‘Wild 9’ Rules at Playboy Mansion

Right now, at the Playboy Mansion, there’s one tired woman and eight equally exhausted men.

They should be, after spending three days playing video games--and getting very little sleep--as part of a $9,999 contest. Last Friday, the group of eager twentysomethings trekked to the mansion in Holmby Hills and prepared to spend 99 hours playing a hero and saving their digital friends in “Wild 9,” the latest Playstation release by Laguna Beach-based developer Shiny Entertainment.

The contest rules are simple: Players--randomly chosen--get two hours rest for every nine hours of play time. The person who lasts the entire time--ignoring hand cramps, sleep deprivation and the eventual boredom factor--grabs the money.

“This is every young guy’s fantasy--surrounded by junk food, video games and beautiful women,” said David Perry, president of Shiny. “The reality is, we’re laughing at men. We’re saying, ‘Men think they want this. But can they stand it for 99 hours?’ It’s pleasure to the point of torture.”

Ignoring the “Clockwork Orange” overtones, event sponsor and “Wild 9” publisher Interplay Entertainment Corp. of Irvine admits the contest is a blatantly juvenile marketing ploy.

Yet the weekend’s romp is tame, considering the company’s past sophomoric stunts. The company once sent raw steaks to trade magazine editors as a gimmick for its uber-violent racing game “Carmageddon,” where the player who hits the most pedestrians wins. Attached to the meat was a note, “from our grill to yours.” Unfortunately, some editors were on vacation and were unable to open their packages right away. The meat spoiled, creating “the most horrendous smell you can imagine,” a British writer groused.

On Friday morning, Tracie Malcomb joined her fellow contestants at the mansion’s game house, a Swiss chalet-like building. Crossing the green plaid carpet, she slid into one of the nine La-Z-Boy chairs facing a TV set.

“I thought it’d be exciting to see the mansion,” said Malcomb, 22, a Santa Clara furniture designer. “But I think I’m talking to the Bunnies more than the guys are.”

Several Playmates flitted about, perching on the edge of the La-Z-Boys and flashing toothy smiles at a photographer. Hugh Hefner, garbed in--what else?--a silk smoking jacket, stopped by to peek on the action.

Ironically, considering the weekend’s prepackaged “fantasy” setting, the players couldn’t have cared less. Fascinated with the game and its digitally--rather than surgically--enhanced women, the contestants’ eyes focused on the TV screens sitting before them.

“I’m more impressed with the house than with [the Playmates,]” said game player Brent Rambo, 22, a network engineer from Castro Valley. “I mean, look at this place.”

Like a scene out of “Boogie Nights,” the stone-covered structure carries signs of wild parties long over and technologies long dead. A dusty hi-fi sits forgotten on a bookshelf. Faded plaques hang discreetly on the wall, listing the likes of “Cosby,” “Johnny C.” and “Wilt” as the top scorers in Space Invaders Pinball and Donkey Kong.

Despite the availability of nearby bedrooms, rows of cots were set up in the backyard. “I’m sorry, but I am not sleeping in a round bed with mirrors on the ceiling,” said one contestant, who requested anonymity. “I’m sure it’s comfortable, but it sort of creeps me out.”