Sneaking Into The Playboy Mansion

I’m behind the bar, it’s martini night, guess what? I’m making. A lot. Of martinis.

I approach two customers at the bar. Guy, with a huge beard, and a nice young lady. The guy exclaims, Clint! Holy shit, I know this guy. But at first, I can’t put my finger on WHERE I know him from. I say, hey, my man!  I didn’t recognize you.

Give me a sec. It’s coming.

Yeah, he says. It’s the beard.

BINGO. Used to work with him ten years ago. Got it.

We catch up. He tells me about a creative project he’s doing. A pubcast. Ok. Good for him. He says, I know you tell bar stories. Love for you to come in, tell some of your stories.

He turns to his friend, says, Clint has a story that transcends other stories. Every walk of life can appreciate the story.

Ok. What story is he talking about?  I’ve written about 900 of them in the past two years.

He says, Clint. You know which story I’m talking about. You rip open your shirt, and there’s the tuxedo.

What the hell is this guy talking about?  I’ve never worn a tuxedo. Ok, maybe in my wedding, and swing choir.

I don’t want to be rude, so I go along with it.

Yeah, I say. That’s a good one.

He says, good one?!?!  That story’s epic!

Damn it. What the hell story is it?  Now I’m screwed. I can’t go back and say, actually I don’t know which story you’re talking about. But now, I REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHICH STORY HE’S TALKING ABOUT. I mean, there’s something that must be done. An epic story?  With a shirt and a tuxedo? The only thing I can visualize is Superman.

But that’s not right.

He turns to his friend. He says, I will tell you later which story I’m talking about. I’m thinking, no, please tell her. Because I WANT TO KNOW.

After the guy leaves, and I’m none the wiser to the so-called epic story, I turn to my fellow bartender, and say, you know that guy?  He says, yeah. I say, he said one of my stories was epic, but I couldn’t figure out which one he was talking about. It was something like I ripped open my shirt, and I’m wearing a tuxedo?  My fellow bartender says, I know what he’s talking about. I say, excitedly, WHICH ONE? He says, sneaking into the Playboy Mansion. Ohhhh, I say. THAT one.

My buddies and I got together, and devised a plan. We’ll rent out a couple camcorders, and film us sneaking into the Playboy Mansion for the Millennium Party. My friend learned from a friend how to sneak in. You have to go through his neighbor’s yard, climb a few fences, get in from the backyard. We go out, buy those coveralls mechanics wear. All one piece, long zipper in the front. We put on our suits, then put the coveralls over it. The night comes, we park a block or so away, start filming. We crawl on the wet ground, through Hugh Hef’s neighbors front lawn for a good 45 minutes, and we can see the guards, standing a stone’s throw away from us. We finally get to the last fence to Hugh’s backyard, zip open the coveralls, take them off, and throw them all on top of Hugh Hefner’s neighbor’s house.

Can you imagine, months later, the guy says, oh, I guess it’s time to clean out my gutters, getting up on the ladder to the roof, and seeing those clothes up there?  I bet he freaked!!!

We got in, had an amazing time, filmed all of it, and the rest, as they say, is EPIC.

After we were done with the short film, we had a friend that grew up at the Playboy Mansion, we give him a copy, and ask him if he would give it to Hugh. Weeks later, we got a letter from the man himself. And it said, in a nutshell,

I appreciate what you did, but don’t EVER do it again.

-Clint Curtis

(Followers: Video posted on site)

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