“The A-poon-tice”

This past weekend, I was hanging out with a friend who through some dumb luck and good fortune attended a party at the Playboy Mansion awhile back. He described a place not much different than my "happy place", where incredibly attractive women mingled with and outnumbered average-looking douchebags and every building and room was seemingly designed solely for the purpose of seduction and hangin' out in flagrante delicto.

Obviously, we're all familiar with the famous grotto, but apparently there's also a stone "outhouse" full of bathrooms, though not the kind you might find at a campground or county fair. Instead, this one contains multiple "stalls" — each one equipped with a two-headed shower, a daybed, vanity/sink, and, of course, a toilet (rumors of the love toilet's presence have not been confirmed). There is also a "game room" building equipped with pool tables, tvs, and multiple arcade games, but its real offering is multiple private TV rooms. Each of these TV rooms is smallish — measuring roughly 10 x 10 — and has a huge flatscreen on the wall. The floor of the room is covered in pillows of assorted shapes and sizes. This, in itself, isn't that remarkable… until you step down into the room and realize that the entire floor is one giant mattress and the ceiling is one giant mirror — sort of like a hybrid moonwalk/home entertainment system designed for "the bangin'". Oh yeah — and they have a zoo with a bunch of monkeys. One of them is probably even named "Captain Jumpy Ninja" or something rad like that.

Anyway, this got me thinking. Hugh Hefner has arguably the most kickass life of any American male. He's worth millions, has multiple hot blonde girlfriends, and lives in one of the most amazing houses ever — the Playboy Mansion is to corn-fed heterosexuals what the Neverland Ranch is to pedophiles. The only problem is, Hef is getting OLD — like fossil old. He founded the magazine some 53 years ago, which by my rough calculations makes him only slightly younger than Benjamin Franklin would be were he still alive today, not to mention the fact that he's gone from a James Bond clone to looking like a piece of chewed up Bubblicious. Observe:

At some point, the man is going to have to pass on the reigns. He's spent a lifetime building his mystique and it would be a shame to see it go to waste. That's why I think he needs to hold a competition similar to Donald Trump's "The Apprentice". Think about it — they made a top-rated TV show out of the idea that some folks would like to follow in the footsteps of a cheesedick with circus-bad hair and a doofy inflection. Surely Hef could start a revolution by doing the same with his empire.

Now I understand that the man has children of his own including several male heirs, but simply handing things over to them would be boring. Besides, they've already had a lifetime of hanging out at the mansion with beautiful naked women and monkeys. I say, step aside and let a worthy successor emerge. How would you decide who's worthy? Why through a series of ingenious trials and tasks, of course.

For example, you might have a contest to see who could walk into a crowd of total strangers and convince a beautiful 19-year-old woman whose turnoffs include "cold weather and bad breath" to writhe around a faux apple orchard in her birthday suit for a photo shoot. Or date three woman at once without at least one of them crying hysterically on a daily basis, boiling your pet rabbit, or attacking your Johnson with hedge clippers. Or take an ordinary room and turn it into a "happy place" of equal parts grade-school birthday party and romantic getaway (like the bangin' Moonwalk). Perhaps its even as simple as seeing if any of the contestants look darn good wearing a velvet robe and smoking a pipe.

What's more, you could even charge an entry fee and raise roughly a kabillion dollars. Think about it — multiple jackasses have spent as much as $20 million to go into outer space. If I had the choice between doing the astronaut thing or walking a mile in Hef's shoes, I know which one I'd choose — and I doubt I'm alone. How much would you pay? $1000? $1 million? With enough dudes ponying up for the chance at the title, you could raise enough money to build another bigger, better, even more rad mansion — with 10 times the monkeys! Hell — you could probably buy an island and start your own sovereign state dedicated to advancing the cause of single men and busty stripper pirates everywhere. I know I'd want to live there.