Essay C vs. the field of late entrants ...
Thanks for submissions and commenting here ... the enthusiasm we show can only help our man get to the Hef Hut.
0) Playboy, PLA 8 ¾ on the NYSE, circa 1996… Hef’s daughter was taking over, going corporate, the Street was sensing takeover, I was a rookie- broker at a 67 Wall St. trying to build my book in some bucket shop. I amassed 56,000 shares of Playboy Enterprises over several months of cold calling at an average price of 9 bucks. When it popped north of $10 the rush I felt could only be equated to the thirsty appetite of a 19 year-old, beaded, blonde, bikini-clad Floridian who used me, out of shear boredom, one summer in the Catskills. That fall, she was actually approached on Florida State University’s campus to audition for a Playboy’s Girls of the SEC pictorial.
If supporting Playboy’s cause back in the day may not alone qualify for August’s pilgrimage, I have to share that I am as desperate as Artie Lang for a smoke and a bowl of linguine & clam sauce with a side of self-esteem. About two years ago my curvy Portuguese/Irish girlfriend of several months was blindsided in my SUV by an illegal who had only been here in the US for three weeks. She has been living with me since the accident and after two successful surgical procedures she is on her long road to recovery.
Be that as it may, my understanding and kindness is running low given the fact that over the course of these last two years she’s contributed around $20K to Mastercard & Visa and is now a prime candidate for Jenny Craig. Fortunately, more along the lines of Marie Osmond or Valerie Bertinelli, but sadly Kirstie Alley can’t be too far off. Plus, I haven’t been out since… maybe a ½ dozen times I’ve tagged along for a few drinks with the guys after the close, but that’s about it. It’s to the point where I feel like a contestant on Fear Factor who’s been slathered in honey, then dropped into a tank of beatles and crickets. I really need this…
TDT truly helps me get through my day, everyday. I appreciate the opportunity to mix it up at the Mansion.
1) LA can be a bit over hyped. For example, a trip to Malibu, that supposed Mecca of glory glory halleluiah tits busting out of bikini tops land of beachified beauty revealed sardine packed beach houses with ratty paint and nowhere to sit and display my godlike chest hair in all its glory to the non-existent coeds with little stars over their nipples. The Sunset Strip, that land of nuclear partying where stars go to die was full of bowlegged street walkers with Adams apples and bars sporting lines of Ken doll frat boys so long that I thought I was in a Toys R’ Us warehousing facility. I could go on.
So when I consider the Playboy mansion, I can’t help but think blow me, that place has nothing I can’t duplicate with ten hours in Vegas and the right phone numbers. Its probably just a glorified strip club full of self godified asshole movie stars spouting some wannabe political wisdom on how to save the fucking children. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be over in the corner getting my yam bag chomped by some playboy bunny, but still. And yeah I might enjoy washing my mouth with a set of perfectly sculpted titties in the hot tub after kissing the wrinkled mass of skin that is Heff’s ass. But frankly, I just want a few hours break from that screaming bag of guts that is my wife. Fuck, that would be nice.
3)
2009- The President fires my CEO and guides GM into bankruptcy, on day two they send a Dear John letter ending their relationship with us as a Chevy dealer in our 45th year, I turn 35, a dick steals my bike, my girlfriend and I end our relationship, and my grandmother dies.
2010- The girl online with no picture “looking to make friends outside of science” turns out to be a hot French phd (the old cliché) who is cool enough to think it funny that I fly to LA to go to the Mansion with a guy who thinks Tony Danza is the greatest dancer of our times.
Help make 2010 the “Summer of Tom!”
4) I’m a polite Midwestern guy with extensive experience making schlocky self deprecating commercials. I’m dating one of the 6 women on the planet who wouldn’t be bothered. It’s not my one shot to make a name for myself, I’m not going to take a playmate to poundtown, I won’t vomit in the pool. I treat others with respect. I may steal sandwiches in my pocket.
5) I was about ten when I found the old man's stash of Playboy's hidden in the attic. It was the 70's when the boobs were round and soft and vaginas, when shown, were a mysterious and thick pelt of black. I'd go through each magazine cover to cover. By 12, I had not just honed my masturbation skills but also learned how to dress, make the perfect Manhattan and light a cigar. What sort of man reads Playboy? This cool twelve-year old with the green Schwinn Stingray, the mod hair parted down the middle and a solid boner in my purple Tuffskin jeans.
