Fantasy life a daily routine for DJ Relapse

As always, girls are falling off of him.

There’s a blonde and a brunette in bikinis, stunning friends of his, who come and snuggle and go. There’s an inebriated birthday girl wearing a plastic tiara on top of her cowboy hat, who keeps circling around him.

Relapse barely has time to notice the bikini contest reflected in his sunglasses, except he must spin a song for contestants shaking their girl parts. The song’s refrain goes, “There’s some hos in this house.”

Only one contestant stops bouncing booty, turns to Relapse and defeatedly protests, “I’m not a ho.”

Relapse motions toward another woman.

“Look at ‘Chanel’ tattooed on her ass. What the (expletive) is up with these Chanel tramp stamps?”

A woman in a bikini stands on a couch next to him and bends over to present him with her rearview option. He doesn’t notice until I point her out.

Relapse’s life wasn’t always this boyish fantasy. After growing up in a “redneck, white trash” town on the West Coast (he refuses to divulge where), Relapse (David Greer) moved to Vegas 14 years ago to race motorcycles.

After that, he started businesses — a clothing company and less lofty pursuits. He settled on swing trading stocks.

Six years ago, he stumbled into DJing when a DJ friend showed him the ropes.

“At first, I was just doing it for the fun of it. After a while, it was, like: You get paid to do it, so why not?”

Next, he sheared off his hippie-long hair with electric clippers, and added 30 pounds of cut muscle to his previously lanky body.

That’s when he became girl bait like he’d never dreamed.

“There’s getting laid, and then there’s getting laid as a DJ, where you don’t try. They just come up and throw it at you,” he says. “You get to the point where you’re bored with it.”

Bored with it?

“It’s possible!” he says. “At some point, you don’t want to wake up next to a groupie that you’re annoyed with.

“I’m 35, man. This has been going on for a while,” he says and laughs.

Relapse hasn’t been in a long-term relationship in six years — the same amount of time he’s been DJing.

“I don’t even know if I want a girlfriend. You say you want it. But who knows. If I had it, I probably wouldn’t want it — unless I find a really hot Asian chick with a British accent who’s half Brazilian. Then I’ll shut it down,” he jokes.

Relapse is so germaphobic, he rarely shakes hands with people and he washes his hands after handling money.

But what about touching girls?

“That’s different,” he says, laughing.

A new girl approaches us both.

“You’re writing a story about this guy?” she asks me. “Why aren’t you writing one about me? I could be with this guy. You could get a picture with us.”

Snap. I take photos.

She says her name is Jamie Martin, 21, a Vegas cosmetologist.

I ask her why girls go for Relapse.

“Because he has a little bit of power. He’s good looking. He’s in shape,” she says, raising his shirt to inspect his abs. “Girls are all over him, which attracts more girls, because they want to be THE girl. He acts like he’s got a big …”

A friend of hers interrupts, yelling in jest, “Stop being a slut!”

“I’m not being a slut!” Martin says, laughing.

She sits on Relapse’s vibrating music speaker, hits on him and saunters off to party. (She will return at the end of his set.) He watches her shake away and says to the air, “Yes, please.”

This is all such a daily routine.

“I had one girl come up and say, ‘Let me show you something.’ Grabs my hand. Sticks it up her skirt. Wearing no underwear. Her husband was there.

“I think one thing I have in my favor is I’m not a drunk and I don’t smoke,” he says. “I don’t do drugs. I eat a lot of cake, but that’s about it. I’m pretty healthy. I like to be in control.”

A woman walks up and asks him to spin a Chris Brown song.

“I don’t play Chris Brown. He smacked up Rihanna. All the DJs got together — we don’t play Chris Brown anymore.”

The woman responds: “She provoked it. She hit him and bit him first.”

“Ohhh!” Relapse blurts. He can’t believe this woman is defending Chris Brown, convicted girl hitter. “I think he pled guilty.”

Quickly, Relapse gets an idea and promises her, “I’ll play Chris Brown next.”

Relapse begins spinning a Jump Smokers’ song called “Chris Brown Should Get His Ass Kicked.” It goes, “Chris Brown should get his ass kicked.”

The Chris Brown fan looks up at the speakers and rolls her head back, laughing.

“I enjoyed that,” Relapse says.

He checks his phone. A girl has texted him a photo of her and four friends at Marquee Dayclub pool party.

“You want to go to Marquee after this?” he asks me. “We’ve got five chicks waiting for us.”

I ask: Is this a happy lifestyle? He looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“Yeah! I make good money. I don’t answer to anybody,” he says. “The manager’s always cool with you. I get to do whatever I want. When I’m working, I have girls throwing their ass at me. … It freaks me out to think if I was doing anything else with my life.”

Does he have any parting wisdom?

“Let’s talk about girls who got boob jobs when they should have got ass implants instead. Seriously, how can you have no ass and giant, giant (boobies)? Ninety percent of guys prefer ass.”

Doug Elfman’s column appears Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. Contact him at delfman@reviewjournal.com. He blogs at reviewjournal.com/elfman.