This Show has come and gone from Gilley’s a number of times. Maybe it’s seasonal. Right now (Mar 2016) it’s not happening.
If You Like Your Women Dirty
(Here’s my review written in April, 2014.)
Gilley’s has a weekly mud-wrestling competition on Wednesday nights. It’s free and gets pretty wild and crazy as Vegas shows go. The mud-wrestling contest was a feature at the old Gilley’s back when it was located in the long gone New Frontier casino. It has since resurfaced at the not-so-new Gilley’s at TI. If you remember the old mud wrestling show, forget it. The whole thing’s been revamped into one of the best free shows in town.
Mud wrestling is one of the iconic cultural events of our time, so often ignored in the mainstream media, yet the world’s top mud wrestlers are martial artists on the level of any of the MMA greats. Decades from now, when mud wrestling is finally recognized as an Olympic event and ESPN hosts the Mud Hour featuring the sport’s top athletes and performers, many of whose names are known to sports fans throughout the world, we’ll look back on this simpler time when the sport was in its infancy, followed by a relative handful of aficionados who never could understand why this most challenging of all the fighting arts wasn’t getting the recognition and media attention it deserved.
Gilley’s is doing its damnedest to change all that. MC’d by TI’s resident DJ, “DJ Caffine,” this is a two-hour extravaganza of hot babes wallowing in muck. The girls range from kinda-drunk to totally sloshed, some wearing bikinis, some in their underwear , as they roll around in chocolate sauce within the confines of a 12-foot square blow-up wading pool. Sports fans just can’t ask for much more excitement than that.
Did I say chocolate sauce? Yes I did, as Gilley’s takes the sport to a new level, redefining “mud” as something you’d actually enjoy eating—and, it looks mighty tasty, as it’s displayed on the bodies of these fine athletes.
What makes the competition even more enjoyable is that it’s also now an audience participation event, as DJ Caffine auctions off the “towel boy” and “towel girl” jobs before each bout. It’s the job of the towel handlers to clean up their wrestlers between rounds, offer words of encouragement, pour water down their gullets, and basically act like corner men. As a towel handler, you become the wrestler’s teammate, and her only teammate. You must be prepared to go through not only the victories but the tears and the heartbreak as well. Chocolate-covered girls are hard to come by in this world, so yours is a special job, a calling if you will.
If the towel job appeals to you, here’s what you have to know: all towel positions the night I went sold at prices between $20 and $130 (average price = $54), so bring cash. Wear clothes that you won’t mind getting chocolate on, as the wrestlers get messy and chocolate sauce splashes and more than one wrestler in her excitement at winning her match threw her arms around her towel boy in a victory hug, effectively turning towel boy into just another towel. If the idea of immortalizing the impression, in chocolate, of a mud-wrestler’s body on whatever you happen to be wearing appeals to you, then you just might be cut out to be a towel handler. And yes, there are both towel boys and towel girls.
Even if you don’t become a towel handler, keep in mind that the entire front row around the ring is officially designated as the “splash zone.” Those sitting in these seats have the option of purchasing a towel for $5 to use on themselves, should they get splattered. If you’re allergic to chocolate, no problem; the whole show is projected on Gilley’s big-screen monitor that you can see from just about anywhere in the main room.
Further breaking with tradition, note that this show starts on time, 11 pm. If you want to get a seat on the rail, better get there by 10, or you’ll find standing room only.
In his introductory remarks, DJ Caffine reminded the wrestlers that it was against regulations to pull off tops or bottoms. The crowd booed. “Don’t worry,” he said “It’s gonna happen. It’s Vegas.” The crowd cheered. Rolling around in all that slippery sauce, there are a few nip slips during the matches, but the girls take it in stride. The girls do two rounds of two minutes each. If one of the girls gets pinned by the other for a count of three, the match is over. Most matches end with a girl getting pinned, because these girls really are fighting. Based on the auction receipts, they’re battling it out for more than $1,000. So it’s definitely not choreographed, and it’s a hell of a lot more real than the WWF.
There were eight girls in the competition. The first round eliminations brought them down to four, then to the two finalists. In all, you’ll watch seven matches till the winner is declared in the main event. If no girl is pinned within a two-round bout, the winner is declared by audience response.
Here’s how the action came down the Wednesday night I saw it recently:
In the first bout, Dirty Diana, using her trademark powerslam, slaughtered Hollywood Hijack. In the second bout, Coco Ono used a move she created called the “Hershey’s headache” to annihilate Chelsea the Thrasher. In bout three: the Angel of Death was dispatched to Hades by country girl, Jane Deere, who stunned the Angel with her corkscrew moonsault slam, a move she perfected to pin down country boys she captured in her pokeweed patch. In the fourth bout Betty Rage—who did a mini-striptease and an exhibition of her flexibility before the bout began—sent Combat Kitty to the litter box.
This set up the card for the semifinals. Dirty Diana’s powerslam proved no match for Coco Ono’s Hershey’s headache. And Betty Rage fizzled out against Jane Deere, who didn’t even use her moonsault slam, but opted for a Tennessee tractor leg drop to send Betty to the showers.
The championship card was announced. It would pit Coco Ono versus Jane Deere, both crowd favorites. It was going to be a night to remember.
Then DJ Caffine announced that before the long-awaited bout to decide which girl was going to take home the purse, there would be a Bonus Match, two girls not in the contest, who just happened to be hanging out at TI that night and wanted to get a little wrestling in, preferably in chocolate sauce, before hitting the blackjack tables. (I forgot to mention that DJ Caffine informed us in his introductory remarks, that if there were any girls in the crowd who wanted to wrestle in chocolate sauce, they couldn’t be in the main contest, but Gilley’s would be happy to set up a Bonus Match, providing the MC, referee, timekeeper, and chocolate filled mud pit, with appreciative shit-kickin’ audience, simply as a public service.)
Country Bombshell’s towel job went for $100. The Fox’s sold for $40. (Or was it the other way around? My notes are splashed.) So the purse they were fighting for was $140. Country Bombshell takes it in a Bonus Match.
In the championship event, Jane Deere, a country bombshell in her own right, and a mud wrestler whose agility in chocolate sauce is matched only by her unbelievable repertoire of fancy moves, makes a hot fudge sundae out of Coco, this time employing the rarely seen cross-legged Biloxi crab mangler.
To top it off, there was a second Bonus Match, two more girls in the crowd—Bambi and Billie—who just wanted to have at each other in a chocolate pit. (Along about this time I started to realize that it’s not too difficult to find girls who will wrestle in their underwear in public, if you tell them it’s in chocolate sauce. Fellows, I think this is a major revelation about women and what makes them tick. Got something kinky you want to try and she keeps saying no? Try adding chocolate.) Bambi takes it in a three-round sudden-death nail-biter.
[Thanks to DJ Caffine for the photos from his fb page]