According to Billboard, Motley Crue singer Vince Neil "avoided the media and quietly pleaded guilty Wednesday [today] to driving drunk last summer near the Las Vegas Strip in a case that drew denials that he received preferential treatment."
On June 28, 2010, it was reported that "Motley Crue singer Vince Neil, who last week had declared his sobriety, was arrested on drunken driving charges after getting pulled over by police in his Lamborghini near the Las Vegas Strip."
Today's report confirms that a judge "sentenced Neil to 15 days in the Clark County jail and 15 days on house arrest under terms of an agreed-upon plea deal that spared him a trial on a misdemeanor driving under the influence charge. Neil could have faced up to six months in jail if convicted."
But inbetween his June arrest and today's guilty plea, Neil continuing partying in Vegas. In the Sinatra era, what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, but in the Age of Oversharing (i.e., the Blog Era) what happens in Vegas is broadcast on the interwebs by star-eyed young ladies who get flown to "Kubrick-style" private parties for "corporate cowboys".
Here's an account by LA blogger Debra on her site Mother Drucker of a wild Vegas party where she encountered (and photographed) Neil last December, only weeks before his guilty plea to the DUI charge:
Here's Debra's account from her blog [emphasis added by us, somewhat luridly]:
Wow. I flew to Vegas on a private plane last week for an epic party at the Las Vegas Hilton and partied with Vince Neil, former [sic] lead singer for Motley Crue. There are details that involve cowboys and pirates and grape-stomping and body paint. Prime rib and piles of shrimp and a vodka luge.
I drove my car up to the plane. Threw in my luggage. Sat down. And took off. That was it. No one tried to touch my junk. Not even when I asked.
We went straight from the airport to the hotel to the party. The minute I entered the VIP lounge at the Hilton, someone put a glass of champagne in my hand. (Yep, I could get used to this.)
The party is an annual event for an eclectic group of corporate and non-corporate cowboys. I'm not sure if they are a secret society, so I won't mention them by name, but I can tell you -- they know how to have a HELLUVA good time.
It all went down in the penthouse suites, three of them, each with a different theme. The pirate suite had painted beauties, and booties, see above. One room, filled with decadent desserts, featured a bed with a nearly-naked girl on it, her backside liberally sprinkled with cocoa and powdered sugar. Like a human cannoli.
It was a Kubrick movie, come to life. I half-expected a midget clown to swan in on a bicycle. But then I saw this guy, which is the next best thing: