Las Vegas [unlvrebelyell.com]- It was a chilly night as my dilapidated 1997 Toyota Camry XLE traveled down Dean Martin Drive two Thursdays ago.

The driver’s side window was stuck halfway down, so as I sped along, a nice blast of cold air was hitting my face, making my eyes water as I searched for the Hidden Secrets nightclub.

There, in celebration of the Adult Video Expo’s opening night, a number of porn and adult entertainers would be converging on the club for the 2007 Pornstar Karaoke World Championships.

The championships, which were put on by independent adult film company Eroticist Films, were supposed to pit the industry’s best known entertainers against members of the general public for a no-holds-barred singing battle rife with Madonna, Lynyrd Skynryd and Metallica songs.

Sure, it was going to be weird. What isn’t strange about watching people whose calling in life is being an unfeeling idol from which the general populace receives entertainment belting out covers to generally bad pop songs? But, as I parked my beater outside the club and went inside, I realized I was in for more weirdness than I ever could have bargained for.

Inside the empty club were the sounds of thoughtless, ambiguous pop bellows. I was there about 30 minutes early, but I figured that there would already be a massive amount of people waiting to catch a possible glimpse of Jenna Jameson, or even Mary Carey. Instead, a number of bar tenders were huddled in the back of the massive two -story club and owner of the ‘Secrets,’ Rob Cornelius, was looking at tables making sure everything is perfect for the night.

“You’re here a little early,” Cornelius said to me as he extended his hand.

“Yeah, that happens sometimes,” I replied. I always wish for smart-assed come-backs whenever someone points out the painfully obvious. Sadly though, I’m not that witty.

Cornelius got me a beer and took me around to see the club. With two stories and a unique, somewhat vaudevillian look, Cornelius bought and renovated the club after it lay abandoned for almost two years after the former occupants, a locals’ bar and casino, shut the doors and closed shop.

From there, Cornelius, who dumped around $1.5 million into the investment, hoped to make Hidden Secrets into one the first topless cabarets on Dean Martin Drive.

But much to his (and my) chagrin, Cornelius couldn’t get approved for his adult entertainment license, meaning that the night of wild, nude debauchery that often comes in the presence of porn stars would unfortunately be toned down a bit.

“The County was hardcore. They wouldn’t license us,” Cornelius said to me as we looked from the second story of the club onto the dance floor. “It sucks, but we’ll make this into an events club and hold parties and stuff here. We’re having a swinger’s party here in a couple weeks. You should come.”

I respectfully declined, and Cornelius headed off to finish final preparations for the night.

As I took a seat to wait for the action to take place, a long-haired guy in a tight, red button up and a black tie sat next to me.

I said hi, and we started to talk about music as he checked his e-mail on a computer set up near the stage.

“Hey, what’s your name?” this nerdy-looking guy asked me.

“Aaron,” I reply.

“Hey man, nice to meet you. My name’s Ron Royster. I’m running this thing tonight.”

Ron Royster is an embodiment of everything that defines the ‘indie’ porno scene.

Rather than being a well-sculpted, super-attractive guy full of vigor and arrogance that is the seeming image of most porn directors, Royster looks more like someone you’d see hanging out at your local comic book shop than directing and producing skin flicks.

With his long, brownish-blonde hair, dark rimmed glasses and an extra pound or too, Royster, who has an overwhelming interest in electronic music, said that his profession is tied into producing and creating major motion picture soundtracks and running an independent music label. He claims he got into the porn industry simply by an honest accident.

“I never really thought about being a director. I’m a musician,” Royster said.

“Do you use the money you make from porn to finance your music interests?” I asked.

“No way,” Royster laughed. “I actually think my music career pays for my porno career.”

Royster’s film � and the main reason behind the Karaoke party � is actually less about determining who can sing “Freebird” the best and more about getting together the litany of cast members that were in Royster’s AVN nominated film, “Atomic Vixens, Escape From the Valley of the Sluts.”

In a sudden interruption, around a dozen people head through the door. Royster stood up and double timed it over to greet them.

They are friends, actors and actresses from a number of Royster’s films, including one very tall, older woman with strange, multi-painted leggings under a black skirt. She headed right for the stage and took a microphone.

“Hey, sorry we’re late,” she says trying to catch her breath.

“I’m Editrix Abby, and I’m your host for the night,” she said, riling up the newly-arrived crowd. “Who’s up next for some karaoke!?”

I’m thinking to myself that the action will finally start to happen. I’ve nearly had my fill of all this idle time and am ready for some good, old-fashion drunken karaoke madness.

‘Secrets’ was nearly full then with Royster’s friends and numerous members of the industry. One brave soul took a microphone and sang a song by country artist Keith Urban.

And while the first of the night finished off his set, Abby took the stage again looking for volunteers.

The crowds of people were hanging out, drinking the plentiful selection of liquors for around an hour, yet nobody had the guff to get on stage and sing.

It’s was near 1 a.m., and not a single Madonna song has been performed. The closest was when a self-described “Music Artist” from New York did a raunchy rendition of a Blondie song.

I was getting antsy, and the lack of action had me frustrated. These are people who get paid thousands of dollars to appear on film and have sex, and yet they’re too shy to get on stage and make a drunken fool of themselves around dozens of other drunken fools. What the hell?

I kept thinking to myself that I must be in the wrong place. I was sure Jenna Jameson was half naked and blowing out candles on some greasy guy’s bald spot by now down at Treasures, and I’m here watching a bunch of porno people drink.

But, as I started heading to the door, the lights dim, and Abby announced that someone is taking the stage.

As I look over to the stage, another tall, older blonde walked out. She was in nothing but a pink thong bikini. As she stopped short of the edge, she turned around and threw her right leg onto the brass stripper pole in the middle. On the side of her boots, her name, Pink Snow flashes to the audience.

Suddenly, Van Halen’s “Hot For Teacher” began to blare out of the club’s speaker system, and Snow jumped up on the pole and does a number of impressive maneuvers, flipping upside down and shifting her long legs over her head and onto the stage. She stands up and began to simulate taking off her pink top.

She was good, but there was one thing that seemed out of place. I got a good look at her face and realized that she doesn’t just look older � she is older, probably around 40 or 50. I was checking out a girl on stage doing a number of acrobatics that could make a Cirque Du Soleil performer blush, and she’s roughly the same age as my own mother. This creeps me out.

All the same, she performed gracefully and garnered the entire room’s applause as she finishes her act, still clothed.

She gets off stage and walks past me, but as she strode by my head began to jerk forward suddenly without my permission.

“Oh my God!” Snow exclaimed as she removed her ring from my hair. “I’m sooo sorry!”

My head still a little sore, I realized that nobody could follow that and begin to head out the door.

As I walked back to my car, I was disappointed. I didn’t hear any Metallica or Madonna. I never saw a drunk porn star fall over as she tried to dance while singing Shania Twain, and I never actually got to see any nudity.

But for some reason, despite all the inaction and strange, older neo-burlesque dance by Pink Snow, I still felt like I had witnessed something weird.

There was just something odd about it all.

Maybe it was the ring in my hair, or the shell-shocked and shy porn stars, but I came out of that club not feeling dirty, but just feeling kind of weirded out.

Still, I never heard any Madonna.