It was the attack of the Hef clones as RALPH readers Will and Gus invaded the Playboy Mansion.
The Playboy Mansion has hosted more sexed-up shindigs than we’ve had
hangovers. Hef himself has witnessed just about everything in his 83 tender years. But he probably hasn’t seen a doctor and a pro skier from downtown Surfers Paradise landing on his doorstep dressed in his own image.
Mission improbable
THE party dress code was black suits and masquerade for guys, lingerie for the ladies. Our Hef masks stood out like polar bears in a sauna in the crowd of scantily clad babes, Versace-suited New York billionaires and their pimped-up mates.
We weren’t just fish out of water here – we were like a couple of barra flapping our way across Lake Ayre in a drought. But our Mansion mission was laid out before us – get a laugh out of the Hef or die trying.
Go the Grotto
WILL thought this would be a good time to attack the free bar – might as well recoup some of that $1600 party admission fee.
"Six tequila shots, mate." He looked over at me. "And what are you having, Dr Feelgood?"
Six shots each later, we stumbled into the notorious Grotto, made famous on that TV show your girlfriend watches. But tonight the Grotto had lost some of its old-school aura of eroticism, mainly because it was packed with rich tools strutting around like bloated penguins.
Thankfully, the rest of the pool was chockers full of
babes not wearing much. After some staring and small talk, I peeled Will's tongue off the rock wall and we headed inside. It was time to take this party by the scruff of the neck.
What’s the best party you have ever been to? Leave your comment below.
Slideshows
Flying hotel
Puppy vs baby chick pulling challenge
