I spent most of last evening at the Playboy Mansion watching boxing, observing a nude girl tiptoe through mostly spider vein-nosed, bowling-shirted attendees, and sadly, missing Bill Maher.
I was flummoxed by the absence of Playboy Mansion regulars Maher, Scott Baio, Jon Lovitz, Bob Saget and of course, America’s favorite mid-40s teenie stalker Pauly Shore. In consideration of that curious chasm, it was clear early on that this wasn’t the typical study in backyard debauchery for which Hef’s parties are notorious.
But with my current condition, it was still better than spending the night wrangling with the ice machine at the Culver City Hilton Garden Inn.
So, what then was the highlight of the night? Well, that would be the one nude girl on the grounds. And for that I thank my gracious party hosts, Yardbarker.com.
Yardbarker was one of the co-sponsors of the event, and had YB.com promo girls canvasing the crowd throughout, including one cutie named Crystal, who was bodypainted (uh, that be nekkid) with the website’s logo.
She stood for what seemed like 1,000 photos with party guests, and in the biggest upset of the evening, there weren’t any inquisitive digits during picture-taking.
She later came over and *hung out* with us, which seemed a little strange. You know when you’re standing at the bar with your buddies, scanning the crowd and making caustic remarks about anything and everyone? Well spice in a nude girl doing the same thing and you’ve got our night on ice. Which ain’t bad.
See, you have to remember that the Playboy Mansion environment is much like Vegas. There’s no abnormal. With Vegas, what other place would you withdraw $500 in hundreds from an ATM? It’s an artificially-abnormal environment. Much like last night, watching regular Americans by the hundreds anxious to take a photo with a nude woman. There’s nothing real about it, which is what makes it so addictive to men who have a family filter on their computer at home and work.
Oh yeah, there were a couple of recognizable athletes in attendance. Chuck Liddell one and Shawne Merriman two. Chuck spent most of the night commuting from ringside to the free food line. Merriman I didn’t see, but there is photographic evidence. That’s what I get for spending my night hoping, waiting and wondering if Lorenzo Neal will show up.
Hef was also there. For five hours he never moved from his chair ringside, draped by gray-suited security and his vacant-eyed, platinum-wigged baubles. I couldn’t have picked out the boxers from a Cincinnati Bengals starting lineup (or was that Alabama?), but there were some mildly entertaining bouts highlighted by a guy named “Sugar Poo” - which really should be Shaq’s rap handle by now.
So I can’t complain even though I just did, it was a fun, interesting night. But when it comes to seeing Saget & Co., I’m once again relegated to relying on guests late-canceling on Kimmel. (Ladies and gentleman, currently headlining at The Laugh Factory, DAVID ALAN GRIER!)