I was leaning back on a fluffy white Tempur-Pedic mattress, sucking down a vodka tonic, and nibbling on a chocolate-covered strawberry. Past the overhead personal plasma screen TV and beyond the wall of bulletproof glass, I could make out the sexy silhouettes of gyrating partiers and hear the pulsating Daft Punk. A young man with flawless skin, clad in nothing but a loincloth, thigh-high boots, and a splash of body paint, wiggled by and offered... More >>>