Boys Gone Wild

When we entered Tao, the Japanese-themed nightclub tucked into the Venetian, we knew it was classy: Stone bathtubs sprinkled with flower petals lined the entry. We knew it was popular: Beautiful bodies bumped us on all sides. We did not know it was Kevin Federline's birthday.

Britney Spears sat in the corner below a reclining Buddha, sipping a cocktail and peering out from under a white cowboy hat. We reached the edge of her cordoned-off buffer zone and my heart skipped a beat -- probably the hamburger.

Brad and I knew what we had to do.

Whipping out his Polaroid camera, Brad wormed his way toward the velvet rope, where three linebackers with earpieces scanned the crowd. Alex and I positioned ourselves at the bar, ready to interfere -- or run -- at signs of trouble.

Brad leaned against a pillar and waited for the right moment. Soon three girls started snapping giggly photos of each other. Using their flashes as cover, Brad raised the camera over his head and aimed it down at Britney. Click .

Brad yanked out the print and tried to throw it, ninja star-style, to Alex. It veered off into a corner. The linebackers formed a triangle around Brad; a fourth dived for the photo and tore it up. The owner pushed through and seized Brad by the lapels. "Listen, [ugly]-face," he said. "I told you not to photograph the VIPs." They tossed him out.

"Don't let that [fellow] back in with that camera," the owner told the bouncer. Brad stashed the camera in a potted plant and joined us again inside.

Alex sidled up to Kanew, brimming with a story. "Dude, I invited Britney back to my place, but she said no!"

"Did you tell her about the buffet?" Kanew said, flashing a smile. "The prime rib?"

Somewhere, at the bottom of some Vegas dumpster, those 16 pieces of torn Polaroid are waiting to be taped together and tacked to our dorm wall. But whatever. She's out of our tax bracket anyway.

Back at the Plaza, we went straight for the buffet. Stir-fry and pancakes again. Britney had no idea what she was missing.

So we'd indulged ourselves a little. Of the Seven Deadlies, we'd only enthusiastically violated four. One a day. Some Sloth, a bit of Gluttony. No Wrath, though, and no Envy, unless you count my feelings toward Federline. In Sin City, a nickname that derives from the flouting of Scripture, that's not a bad record.

Next spring, National Lampoon Tours offers packages to Las Vegas (four nights, from $349), Cabo San Lucas, Mexico (four nights, from $505), and South Padre Island, Tex. (seven nights, from $475), during March, not including air. Prices subject to change. Details: 877-465-8687,http://www.nationallampoontours.com.

Christopher Beam is a senior at Columbia University.