or not, I totally would have bailed to catch Celine. Bret hits the stage in one of those tank tops you make by cutting the arms off of a t-shirt -- which, who wants to see that much pit, men stuck in the '80s? -- and his favorite flaming Patriot Act cowboy hat. And...wait. Does Bret Michaels shave his armpits? They look pretty hairless. Of course, there is an alternate explanation. Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised to see little pit bandanas make an appearance in the near future. Heather, deaf since birth, thinks Bret's unbelievable. Jes can't stop staring at him. Me either, man. Bret plays a song called "Driven" from his new album, Freedom of Sound. Clearly, you've never heard this song. It kills me to point you to a page where a loud, Bret-sung, "Ga ga ga ga ga!" is going to greet you unawares, but here you go.
Brandi says the show was unbelievable and Bret was so sexy, and then she tries to sing along with the words to "Driven" but totally doesn't know them. One would think she would predict that the obvious concluding rhyme to "beside me" was going to be "ride me." I am not kidding. Lacey feels closer to Bret than ever, because he and his songs are so powerful. And really, who could not be moved by a line with the raw power of, "You drive up in your Corvette / I try to get you into my Corvette / No dice / But I still love you." It's like he's the new Homer, working on his masterwork, The Idiocy. And what concert would be complete without a stunning rendition of "Every Rose Has Its Thorn"? I mean, every concert I see. But not this one!
The girls head backstage. While Bret goes to change for dinner, they continue drinking with the band. Jes interviews that the other girls were chugging it up to try to impress the guys in the band, but she held back because she preferred spending time with Bret to getting shitfaced. Eh, to each her own. Even Heather wonders what Lacey, who is doing shots of Jagermeister, the planet's most noxious drink, is thinking. Brandi interviews that the shots were going down and she couldn't stop. She knew she was fucked. Seriously: never do the shots. I mean, if you want to keep your shit together. PUT THE TINY GLASS DOWN. Heather is annoyed at Lacey, and doesn't want to be associated with her when she's all sloppy drunk-ized. This is a positive step toward not wanting to be associated with her ever, I think. Brandi and Lacey start an argument that vaguely has something to do with dirty looks. Heather is tangentially involved. And seriously, when the stripper wearing sheep fur boots and a newsboy cap is the classy and together one, you have a problem on your hands.