The hair has thinned, the bike is gone but the boner and my deep appreciation of the refined hedonism that is Playboy remain. Why should I be the one to receive the golden ticket to the Mammary Mansion? I have no sob story. No poverty, missing limbs, or fatal diseases. What I do have is a love of Playboy that surpasses all others. I would realistically estimate that in my nearly 30 years of reading Playboy, its images of near perfect female forms have enabled me to fire off enough goo to at least fill a kiddy pool. Also, I long ago accepted Hugh Hefner as my personal savior. It would be a dream to thank him personally for the bountiful cornucopia of boobs, tight round asses and top shelf bourbon that my life has become since doing so.
Please take me to Mecca with you.
6) As a loyal watcher of the girls next door for the last 7 seasons, I would be honored to attend a party at the Playboy Mansion. Of course the TV show isn’t the real reason I would be overflowing with joy, it would be the prospect of being at easily the second most popular residence in the United States (The White House) and in the presence of true pop culture. A lasting icon of not only his time, but for all of time, Hugh Hefner was and still is a visionary. He knows what people want to see, read and watch. His life is a viral video before there were viral video, before the term was even coined.
I am the ideal guest because I will be impressed by the lovely ladies and scenery but won’t fall over my tongue. I bring confidence and an adaptable attitude to all places from the corporate board rooms to the halls of academia to the beach. I have a zest for life and always find myself doing interesting things. I stay in touch with the pulse of society not only through the new social mediums, but in old fashioned ways of face to face conversations as well. My profession exposes me to a wide range of interesting topics and provides me the perspective to be a great ice breaker to any situation. I am the best guest for the Playboy Mansion party.
Archive for March, 2010
Final round
Wednesday, March 31st, 2010
This ain't over. Some last minute entries before it's off to the contest...
Essay C vs. the field of late entrants ...
Thanks for submissions and commenting here ... the enthusiasm we show can only help our man get to the Hef Hut.
0) Playboy, PLA 8 ¾ on the NYSE, circa 1996… Hef’s daughter was taking over, going corporate, the Street was sensing takeover, I was a rookie- broker at a 67 Wall St. trying to build my book in some bucket shop. I amassed 56,000 shares of Playboy Enterprises over several months of cold calling at an average price of 9 bucks. When it popped north of $10 the rush I felt could only be equated to the thirsty appetite of a 19 year-old, beaded, blonde, bikini-clad Floridian who used me, out of shear boredom, one summer in the Catskills. That fall, she was actually approached on Florida State University’s campus to audition for a Playboy’s Girls of the SEC pictorial.
If supporting Playboy’s cause back in the day may not alone qualify for August’s pilgrimage, I have to share that I am as desperate as Artie Lang for a smoke and a bowl of linguine & clam sauce with a side of self-esteem. About two years ago my curvy Portuguese/Irish girlfriend of several months was blindsided in my SUV by an illegal who had only been here in the US for three weeks. She has been living with me since the accident and after two successful surgical procedures she is on her long road to recovery.
Be that as it may, my understanding and kindness is running low given the fact that over the course of these last two years she’s contributed around $20K to Mastercard & Visa and is now a prime candidate for Jenny Craig. Fortunately, more along the lines of Marie Osmond or Valerie Bertinelli, but sadly Kirstie Alley can’t be too far off. Plus, I haven’t been out since… maybe a ½ dozen times I’ve tagged along for a few drinks with the guys after the close, but that’s about it. It’s to the point where I feel like a contestant on Fear Factor who’s been slathered in honey, then dropped into a tank of beatles and crickets. I really need this…
TDT truly helps me get through my day, everyday. I appreciate the opportunity to mix it up at the Mansion.
1) LA can be a bit over hyped. For example, a trip to Malibu, that supposed Mecca of glory glory halleluiah tits busting out of bikini tops land of beachified beauty revealed sardine packed beach houses with ratty paint and nowhere to sit and display my godlike chest hair in all its glory to the non-existent coeds with little stars over their nipples. The Sunset Strip, that land of nuclear partying where stars go to die was full of bowlegged street walkers with Adams apples and bars sporting lines of Ken doll frat boys so long that I thought I was in a Toys R’ Us warehousing facility. I could go on.
