PLAYGIRL blog

writer Nell Alk

Disappointment struck a Manhattan woman last week Wednesday. An innocent bystander to bad music, she made the simple and occasionally committed mistake of venturing out of her way for a concert that fell flat. She takes partial responsibility, conceding it was she who purchased tickets in advance, and arranged a date for the evening. This suggests intent, rather than accident—especially since she admits to having been painfully aware of the fact the show may leave much to be desired. Upon further questioning, the Upper East Side resident became belligerent, shouting obscenities not appropriate for print. Current condition? Stable, but still recovering. The damages? A lasting absence of faith in the music industry and a creeping suspicion she won’t be hearing from that guy again. [Enter cutting remark that the possible latter consequence would likely have little to do with the bogus band.]

For those of you who haven’t yet taken your daily dose of smart pills, the fuming female described above is none other than myself. I am the enraged patron of Santos Party House, the victim of a good date tainted by a paltry performance. (Or so I thought it was a good date, but I’d skipped dinner and was well on my way with those “moderately” priced $10 Tanqueray and tonics…) In any case, the operative point to take away from my ranting and raving is this: If the music scene were calling for more cotton candy crap, The Virgins would be in business. They certainly serve it up; fluffy, fleeting tunes devoid of any actual substance. The temporary sugar high isn’t worth the calories if you ask me. To put it bluntly, the temporary sugar high isn’t worth the temporary sugar high.

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A WOMAN’S PERFECT BREAKFAST

She’s sitting at the table with her gourmet coffee. Her son is on the cover of the Wheaties box. Her daughter is on the cover of Business Week. Her boyfriend is on the cover of Playgirl. And her husband is on the back of the milk carton.

—submitted by Lisa, via e-mail

Send submissions to gigs-815432725@craigslist.org!

Bartlett, Tenn., is in an uproar.

The town’s police chief, parents, and Baptist minister are wigging out over an indie porn flick that surfaced online showing X-rated shenanigans that took place in Bartlett Grove Park, wmctv reported.

The blonde bombshell in the skinflick starts things rolling by saying “I thought I’d come out for the day.” Then she sheds her clothes on the playground’s slide.

“I think it’s disgusting,” said Barbara Taylor, a mother in the neighborhood. “I think I’m not letting my kids go down that slide anymore.” No word yet on how much of the footage Taylor saw; but she did add this gem: “She’s definitely a tramp — just nasty.”

Action 5 News, the outlet which broke the story, won’t reveal the Web site domain, but promises it’s “full of explicit pornography.” Time to do some googling, everyone!

For all those men who say, “Why buy a cow when you can get milk for free?”: Here’s an update for you.

Nowadays, 80 percent of women are against marriage. Why? Because women realize it’s not worth buying an entire pig just to get a little sausage.

—Submitted by Julie Clark, via e-mail

writer and photographer Nell Alk

I recently had the pleasure of cozying up to one of my favorite bands, The Honorary Title. Led to believe they’d take the stage at 11 p.m., my partner-in-crime and I took our time. To our dismay, upon our arrival we learned the band had already begun; a full half-hour early! Such is life—but I still blame the betch at Bowery Ballroom with the big, misinformed mouth. Add to this the fact I’d just gulped down a super-strong G&T and had to pee perhaps more than ever before. You can imagine my irritable disposition.

We entered the venue and I did the unthinkable; foregoing the ladies’ room. (There was no way I would stand to miss one more minute of this orgasmic gig!) We made a beeline for the front of the venue and got only so far before encountering a blockade of other fans vying for optimal see-and-be-seen spots. I navigated my way past several fellow lovers, but remained a number of feet from what would be considered front row at a general-admission show. Here I planted myself, poised to enjoy what was left of The Honorary Title’s set.

The Honorary Title was better than I remembered, making all the right moves. We last hooked up at Mercury Lounge, a little more than a year ago, when front man Jarrod Gorbel was still dating Kelly Osborne, who was also in attendance. I could have pummeled that angel-wings tatted Brit twit (twat?)! He and I caught up after this show, though, and, as to their present status (or, rather, lack thereof), he disclosed, “That’s so over. She’s hot, but we didn’t get along, if you know what I mean.” I knew I should have made my move when we bumped into each other at a Wild Sweet Orange concert back in May. Perhaps he was flying solo then, too. Hmm.
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There was a time when “gay wedding” and “Hallmark moment” seemed like diametrically opposed ideas. But now, with the two awesomest states in the union granting same sex couples the right to wed, the company that commodifies emotion best is unveiling a new line of gay marriage cards—like this one, which reminds me of a very progressive barrette I sported in the ’80s. The language in the cards is neutral, making them also suitable for civil unions or commitment ceremonies. But Hallmark’s message is clear: if gay marriage is going to stimulate the wedding economy, hey, let’s all eat cake! [AP]

Writer Kristen Caldwell

When your best friend, sister, or lonely co-worker asks you to be her maid of honor, several things run through your mind.  Is she pregnant?  Is she going to make me wear coral-colored satin? And most importantly, I GET TO PLAN THE BACHELORETTE PARTY!  This is one of the most important days of the bride’s life. Yeah, the wedding itself is significant; but THIS is her last hurrah as a single lady.  It is also your opportunity (and duty) to make sure the final funstick she sees up close (besides her husband’s) is the biggest bratwurst you can find.  Yes, it’s up to you to find the stripper.

There are several elements that go into planning a successful bachelorette party: the location (a ball game with sexy players or a bar with sexy waiters?), the games (when else can you take dirty pictures with that statue in the park or ask random men to line up their members in size order?); but most important is the duke of dick who will thrust his throbbing member at the ladies in waiting.  Try to narrow down your choices first.  There are the typical fantasies of firefighters with large hoses and police officers with giant night sticks, but try to get creative.  Your girl has been with you for all your ups and downs—make sure to give her a send off of epic erected proportions.

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Microsoft creator Bill Gates and his wife Melinda have funded a campaign towill launch a ringtone in India that chants, “condom, condom,” breitbart.com reports. The couple hope the ringtone will gain popularity with India’s teens, thereby promoting safe sex and halting the spread of HIV/AIDS.

Because India is the world’s fastest-growing mobile telephone market (it grew 57 percent in the last year), the ringtone has high hopes to do well amongst the 270 million mobile users.

Radharani Mitra, creative director of the BBC World Service Trust, said, “Ringtones have become such personal statements that a specially created condom ringtone seemed just the right way of combining a practical message with a fun approach.”

The ringtone can be downloaded at condomcondom.org.

Some reader-submitted humor, for your pleasure…

A college class was told to write a short story in as few words as possible. The short story had to contain the following three things: religion, sexuality, and mystery.

The only A+ story in the entire class?

“Good God; I’m pregnant. I wonder who did it.”

—Submitted by Madelyn Miller, Houston, TX