Playboy actually first excerpted Nabokov's Ada or, Ardor back in 1969, when they were a very popular and highbrow titty mag. But the years have not been kind to Playboy, because the years invented the internet, and everyone forgot both how to read and how to masturbate to magazines.

And do you know who we don't envy? Playboy's literary editor, Amy Grace Loyd.

So. Vlad Nabokov, one of the most brilliant English-language authors ever, had not finished his last work, The Original of Laura, when he died. And he demanded that it never be published, because he was a bit of a perfectionist. Vlad's son Dmitri complied with his dad's wishes for many years, until he decided to just let it be published, because why not. So "super-agent" Andrew Wylie took over, and Amy Grave Loyd attempted to woo him with orchids, a reference to Ada.

Ms. Loyd was disappointed, figuring the honor of first serial was more likely to go to a place like The New Yorker, which had its own long history with Nabokov, and had in fact just last summer published one of his newly translated short stories. Ms. Loyd's worry was not unfounded: Mr. Wylie had indeed sent Laura to the The New Yorker months earlier. But as it happened, according to a source at the magazine, the fiction department was not interested. (Fiction editor Deborah Treisman had no comment.)

On the first of June, Mr. Wylie changed his tune and wrote to Ms. Loyd asking her what, hypothetically, Playboy would be willing to pay for an exclusive.

They were willing to pay more than they have ever paid for a book excerpt before, and they were willing to pay this much without even reading a word of it. And it kinda turns out that the book might not be very good! "There are parts of it that are much more cohesive than others. But I found it fascinating in that way," Loyd says.

But 5,000 words of The Original of Laura will run in the December Playboy, presumably next to reviews of the latest in hi-fi gear, Canadian whiskey ads, Gahan Wilson cartoons, a lengthy Q&A with Mort Sahl, and nude pictures of Barbara Carrera. Pick it up at your local newsagent!

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.


Perhaps it's better that the children stay away?

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.

Prejean, who made the media rounds last week floating a similar "I was set up by haters" theory, and her lawyer Charles LiMandri are launching an offensive against California pageant officials, telling E Online that Keith Lewis, the poor sap whose horrible lot in life is to be director of the California pageant organization, tried to get her to see some gross gay movie knowing full well that it would assault her delicate anti-gay sensibilities and that she'd refuse to attend.

"[Lewis] wanted her to go to the debut of a docudrama supporting same-sex marriage," the attorney claims. "The people [who] produced it were going to be there explaining their journey as gay men toward same-sex marriage. She said, 'I'm just not comfortable doing that.' I wrote back to [Lewis'] attorney saying, 'She won't do the pro-traditional marriage stuff as Miss California. But don't ask her to do the pro-same-sex marriage stuff either.'"

Prejean's lawyer also claims that Lewis tried to trick her into posing for Playboy, knowing full well that his client's high moral fiber would never allow her to do such a thing like taking off her clothes in front of a camera.

"She had just gotten a request to do a Playboy shoot with partial nudity-this was several days after [Donald] Trump reinstates her," LiMandri says. "[Lewis] knew she wouldn't do that stuff, and he was trying to set her up, saying, 'You can pick your photographer. You can pick the photos.' And then he'd be able to fire her for sure."

So yeah, Carrie's the victim of ill-timed wind gusts and some sort of vast left-wing conspiracy. So now she'll "write" a book about it all and pose for Playboy and in two years she'll be a co-host on Fox & Friends, which is right where she belongs.

Carrie Prejean's Lawyer: She Was Set Up [E Online]

Image via Splash

Richard Branson says he does not want to buy Playboy. Oh how we wish he did, though. As you can see, he's sad about it. If only there were a rich, horny, middle-aged billionaire out there, who loves models.

The BBC is launching a channel for kids, right here in the USA. American kids will not be stupid any more.

Jacques is a new quarterly that calls itself "America's only new luxury erotic magazine." Since we know that there are no new magazines or luxurious things in America right now, it's probably true! Anyhow the naked parts are very tasteful and all so check it out.

NBC got only 4.4 million prime time viewers last week—the lowest-ever total for any network "outside of the summer doldrums of June, July, August or early September." But not to worry: the network's considering creating a new 5 p.m. daily "lifestyle show." Which will turn things around.

Rumor is that international playboy (wait for the joke to reveal itself) Richard Branson is interested in buying Playboy Enterprises (there it is). Last week the rumor was Hef might sell for $300 million and 72 blonde non-virgins. We cannot think of a more appropriate owner than Branson, so go for it! (Although David Carr says it's not happening).

This is a photo of writer Michael Idov originally taken for the aborted Russian rich-people magazine Snob. Bask in it.
UPDATE: In fact, Michael Idov informs us that Snob is not dead at all! He writes:

The shoot was justly discarded because I had a story running in the same issue as the story that mentioned me. You'd agree that having both would be a bit too much. Even for a publication called Snob.