So when I consider the Playboy mansion, I can’t help but think blow me, that place has nothing I can’t duplicate with ten hours in Vegas and the right phone numbers. Its probably just a glorified strip club full of self godified asshole movie stars spouting some wannabe political wisdom on how to save the fucking children. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be over in the corner getting my yam bag chomped by some playboy bunny, but still. And yeah I might enjoy washing my mouth with a set of perfectly sculpted titties in the hot tub after kissing the wrinkled mass of skin that is Heff’s ass. But frankly, I just want a few hours break from that screaming bag of guts that is my wife. Fuck, that would be nice.
3)
2009- The President fires my CEO and guides GM into bankruptcy, on day two they send a Dear John letter ending their relationship with us as a Chevy dealer in our 45th year, I turn 35, a dick steals my bike, my girlfriend and I end our relationship, and my grandmother dies.
2010- The girl online with no picture “looking to make friends outside of science” turns out to be a hot French phd (the old cliché) who is cool enough to think it funny that I fly to LA to go to the Mansion with a guy who thinks Tony Danza is the greatest dancer of our times.
Help make 2010 the “Summer of Tom!”
4) I’m a polite Midwestern guy with extensive experience making schlocky self deprecating commercials. I’m dating one of the 6 women on the planet who wouldn’t be bothered. It’s not my one shot to make a name for myself, I’m not going to take a playmate to poundtown, I won’t vomit in the pool. I treat others with respect. I may steal sandwiches in my pocket.
5) I was about ten when I found the old man's stash of Playboy's hidden in the attic. It was the 70's when the boobs were round and soft and vaginas, when shown, were a mysterious and thick pelt of black. I'd go through each magazine cover to cover. By 12, I had not just honed my masturbation skills but also learned how to dress, make the perfect Manhattan and light a cigar. What sort of man reads Playboy? This cool twelve-year old with the green Schwinn Stingray, the mod hair parted down the middle and a solid boner in my purple Tuffskin jeans.
The hair has thinned, the bike is gone but the boner and my deep appreciation of the refined hedonism that is Playboy remain. Why should I be the one to receive the golden ticket to the Mammary Mansion? I have no sob story. No poverty, missing limbs, or fatal diseases. What I do have is a love of Playboy that surpasses all others. I would realistically estimate that in my nearly 30 years of reading Playboy, its images of near perfect female forms have enabled me to fire off enough goo to at least fill a kiddy pool. Also, I long ago accepted Hugh Hefner as my personal savior. It would be a dream to thank him personally for the bountiful cornucopia of boobs, tight round asses and top shelf bourbon that my life has become since doing so.
Please take me to Mecca with you.
6) As a loyal watcher of the girls next door for the last 7 seasons, I would be honored to attend a party at the Playboy Mansion. Of course the TV show isn’t the real reason I would be overflowing with joy, it would be the prospect of being at easily the second most popular residence in the United States (The White House) and in the presence of true pop culture. A lasting icon of not only his time, but for all of time, Hugh Hefner was and still is a visionary. He knows what people want to see, read and watch. His life is a viral video before there were viral video, before the term was even coined.
I am the ideal guest because I will be impressed by the lovely ladies and scenery but won’t fall over my tongue. I bring confidence and an adaptable attitude to all places from the corporate board rooms to the halls of academia to the beach. I have a zest for life and always find myself doing interesting things. I stay in touch with the pulse of society not only through the new social mediums, but in old fashioned ways of face to face conversations as well. My profession exposes me to a wide range of interesting topics and provides me the perspective to be a great ice breaker to any situation. I am the best guest for the Playboy Mansion party.
Essay C vs. the field of late entrants ...
Thanks for submissions and commenting here ... the enthusiasm we show can only help our man get to the Hef Hut.
0) Playboy, PLA 8 ¾ on the NYSE, circa 1996… Hef’s daughter was taking over, going corporate, the Street was sensing takeover, I was a rookie- broker at a 67 Wall St. trying to build my book in some bucket shop. I amassed 56,000 shares of Playboy Enterprises over several months of cold calling at an average price of 9 bucks. When it popped north of $10 the rush I felt could only be equated to the thirsty appetite of a 19 year-old, beaded, blonde, bikini-clad Floridian who used me, out of shear boredom, one summer in the Catskills. That fall, she was actually approached on Florida State University’s campus to audition for a Playboy’s Girls of the SEC pictorial.
