â€œI was covering a golf party at the Playboy Mansion,â€ said Rhett, casually. Rhett is a sketch writer, and son of infinitely awesome parents, naming-wise. Heâ€™d been interning at a paper in LA, he said, and had been sent out to note and observe.
â€œActually, the Mansion was a bit of a disappointment. It wasnâ€™t all that. The biggest celebrity there was the dude from The Blindside, and he was having a good time, but he might have been the only one. I wouldnâ€™t go in that pool. You never know.â€
He shook his head wisely.
â€œAfter the game, there was a pajama party, and I though, if Iâ€™m going to get noticed by the girls, I need to be original. Everyone else would be there in Heff-style silk dressing gowns. So I bought a onesie. With hamster ears.â€
He brought out his cell phone and pulled up a picture to show us. We goggled.
â€œHow did it go?â€
â€œWell, I got noticed. But I didnâ€™t get laid.â€
Sounds about right.
Sex on the Beach
Some weeks need a cocktail with a stupid name to jolt them out of the run of the mill. This is that drink. Obviously.1 1/2oz of vodka 1/2oz peach schnapps 2oz cranberry juice 2oz orange juice
Fill a tall glass with ice, pour in the alcohol. Top up with cranberry and orange juice. Stir.