It's also not a rich-folks magazine, incidentally (it's a kind of solemn scuppie post-glossy along the lines of Monocle and Good; the title is ironic), but everyone makes that mistake, and they've certainly set themselves up for it.

The Observer has more on NYT Social Media Editor Jennifer Preston, solidifying the impression that, while she is clearly an enormously qualified journalist and newspaper editor, she perhaps is not so up on this "social media" thing. "Jennifer is extremely enthusiastic," says NYT digital guru Jonathan Landman. "She's not an expert to start with, but I don't think that's a terrible handicap here in real ways. Nobody's an expert." Really, nobody?

The Hartford Advocate, an alt-weekly, decided to outsource an entire issue's worth of writing to India, for fun. It didn't save them money, and they're not advocating it as a media strategy; it was just kind of a goof. If management likes it too much, they may come to regret it.

THE HEF is reportedly floating his Playboy Enterprises empire for sale, for a bargain-basement price of $300 million. That's way more than the company's actually worth—porn is free, nowadays—but THE HEF needs all the extra cash to continue paying his concubines until he collapses. Seriously, that's why he's asking for so much.

Michael Kinsley says that the new Newsweek redesign hasn't changed the fact that the magazine is a waste of time, which is true, and that Time is also a waste of time, which is true, but that Time is a waste of time mostly because they canned Michael Kinsley, which is false. The Historical Jesus is not mentioned.

All those projects that are hacked-to-the-bone online relaunches of local news outlets by refugees from folded newspapers? Those are all going to fail. We're calling it now. Sorry.

Ha, the San Diego paper sold recently, astoundingly, to a private equity firm. A big investor in that firm is the pension fund of LA police officers. Now the pension fund demands that the paper fire its editorial writers because they hate cops or something. It will only take a few more incidents like this for the acquisition of the San Diego paper to go down as the last great failed newspaper acquisition. It has a good chance!

Playboy is tanking, because of internet porn, so they're considering "radical changes" for the magazine, "including price increases, a frequency reduction and lowering its rate base of 2.6 million." So fewer people will read it. We'll see how that works out. On the other hand, Vibe is launching a new tabloid where they can run those naked Rihanna pics if they want to. Free celebrity porn is the new paid anonymous person porn.


Metro, the free morning commuter papers that are a decent 10 minute read on the subway, as long as you didn't watch the news that morning, has sold its NYC, Boston, and Philly papers, and is closing its Spanish papers. It's now focusing on markets where print is still strong, like Bhutan.


Newspapers in the Czech Republic are opening up their own coffee shops, making reporters the socioeconomic equivalents of baristas. The future of journalism! And the Evening Standard in the UK is running a new ad campaign saying "Sorry" to its readers, for sucking. The future of journalism!


Some kids who wrote for their college papers later find the things they wrote to be embarrassing or professionally inconvenient. ZOMG. But the best part of this fake trendwatch is this little "anecdotal lede," as they say in the news business:

When Nickie Dobo wrote a column in 2003 for her college newspaper - The Daily Collegian at Pennsylvania State University - decrying the "hook-up culture" on the campus, she never expected it to resurface years later in an attack on her professional credibility.

But that's what happened when Ms. Dobo, now a reporter for the York Daily Record in Pennsylvania, came under criticism by a white-supremacist group.

Budding journalists: Never forget that your article on your school's "hook-up culture" may be used by white supremacists to discredit you. Nobody said journalism is easy.

Slow magazine death news: According to a tipster (unconfirmed, as far as we can tell), Playboy "let 12-20 people go from their Chicago offices" yesterday. And Fishbowl NY says that Good Housekeeping had four layoffs today, and that Hearst in in the process of getting rid of its entire permalancer research staff.


The 138 year-old Tucson Citizen, an afternoon paper, is probably going to close next month because Gannett can't sell it, unsurprisingly. Tucson still has a morning paper, the Arizona Daily Star. The days of non-mega-cities having two newspapers are over, friends.


New idea: the Ford Foundation should buy the New York Times. Sure, throw it on the idea pile! Meanwhile, the head of the AP says that when the new service's content agreement with Google expires in December, he can "imagine content going behind a pay wall." Sure, throw it on the idea pile!

If you could keep only a few TV channels, what would they be? We'll tell you, America, by citing the results of a new survey! ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, ESPN, Discovery Channel, History, Sci Fi Channel, HBO and Food Network, in order of preference. Nothing will make us give up According to Jim!


The last American non-journalist who is excited to meet a journalist is found working in an ice cream shop in Times Square.

A tipster tells us that more layoffs are coming down at Viacom today: "They are cleaning house at VH1/MTV Linked Group right now. Like more than half the people involved with the website and the video just got laid off. HR is making appointments to call every freelancer this afternoon." Skeery. If you have more info, email us.
UPDATE: Another tipster adds: "Freelancers are being called in because when they hit their 9 mon point they have to leave. They can come back 3 mon later and be considered a new hire. They're trying to get rid of the perma-lancer thing that went down Dec. 07 but still not hire anyone as staff."

