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Here is where you come for all the news you need to know. History of Club O To understand Club O and its unique, storied history, one must go all the way back to the 70's when disco was king and Jesse Ventura was rasslin'. I had already established the Playboy Manion in Chicago and the Playboy Mansion West in L.A., but something was missing. People wanted more from their debauchery and the mansions just didn't go far enough. Oh sure, there were dozens of gorgeous, naked women running around at all hours of the day and night and the sex, booze and drugs flowed like water, but still, I couldn't help but think something was missing. And then it occurred to me: croquet!! I was trying to build a man's fantasy paradise but there was no croquet course. So in 1977, flush with cash (I was between marriages), I set out to scour the world in search of a location for the ultimate man's paradise. After many fruitless months, I was starting to lose hope when, killing time on another long flight, I stumbled upon an article in Beer Connoisseur magazine which told the story of the long since vanished Milwaukee Indians of East Stone Mountain. The article centered around the fact that the Milwaukee Indians were the first to cultivate barley and hops in the New World, but towards the end of the article, it mentioned that they also played a game called koe-kay, played with wooden mallets and the skulls of enemies vanquished in beer drinking contests. Could it be?? Could this be the long lost cradle of croquet?? Quickly, I got the pilot off my lap and told her to turn the plane around. We were heading to Georgia!! Upon my arrival, I knew I'd found the spot for my newest club, although I have to admit I was a little disappointed in the quality of the terrain. The land was covered with many, many large mounds, acres of them!! One of the locals told me that the Milwaukee Indians, in addition to inventing beer and koe-kay, also invented the "quickie divorce". Very few of the men married, since they already had beer and koe-kay, but the ones who did couldn't help but notice how much weight their wives gained and how quickly!! The elder of the tribe, a wise man known as Stuuu, told of an ancient curse. In the before times, when the sun and the moon were new, the gods saw the misery being suffered by married men and set aside a small parcel of land which would forever be an oasis, a place where single men could go for peace and live happily, belching as the gods intended. The idea of this pristine paradise so angered Cellulite, the goddess of marriage, that she placed a curse on this place, a curse so heinous that she hoped to make these lands uninhabitable by single men. Cellulite declared that should a man falter and marry, his bride would begin to gain wight at a ferocious pace and would feel compelled to bitch about every single occurrence in her life. Unfortunately, Cellulite, in her anger, forget to specify that the curse only applied to the small peaceful lands of East Stone Mountain and the curse quickly spread around to all lands and all wives, a curse which haunts married men to this day. The tribal council, realizing that having fat, bitchy wives around would ruin the ambiance for the single guys trying to relax and enjoy life, passed a law requiring married men to have their wives sacrifieced to the Goddess Cellulite when their married weight doubled their unmarried weight. (Historical note: Recently discovered archives from the Milwaukee tribe show that the sacrifice normally occurred "before the coming of the next moon", leading some historians to believe that this ceremony was a precursor to the "Three Week Rule" still practiced by discriminating bachelors today.) The obese corpses were buried in a field just outside the village, the same field I was now contemplating as a location for the newest single guy paradise. But I was faced with a moral dilemma. In order to build the club, I would have to disturb the Sacred Ancient Burial Ground of the Fat Bitchy Wives, possibly offending the Goddess Cellulite and unleashing the otherworldly forces of deceased large women. I popped a cold beer, thought about it for a few seconds and called in the bulldozers, a fateful decision which haunts Club O to this day.  BEER FETCHING Ladies, this column (and beer) is for you. It's you, the fetchers around the world, who make croquet more enjoyable for your men. Now, we all know that beer fetching isn't mentioned in the Bible, but neither is beer. Yet, we all know that God likes a cold one now and then. But I think we can all agree that beer fetching is God's way of letting women participate in the great sport of croquet. Now ladies, please don't tell me that you'd like to play too. Croquet requires a tremedous amount of skill. It requires the player to think, not only what he wants to do, but also what his opponents are likely to do. He must not only go around the course, but also try to keep his opponents from progressing. Sometimes you even have to understand what an angle is. Angles are kind of like math...and you know how you feel