If supporting Playboy’s cause back in the day may not alone qualify for August’s pilgrimage, I have to share that I am as desperate as Artie Lang for a smoke and a bowl of linguine & clam sauce with a side of self-esteem. About two years ago my curvy Portuguese/Irish girlfriend of several months was blindsided in my SUV by an illegal who had only been here in the US for three weeks. She has been living with me since the accident and after two successful surgical procedures she is on her long road to recovery.
Be that as it may, my understanding and kindness is running low given the fact that over the course of these last two years she’s contributed around $20K to Mastercard & Visa and is now a prime candidate for Jenny Craig. Fortunately, more along the lines of Marie Osmond or Valerie Bertinelli, but sadly Kirstie Alley can’t be too far off. Plus, I haven’t been out since… maybe a ½ dozen times I’ve tagged along for a few drinks with the guys after the close, but that’s about it. It’s to the point where I feel like a contestant on Fear Factor who’s been slathered in honey, then dropped into a tank of beatles and crickets. I really need this…
TDT truly helps me get through my day, everyday. I appreciate the opportunity to mix it up at the Mansion.
1) LA can be a bit over hyped. For example, a trip to Malibu, that supposed Mecca of glory glory halleluiah tits busting out of bikini tops land of beachified beauty revealed sardine packed beach houses with ratty paint and nowhere to sit and display my godlike chest hair in all its glory to the non-existent coeds with little stars over their nipples. The Sunset Strip, that land of nuclear partying where stars go to die was full of bowlegged street walkers with Adams apples and bars sporting lines of Ken doll frat boys so long that I thought I was in a Toys R’ Us warehousing facility. I could go on.
So when I consider the Playboy mansion, I can’t help but think blow me, that place has nothing I can’t duplicate with ten hours in Vegas and the right phone numbers. Its probably just a glorified strip club full of self godified asshole movie stars spouting some wannabe political wisdom on how to save the fucking children. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be over in the corner getting my yam bag chomped by some playboy bunny, but still. And yeah I might enjoy washing my mouth with a set of perfectly sculpted titties in the hot tub after kissing the wrinkled mass of skin that is Heff’s ass. But frankly, I just want a few hours break from that screaming bag of guts that is my wife. Fuck, that would be nice.
3)
2009- The President fires my CEO and guides GM into bankruptcy, on day two they send a Dear John letter ending their relationship with us as a Chevy dealer in our 45th year, I turn 35, a dick steals my bike, my girlfriend and I end our relationship, and my grandmother dies.
2010- The girl online with no picture “looking to make friends outside of science” turns out to be a hot French phd (the old cliché) who is cool enough to think it funny that I fly to LA to go to the Mansion with a guy who thinks Tony Danza is the greatest dancer of our times.
Help make 2010 the “Summer of Tom!”
4) I’m a polite Midwestern guy with extensive experience making schlocky self deprecating commercials. I’m dating one of the 6 women on the planet who wouldn’t be bothered. It’s not my one shot to make a name for myself, I’m not going to take a playmate to poundtown, I won’t vomit in the pool. I treat others with respect. I may steal sandwiches in my pocket.
5) I was about ten when I found the old man's stash of Playboy's hidden in the attic. It was the 70's when the boobs were round and soft and vaginas, when shown, were a mysterious and thick pelt of black. I'd go through each magazine cover to cover. By 12, I had not just honed my masturbation skills but also learned how to dress, make the perfect Manhattan and light a cigar. What sort of man reads Playboy? This cool twelve-year old with the green Schwinn Stingray, the mod hair parted down the middle and a solid boner in my purple Tuffskin jeans.
The hair has thinned, the bike is gone but the boner and my deep appreciation of the refined hedonism that is Playboy remain. Why should I be the one to receive the golden ticket to the Mammary Mansion? I have no sob story. No poverty, missing limbs, or fatal diseases. What I do have is a love of Playboy that surpasses all others. I would realistically estimate that in my nearly 30 years of reading Playboy, its images of near perfect female forms have enabled me to fire off enough goo to at least fill a kiddy pool. Also, I long ago accepted Hugh Hefner as my personal savior. It would be a dream to thank him personally for the bountiful cornucopia of boobs, tight round asses and top shelf bourbon that my life has become since doing so.
