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The Jenna Jameson Super Bowl Party

Detroit- Posted on For five nights, we combed the strip joints, the wild parties, the casinos and the streets, peering at the underbelly of Super Bowl XL. From Windsor to the Jenna Jameson party, XL Confidential chronicled the week’s craziness. Today, we present the best of the worst:

1:30 a.m. Friday morning, outside Lafayette Coney Island: A man races out into the rain and nearly runs into his new model Chrysler Pacifica as a tow-truck driver is about to hook up to the car.

“No! No! Please! I beg you! I just went in to get a hot dog!”

The man turns to the Detroit police officer who is standing nearby, writing him a ticket for parking in a prohibited area — which includes any downtown street during Super Bowl weekend.

“What’s up?” the man asks the officer. “I just went in to get a hot dog, man! I know a sergeant in the 14th precinct. … I beg you, as a citizen of Detroit. I live here. … I just got off work. I just came to get a hot dog,” the man says.

He climbs up and down the ramp of the tow truck, going from the driver to the police officer on the sidewalk.

“This is the most expensive hot dog I’ve ever had,” he says.

The officer is unmoved. “Best coneys in the state, man. It’s going to cost you $150.”

For the record: David Lee, whose car was towed, lives in Huntington Woods. And there is no 14th precinct in the city of Detroit.

9:45 p.m. Friday night, Jenna Jameson party, the Zoo Bar, just south of Greektown: Porn mega-star Jenna Jameson whisks her way into the Zoo Bar through the back door, stopping only to hug a guy I am interviewing at the time.

Jameson’s long blond hair is tied back from her face, and she’s wearing a gold sequined and backless top. Very low-cut hip-hugger jeans, dangling gold earrings and heels complete the ensemble.

“We love you, Jenna,” one guy yells. Then she darts upstairs to a VIP area. I immediately persuade the guy I was interviewing, party planner Billy Crossman of Philadelphia, to get me past the security goon on the stairs.

He agrees and leads me to the second floor, where I discover that Jameson has headed even higher to a super VIP area on the club’s third level.

“They won’t let you up in that one,” Crossman says.

The party charged $500-$1,000 per ticket, but no price would get you to the top floor. “That’s just for Jenna and her girls,” says the man guarding the stairs.

1:23 a.m. Sunday morning, Playboy party, Coleman A. Young Municipal Airport: Within minutes of my arrival, a woman in a red cocktail dress bends down and eats a dessert item off the chest of another woman, who happily moved a portion of her little black dress to allow the access.

Then a guy in a Troy Polamalu sweatshirt bends down and does the same thing.

It appears they all know each other. I think.

1:35 a.m. Sunday morning, Playboy party: Platforms with giant cushy pillows are scattered along the flight hanger at the former City Airport that is home to the Playboy bash.

A middle-age bald guy lounges on a puffy orange pillow, eyes closed, tapping his foot and singing to the thumping music.

“I love rock ‘n’ roll,” he lip-synchs. “Put another dime in the jukebox, baby.” At his feet is a drink with a big lime in it.

The party seems to be really jumping now. One bathroom is broken and guys are lined up 50 deep for the only one that works.

As I’m watching security deal with an unruly man at about 1:55 a.m., a paramedic hauls a gurney to help another man who has passed out and slumped with his rear end against the wall.

Security officers help the man stagger to his feet, and they carry him toward the door.

The man’s friend, who is laughing, helps carry him.

4:10 a.m. Sunday morning, MGM Grand Casino, John C. Lodge Freeway: The casino is still packed.

A blackjack dealer says it’s been nuts since 6 p.m. Friday, with Pittsburgh fans overrunning the joint and chanting, “Here we go, Steelers, here we go!”

But no one can party forever. At an out-of-the-way 25-cent slot machine, one fan nods off with his head on his woman’s shoulder, a Terrible Towel nestled near his cheek like a little blankie.


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