Atomic Nerds

While not, to my knowledge, a blog troll, I am just your average white suburbanite slob. I’m fond of the ladies, and I do enjoy oggling a nice pair of well-shaped hooters. Sweater kittens. Lady lumps. They’re all good, and like Ron White said, once you’ve seen one pair…. you pretty much want to see the rest of ‘em.

That said, Playboy isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. It sucks. It fails. It should be treated as a gaudy tie at a funeral.

Starting first on the, er, meat and potatoes, let’s take a look at the, um, well I guess “females” is about the most applicable term. In days gone by, the ladies who graced the pages of Playboy were just that, more or less: ladies. They brought individuality, from Marylin Monroe to Bettie Page the fine female physiques presented were diverse of form and interesting to the eye. Today the only notable difference is hair color, and with some of the models, I’d be willing to bet that was just an afterthought done in Photoshop. The airbrushing applied to each successive shoot before LabRat and I decided that reading the additive list to the toilet paper would be more interesting than reading Playboy whilst going about lavatory activities was so thick, I’m reasonably sure that I could’ve posed passably. Add to this that each model appeared to need a hot meal considerably more desperately than they needed a hot date, and it didn’t leave a favorable impression of what went on at a Playboy shoot. I can see it now…

“All right, congratulations on becoming a Playmate. Here’s your standard issue navel ring.. *ka-CHUNK* we’ll just fix that pubic hair *RIIIIP* and now I’ve got this paint roller for your makeup and we’ll be all set. Oh, and make sure your expression always says that sex is the least interesting thing ever. If possible, sleep with your eyes open.”

Honestly, most of the models had the facial range of “bored” to “drowsy” to “possibly a RealDoll.” I had more erotic stimuli one time when I clipped my toenail and it kinda sorta looked like a mudflap girl if you squinted real hard and were blind drunk.

What’s that? Oh, absolutely! I read it for the articles too! Let’s take a look at this one. “Al Franken Isn’t Liberal Enough”* Wait, what the fuck? Seriously? As it turns out, yes. They were serious. Given their obvious dependency on the 1st amendment, it also struck me as more than a tad filled to the brim with bullshittery that when pressed on their disdain for the 2nd Amendment the response was something along the lines of “Sticks and stones will break my bones. Unlike guns, words have never caused innocent deaths, so we will continue to support reasonable gun control measures.” I guess nobody at Playboy ever read the words “When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” Then again, given the recycled jokes on the centerfold (I honestly read variations on most of those in “Boy’s Life” when I was 11), I’m not sure anybody there but Hef has a pulse in the first place, and his is just a bad reaction to the Viagra IV. That the rest of the editorial section is so amazingly, unabashedly, unfilteredly (yes, that’s a word now because I say it is) of the opinion that anybody to the political right of Chairman Mao doesn’t like sex really puts a nail in things. I could forgive the RealDoll foldout if they’d give it a rest with the monthly updates on “HAY LOOK THESE REPUBLICANS HAD NAUGHTY SEX AND ARE IN TROUBLE LOL!” Dems caught with their zippers open were of course discreetly ignored.

I’ll grant a pass to the horribly overpriced kitsch in the Mantrack section. No harm in a bit of envy to the product set geared to those with vastly more money than brains. What I will not condone, however, is the textile abortion that comprises the fashion section of the magazine. I have no idea how anybody could consider the garments described and depicted therein as a good idea without the use of enough drugs to make Hunter Thompson say “Damn, maybe you should cut back.” My hand on a stack of 1911s, the only way I would ever be seen in anything like the crap they try to pass off as what we should be wearing is if I was dead, and if I was in them dead, I would rise up and consume the feeble brains of whoever put me in them before destroying the rest of civilization in a fit of zombie rage.

This concludes your daily dose of Stingray Picks Low Hanging Fruit. Hope you enjoyed.

Oh, and Pam Anderson looks like a fucking saddlebag. Why the hell they keep putting her diseased ass in there is beyond me.

*”The Truth About Al Franken: Don’t Call Him A Liberal Stooge - He’s Really A Conservative” - May 2007, P. 37

Posted bullshit, Ranting |