Please take me to Mecca with you.
6) As a loyal watcher of the girls next door for the last 7 seasons, I would be honored to attend a party at the Playboy Mansion. Of course the TV show isn’t the real reason I would be overflowing with joy, it would be the prospect of being at easily the second most popular residence in the United States (The White House) and in the presence of true pop culture. A lasting icon of not only his time, but for all of time, Hugh Hefner was and still is a visionary. He knows what people want to see, read and watch. His life is a viral video before there were viral video, before the term was even coined.
I am the ideal guest because I will be impressed by the lovely ladies and scenery but won’t fall over my tongue. I bring confidence and an adaptable attitude to all places from the corporate board rooms to the halls of academia to the beach. I have a zest for life and always find myself doing interesting things. I stay in touch with the pulse of society not only through the new social mediums, but in old fashioned ways of face to face conversations as well. My profession exposes me to a wide range of interesting topics and provides me the perspective to be a great ice breaker to any situation. I am the best guest for the Playboy Mansion party.
2nd Prize – Peaches Geldof
Wednesday, March 31st, 2010
Like fallen angels? Peaches Geldof, son of douchebag Bob, was poised to become a Euro-Hilton ... edgy, sexy, famous name, done nothing. You know the type.
'Cept some guy she was shooting heroin with decided to shoot pictures of her and post it on the internet for $100 - and now Peaches is being dropped from endorsement deals, despite her publicists best efforts. Awww.
Of course, Peaches says the heroin allegations are not true.
Here she's "Shedding The Beast", an infamous move that every junkie (like Jerry Garcia who made "Chasing The Dragon" famous) eventually will succumb to.
Shedding The Beast is when you lie naked on your back while high as shit on heroin and tilt your head towards your lover with your glassy eyes and cut a gigantic fart.
Ex. "Sid never felt comfortable around Nancy until she Shed The Beast."
Once the Beast is Shed junkies can get back to what they really love - some Dirtying of the Sanchez.
L'Oreal replaced Peaches with Katy Perry and her world class undarbube. Serious uptick.
Here's Katy "Shaking the Squirrel" like a bizarre slut. (Probably high on heroin)
Shedding The Beast is when you lie naked on your back while high as shit on heroin and tilt your head towards your lover with your glassy eyes and cut a gigantic fart.
Ex. "Sid never felt comfortable around Nancy until she Shed The Beast."
Once the Beast is Shed junkies can get back to what they really love - some Dirtying of the Sanchez.
L'Oreal replaced Peaches with Katy Perry and her world class undarbube. Serious uptick.
Here's Katy "Shaking the Squirrel" like a bizarre slut. (Probably high on heroin)
Essays: Let’s figure out the best one
Wednesday, March 31st, 2010
Remember, we're going for the win. We want the folks at the agency to pick the author of one of these as the essay worthy of taking to The Playboy Mansion.
Pick one you like, even pick ones you don't. Open forum here, let it fly.
--------------
A. Ok, once again I am struck with passion and desire to win the god damn contest. If chosen, the TDT will be well represented. I don't care if I have to wear a shirt sponsoring once of those disgusting energy drinks that’s plastered everywhere. Whatever company or organization I represent, they'll be promoted as being fucking rock stars and on the up and up in what is an otherwise volatile market. Remember this party is full of people representing a "load of shit" coming out of there mouth. Bottom line is if you get in the pants of some broad. Isn't that what it's really about? Why else go out at night, to be social? Please, stop wasting my fucking time. Every broad wants to be complimented, but do not make the rookie mistake and over-due it. She's not doing a credit check on you, so lie about everything.
This party is about nothing else but getting shit faced and getting balls deep in a playmate from the 80's. No numbers, no names to be exchanged, only promises that will not be fulfilled. To every A-List douche that is at the party, "Fuck You". They think everything that they say is the most important thing on the planet. I have this to say, "Thank you Precious for making me feel like the most "in-shape" person on the planet!" You will be forgotten once you suffer from your heart attack trying to dial another meat lovers pizza from Domino's. To quote the great George Carlin; "Fuck Lance Armstrong and fuck Tiger Woods!"
p.s. If you want to edit this in anyway to kiss ass to the editor, fuck him too.