about math. Simply put, croquet is not a woman's sport. That's not to say that women don't have their place in the world of croquet. Just as croquet teaches men skills that are useful in life, it can teach women important skills--skills that are every bit as important to your future as learning to cook, clean and change diapers. Now ladies, I don't mean to sound like an optimist, but I truly believe that you can all learn...even you blondes. Here are some tips on "How to be a better fetcher": Please don't speak unless spoken to. This is important. This is very important. Interrupting a player to say, "Wow, that cloud looks just like a giant pillow" is an interruption. Now there are reasonable exceptions to this rule. For example, "Here Honey, I've got your beer" is acceptable, provided that it's after I'm done shooting. When asked to get a round of beers for the men, try to count how many you'll need to bring. Don't say, "One, two, another, another...how many is that?" That's distracting to the croquists and the croquists are after all, the reason for the game. I know that this is tough, but try to think when you're out on the course. We (the men) all enjoy your company. Feel free to wiggle your butts, bend over to expose your ample cleavage and the occasional inane remark is welcome by all but the most serious croquist. Try to stay out of the way. If I'm going for the wicket, I'm going for the wicket now! If you're in the way, laying on the grass and sunning yourself, I am not going to wit until you get off the ground and put your top back on before I shoot. You know the old saying, "If you snooze, you bruise". Try to avoid being on the course unless you're fetching. If you're not fetching you're just using up valuable oxygen. For Single Women Only Try to stay in shape. We all know that your whole goal in life is to trap a man. If you want to trap a man, convince his friends that you'll always be thin (attactive). There will be plenty of time to bulk up later when you trap him. Not that you can't trap a true croquist, but at least his friends will enjoy the view until he dumps you like a sack of last week's Mickey D's wrappers. Who knows, maybe you'll be lucky enough to be used by one of the other croquists before you're over the hill. For Married Women Only For God's sake, keep your clothes on. I hope this has inspired you ladies to new heights of fetching. The McDaniel Era Beer Fetchers and Croquists, it is time. It is time to stop toying with you inferiors. I have decided to accept your mandate and announce the start of: That's right, I, Cary, effective on January 1, 2001 will no longer be known as Mr. Eighty Percent. From hence forth I shall be known as The Croquist (except to my darling wife who will continue to refer to me as, "Hey Butthole"). I shall lose no more, win every game (even the ones where everybody cheats) and so dominate the so-called competition that I shall finally get the respect that I deserve. My first official act as The Croquist will be to replace that pretender to my rightful name, Sean, as head of Club O and establish a monarchy with me in charge. The croquet world will follow me, sing my praises and lavish me with six-packs of Samuel Adams. So I have written, so let it be done. I shall be a fighting champion, and because my title is not just an American but a worldwide title, my first defense will be in the 2001 Cozumel Open. I invite any and all of you to try to take the title from me. But remember, I am in charge, we play by my rules and if you don't' like it, too bad. Just remember to bring the beer. By executive order, I am immediately instating a series of rules to both simlify and speed up all croquet games. Rule #1 I accept the burden of going first in every game. Rule #2 Each player must bet a six pack of Sam Adams beer with winner take all. Rule #3 The first player through any wicket wins. There, that will speed up the game immensely. That way we will have more time for the truly important aspects of croquet such as me drinking free beer and finally stop losing. As an added benefit, since we won't be on the course as long, maybe Cindy won't be able to find me. Some additional rules: No women will be allowed to play croquet. I'm not afraid of them beating me, it's just that they all cheat. That and they should concentrate on beer fetching. No more marriage bashing on the course. I mean come on guys, don't you single guys think we're miserable enough at home? The last thing we need is someone to remind us HOW FRICKIN' STUPID WE WERE. No more tag team matches. I don't like them. I played once and I didn't win. wasn't my fault. They cheated. They tricked me into hitting the post. I think of the rules of croquet as "a living, breathing set of rules". I, The Croquist, reserve the right to modify, adjust, change, create or ignore any and all rules that are not applicable to the situation. Those, my inferiors, are the new rules of croquet. As we enter the McDaniel Era the world has changed. Get over it. Special Thanks goes out to BeavNet.Com for assistance with the webpage. |
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