Randall Scott and Company Come in Hot for New Years in Aspen

The beer certainly flowed like wine at the first annual Randall Scott New Years celebration. In attendance were Heidi, Seal, Barry Bonds and of course Randall Scott. Full of fur coats and A-list celebrities, Aspen was obviously the last place Randall should have brought us, but we went there anyways. Our objective: crash the party thrown by Heidi Klum and Seal at the mountain’s summit. Sure, Randall and Sammy “moves” Mishkin had the invite, but I assure you the other five of our rag tag cadre of struggling artists certainly did not.

We arrived on the day before New Year’s Eve and decided to test the waters with an old fashioned bar hop, so I threw on my Clark W. Griswold Christmas sweater and we we’re off. Because of our exorbitant contributions to local charities we were all a little strapped for cash, leading me to ask the concierge where the most affordable place was – and let me tell you, a Bud Light tastes so much better when you only pay 12$ for it. After four beers our wallets were empty and it looked like we were going to have to sell our kidneys if this trip was to be a success.

Enter Sammy: if you’re a regular reader of the blog, then you’re familiar with the silky smooth exploits of this former private dick. With feet like Fred Astaire, a voice like Michael McDonald, and the intellect of MacGyver, it’s not hard to see why the bartender, Paul, took an instant liking to our face guy – long story short: drinks on the house.

Feeling hot in Clark W. Griswold attire, I put out the vibe at the bar when guess who walked in – Clark W. Griswold himself - Chevy Chase in the flesh. I know what you’re wondering, and yes, I did order him a steak sandwich and a steak sandwich, on the Underhill’s tab of course. The hit parade continued with some girls from the playboy channel (yes I immediately recognized them), Scotty Nguyen (some stud poker player), and Barry Bonds (who looked like he could give Lou Ferrigno a run for his money). Of course, out of respect (or resentment), we pretended like hanging with the stars was old hat – except of course when I screamed like young woman upon Chevy’s arrival, but c’mon, Fletch may be the only guy smoother than Sammy.

(Who makes it in.....if anyone?)

We ended the night going all in, and invited a few girls to the top-of-the-mountain party we weren’t invited to, raising the stakes to stupid proportions. A disaster waiting to happen………………..To Be Continued