B. No man in the last half century has had more influence on the sexuality of this nation than Hugh Hefner. Larry Flynt, Bob Guccione and Al Goldstein all helped drive a wedge into the tight-assed American right-wing but it was Hugh Hefner that made tits and ass and the enjoyment of explored sexuality commonplace in America.
While Hugh puffed on his pipe in Playboy After Dark in the early 70’s I was busy thumbing through Playboy and pleasuring myself to the bodacious bunnies in the pictorials inside. And while I remain steadfastly heterosexual, it is the man himself, Hugh Hefner, that I am drawn to.
What is boils down to is the fact that I want to bang the man who has slammed more ass than Wilt Chamberlain. I want to take Hef by his bony old thighs and make him squeal like Ned Beatty in ‘Deliverance’. Bend over that log, Hef, and take them panties off! I’d push that old prostate of his out of position and really bring it on home. By doing Hef I could have de-facto sex with the thousands of women he’s had over the years.
After I leave Mr. Hefner torn and bleeding, I’d like to make my way down to the Grotto and reap the goodies that I came out west for. Let the booze pour freely, and let the women have their way with me. Let my wife wonder why it’s taking so long for me to come home with the milk.
C. I know I get 250 words, but I'm tempted to use only 11: " I'm a guy and the Playboy Mansion screams GIRLS, GIRLS, GIRLS."
But as I'm given the luxury of some 239 extra words here's how I will continue to make my case.
The fact that I'm a guy (and a redblooded hetero at that) in itself is not going to distinguish me from the hordes of men who would beg, borrow, steal (not to mention insult, maim or cripple) someone for a chance to spend even a few minutes at one of the world's most notable addresses: 10236 Charing Cross Road--the location, as you well know, of the Playboy Mansion!
For a night in August at the Playboy Mansion in the presence of the world's most beautiful women, I'd be hard-pressed NOT to insult, maim, or cripple someone (but it'd probably be somebody I already did not like)
So let me tell you a few more facts about myself.
Growing up a "sure thing" might as well have been as rare as The Lochness Monster, Big Foot, or The Great Pumpkin.
Girls described as "easy" by my friends seemed tougher than biomolecular physics to me.
To get myself through those years where I was dryer than the Sahara, I consoled myself by saying every dog has its day, that for all those days where I was the bug, there'd be days where I'd be the windshield, for everyday I was crushing grapes, there would be a day I'd be drinking wine.
I believe in America, the world's greatest country. I believe it is a place where a pauper can grow up to be a king--and a place where even someone like me could aspire to be drinking wine with the world's most beautiful women at the site where a man's greatest fantasies can come true.
G-d bless America!
D. Ok, once again I am struck with passion and desire to win the god damn contest. If chosen, the TDT will be well represented. I don't care if I have to wear a shirt sponsoring once of those disgusting energy drinks that’s plastered everywhere. Whatever company or organization I represent, they'll be promoted as being fucking rock stars and on the up and up in what is an otherwise volatile market. Remember this party is full of people representing a "load of shit" coming out of there mouth. Bottom line is if you get in the pants of some broad. Isn't that what it's really about? Why else go out at night, to be social? Please, stop wasting my fucking time. Every broad wants to be complimented, but do not make the rookie mistake and over-due it. She's not doing a credit check on you, so lie about everything.
This party is about nothing else but getting shit faced and getting balls deep in a playmate from the 80's. No numbers, no names to be exchanged, only promises that will not be fulfilled. To every A-List douche that is at the party, "Fuck You". They think everything that they say is the most important thing on the planet. I have this to say, "Thank you Precious for making me feel like the most "in-shape" person on the planet!" You will be forgotten once you suffer from your heart attack trying to dial another meat lovers pizza from Domino's. To quote the great George Carlin; "Fuck Lance Armstrong and fuck Tiger Woods!"
E. I would like to be chosen of this honor because I have a cock and I know how to use it. Having traveled "abroad", and dove head first into supporting the economy of Costa Rica I'm familiar with being surrounded by beautiful working women. I finally figured out what it was like to be Van Halen in the heyday.
