Since the beginning of post awareness, and by that I mean the realization that life is short and wasting time not living is a big fat waste of time, every man has dreamed of going to the Playboy Mansion for a wild and crazy party. To be surrounded by goddesses of the big beautiful roundies, party with celeberties and maybe even swim in the famous Grotto, its a dream baby, a real challenge to get into a party at Hef's castle. I mean impossible if you don't have some kind of connection there or real special forces operation plan. There is security all over the place, and no one drives in the grounds without a chauffer or some type of secure passage. I mean everyone knows this, there is no mystery.
However, please friends remember always in life, "where there is a will, there is a way," even if it means being a fraud...
Last Friday me and an Australian buddy of mine took a freelance gig to cover the mansion from the outside. Like a 5 year old outside the window of a candy shop with mother's deathgrip holding me back from running as fast as my little legs to run right into the buckets of sour patch with each one winking at me saying, Eeeeaaaat mmeeeee, we were stuck in a sea of reporters all asking the same questions to the same celeberties of the same calibur of, who cares, not me! I want to get into that damn party! "Right me too mate, this is shit!" commented my Australian cameraman as we watched the hotties and the warthogs make their way past the door guards.
So I'm outside the mansion with an Australian; who I met for the first time a few hours ago, and members of the press for a red carpet event being held outside the party grounds which was a total bust. Which ment, no party for us, no fun, just this freelance gig thats turning out to be about as much fun as tripping yourself and following through with the full out concrete faceplant. Great.
Until.......