Conquering Hef's mansion would be a challenge I'm up for. I'm perfectly capable of bullshitting these broads
Being chosen would be an honor, but nothing will leave this mansion and the names must be changed to protect the innocent. Partying in LA, is nothing like partying in the Liberal Bombshell like NY. Hence, I can only bite my tongue for so long. Unless it's shoved down the through of some playmate.
F. I deserve to go to the Playboy mansion because I understand the overall goal of the visit: to bang/grope as many of those tramps as possible, and to have as much fun as possible. On top of all this, I can promise that I will remain coherent enough to close one of these honeys and remember enough about the experience to rub it in all my friends’ faces. Both are key and will happen.
I can guarantee the hosts/agency that extends the invitation to me will not only have a better time with me (I’m laid back and funny, not like the other meathead spares that are submitting entries), but at the very least will have a great time laughing and drinking while dialoging these sluts and C-List celebrities.
Just like in Glengarry Glen Ross: there is only one thing that matters in this life-get them to sign on the line which is dotted. Trust me I grasp that concept, and will close as many dishrags as possible for whatever group of people we take out there. Young hot chicks are young hot chicks, my city has tons of them. If you know the pitch-you know the pitch. See you guys on the plane.
G. I need to be at this playboy party for a couple reasons. First, playboy needs me there if they want to call it a party, and a break from their standard guests who expect to be invited back.
Second, this is the type of party you need to make a name for yourself because you only get one shot. A name that will be remembered 20 years from now at some playmate reunion. I envision playmates reminiscing over drinks and talking about "that hot and sexy guy who we all wanted to get with, but he just kept shooting us down?" Or "remember that party when that
random guy kept pushing the playmates in the pool?" I need to be one of those guys.
H. First let me make it clear I have no interest in going to the Playboy mansion for a party or otherwise. I have no interest in rubbing shoulders with sports stars or sharing cocktails with a Hollywood starlet. I am beyond needing to have hor'dourves with a famous pop star or chat with beautiful vivacious ladies, not interested at all. Although knocking back single malts with the “Heffster” while discussing Beat Generation poetry does have its appeal.
However I have a friend, TP, and he would like to attend. TP is so shy and inhibited that he could not bring himself to put his wish down on paper. For him this would be the best thing to happen to him since that dalliance with his French professor at college. Unfortunately that ended right after she found out she was up for tenure which could have thrown big a monkey wrench into those plans. I don’t think he ever got over that, since then he has just withdrawn to focus on trading stocks, watching New York sports and charitable work.
That is a shame for this TP is a generous person, kind to a fault, maybe too innocent, who has donated much time and money to causes such as a Wounded Warriors. I’m hopping that some one special at the Playboy Mansion can bring him out of his shell, show this young master of the universe there is more to the universe then just making gobs of money betting mismanaged banks go under, or for that matter, whole countries. Perhaps at the Mansion he will meet that special someone to show him the wider world of art, music, culture, and that there is a worthy sports scene outside of NY. Not that it would be to hard to be the companion of TP. There is something to be said to be on Jimmy Choo’s “first call” list or be treated like a Queen at Il Mulino.
Think of this as a humanitarian gesture, enabling a very good person to experience a wider world and grow as a person. In that spirit I will donate my time to accompany TP to the Playboy Mansion. Even though I have no interest in discussing Dwayne Wade’s jump shot with Dwayne Wade or chatting with De Niro about his next project, and especially have no need to share some Champaign with a gorgeous intelligent young lady, my friend TP does want to experience all these things. So as his friend I volunteer to be TP’s “wing man” making sure his innocence is not taken advantage of, and perhaps help someone help him come out of his shell. I do this despite numerous obligations, and busy schedule, but isn’t that what friends are for? I will “Take one for the team” and together, as we say on Wall Street, top tick TP’s life. Please let me know as soon as possible so I can put it into my calendar, hopefully it does not interfere with my book club.
Big day, someone is going to Hefner’s Manse
Wednesday, March 31st, 2010
Some texty for Topsy...
Developing tomorrow’s talent today
Tuesday, March 30th, 2010
Was too caught up in the plot to develop any social narrative.
Glad I don't know the parents though.
Reintroducing DeDe Lind: a force to be reckoned within the custom pose industry
Tuesday, March 30th, 2010
For a little while there DeDe Lind, 1967's Playmate of the Year, was society's peach.
Wondering aloud whether Frank Gifford raped her butthole after getting her drunk.
Also wondering aloud whether Gifford did LSD at avant garde parties in Hollywood during the off-season.
Jim "all-buttholes-look-and-smell-the-same-to-me" Brown did. And Giff was wise to fear Brown.
Anyway, DeDegradation started in her mid 20s when she began noticing lines in her face that younger gals didn't; didn't matter that men were still making fools of themselves in hopes to raid her cabbage patch [password protected], innate competitive urges were already wreaking havoc on her psyche.
By her 30s, she was genuinely a FORMER Playboy Playmate of the year. Bundy once scored 4 TDs for Polk High in a single game... DeDe would understand.
True to form at some point DeDe conceded the limelight and took solace in booze, pills, and cabana boys. One of whom later had a more serious relationship with Rock Hudson.
All gay relationships, no matter how brief, are serious. If you don't believe me, go out and fuck some guy in the ass. Then have him or one of his pals do the same to you. Then tell everyone it was just a lark ... know what? What you just did was very serious.Eventually comes weak attempts at artistic exploration, a painting class here, an art house film screening there ... she's a total bore and no one is paying attention except that guy who wants to take pictures of her with a plunger up her ass and - voila! - [NSFW] a thriving "custom pose" business is born. That "banana" series of her naked and cavorting on a couch while eating a banana ... that's actually a teaser, even though you can practically see her moistness sticking to the upholstery. She wants you to pay to see what comes next. This is how a former jackrag queen turned hag can continue to make money as a "pinup" in her 60s. Her website says she is open to all requests ... how about suicide?
... 2 official submissions to date.
I'm going to check if there is a similar promotion for the Playgirl Mansion because apparently this appears to excite y'all more.
Real medicine
Tuesday, March 30th, 2010
Grazie to all readers who send in funny shit.
Oh Noh he didn’t
Monday, March 29th, 2010
The Wolverine, Jewish superhero from X-Men (hey, I just like the picture... I don't know any more about X-Men than I do about J-Date) would like to wish Nohjay Nimpson, she of a name so strange it must come from one of them Ethiopian tribesmen, a Happy Passover.
What's that Mark Fuhrmann, you think it's photoshopped?
Well, let me help you wrap up your investigation quick so you can get home by sundown.
Good old St. Joe's...
I recognize the caring look in that hawk's eyes, he wants to check her cup for balls.
My gym teacher was was the same way and we loved him for it.
Outsiders never understood.
Sample essay … let’s assess
Monday, March 29th, 2010
One of the things to remember is that the under-250 word essay is being directed towards an ad agency on why you deserve to tag along on their jaunt to the Playboy Mansion.
First official submission came in over the weekend, we will play it like an open-hand. I added paragraph markers to facilitate discussion.
P1I would like to be chosen of this honor because I have a cock and I know how to use it. Having traveled "abroad", and dove head first into supporting the economy of Costa Rica I'm familiar with being surrounded by beautiful working women. I finally figured out what it was like to be Van Halen in the heyday.
P2 Conquering Hef's mansion would be a challenge I'm up for. I'm perfectly capable of bullshitting these broads. Don't know if that's saying much, being the company of such geniuses on TDT. The views on your site go unopposed, and are a unique break from the "politically correct" society in which we painstaking live in.
P3 Being chosen would be an honor, but nothing will leave this mansion and the names must be changed to protect the innocent. Partying in LA, is nothing like partying in the Liberal Bombshell like NY. Hence, I can only bite my tongue for so long. Unless it's shoved down the through of some playmate.
P4 If nothing else I'm glad to share my views on TDT, and I appreciate the forum you've created. Thanks for making some light in what is otherwise a dark and economically dismal society.
Mike - New Jersey
Thanks Mike.
Opening paragraph is so good, I think it could stand alone as an entry. P2 starts well, but the essay veers into TDT commentary, which tickles my fancy, but as far as the contest goes would be easier to shoot down than Al Roker would be if you caught him breaking into your house.
I think the opening paragraph could stand on its own, maybe close with the very next sentence.