Some freelancers were given a 3 mon extension on their contract but they can only be given it once before HR gives them the axe.


An analyst thinks the New York Times Co. could raise $1.2 billion by selling the Boston Globe, Worcester Telegram & Gazette, its new headquarters building, and its stake in the Red Sox. On one hand it would mean taking a huge loss on those assets, but on the other hand $1.2 billion is not that bad, considering that it's more than the market cap of the NYT Co.

Keith Kelly confirms our rumor from yesterday about Newsweek closing its London bureau. He also says that Newsweek staffers are pissed they had to read about their magazine's big redesign in a New York Times story. Which is understandable. Is that how the Historical Jesus would act?


Five large NY/ NJ newspapers including the New York Daily News and the Newark Star-Ledger are all going to share content with each other, probably so that some of them can lay off some reporters.

Playboy had an atrocious fourth quarter, losing $145 million, and now says that it's "open" to discussion of selling its flagship magazine. They should really have to change the company name if they do that.

Yes, someone would: Hugh Hefner's main Girl Next Door, Holly Madison, who has finally tired of her post as Playboy's "Playmate Editor," an arduous gig that involved lip gloss selection and the expert Photoshopping of pubic hair mounds. Sadly, the thrill of such tasks is gone, says Madison on her Celebrity Myspace:

So it's out on the gossip sites that I quit my job at Playboy, which is true. I quit for several reasons: 1. I moved to Vegas and that job doesn't pay enough to make a commute worthwhile ( I never cared about the salary when I got the job-I made my money doing Girls Next Door and I just did the job because I loved it.) 2. After two years of it, I no longer found it challenging. It got to be routine, which was sad for me, since I was initially so passionate about the job and the creative aspects involved. 3. It was awkward. Not that anyone tried to make it awkward or didn't treat me fairly . . . it just was.

It annoys me when people call the job fake as if it was just a set up for the show. If I had wanted a fake career for Girls Next Door I would have stuck with the jewelry line because that required very little of my time. I spent way more than full time directing shoots, editing, making mock layouts and approving retouching.

So as you can imagine, when one is trying to move on with their life, it isn't beneficial to spend so much time on something that doesn't pay much and sadly enough is no longer rewarding to you.

Will Hef fill the hole (uh...we're letting that one go) with new paramours Kristina and Karissa Shannon, who will bring their unique talents of face-kicking and semi-incest to the ceremonial position? We hope so—there's no Playboy pictorial that couldn't be livened up with broken beer bottles, a concussion, and a bloody smock from Wing House.

• Annoying!!!! [Myspace]

Duff McKagan, of GnR and Velvet Revolver, got off drugs in the 90s. And picked up a finance habit, hey! Now he's Playboy's new financial columnist, which, well, yea.

McKagan admits, however, he doesn't understand all the technical ins and outs of high finance, but says TV's talking heads don't, either.

"Those boneheads on TV just want to make themselves come off as smart . . . I hope to shed some no-nonsense light on day-to-day money issues," he wrote, closing his salty commentary with a promise: "I will do my best to expose frauds and criminals, one at a time."

Seems like a good dude, but do not take financial advice from a magazine, especially from Playboy magazine, especially from a celebrity columnist in Playboy magazine, especially from a celebrity columnist in Playboy magazine who's a rock star who does not understand finance. Although he can probably lose you money just as well as the pros. [NYP, a bit late on the story. But no biggie!]

Like a rebellious wild child turned much less fun football wife, Wilkinson is renouncing her former lifestyle ("Now I'm totally against [Hefner's] way of life") in a tell-all to Us Weekly. And what better way to do it then let the air out of the sexy, polygamous balloon by admitting that when she wanted to get laid, it wasn't with any of the magazine founders, fellow Girls, teenage sons, or strangely aggressive peacocks on the grounds of Hef's Holmby Hills estate?

"I had to have sex every now and then, so I had to kind of sneak it," Hugh Hefner's 23-year-old ex tells Us Weekly.

The buxom blonde says "of course" she and the Playboy founder were intimate, but notes she often only saw him once a day - in passing.

"Besides the nights we went out, I only saw Hef, like, once a day walking through the halls to his office. There were never solo dates," she said.

"The most we kind of say to each other is, 'I love you,' 'Love you too,' 'I hope you have a good day,' 'Did you have a good day?'" [...]

"Bridget told me that she's been faithful all these years, and I was like, 'How the hell can you do that?' I had to have [sex] so I could feel my age, like a healthy human being."

We're sad to learn of Wilkinson's unconscionable betrayal; after all, what could be sexier than retiring to Hef's four-poster bed at night (after a flinty Holly narrows her eyes in the bedroom hallway and growls, "Your turn") to find the 82-year-old Playboy founder splayed out in an uncomfortably hiked up kimono, tongue lolling? "Kendra, I want to put my hand on your breast," he would say, limply. "Will you lift my hand and do that?"

[Photo Credit: AP]

• Hugh Hefner's Playboy lifestyle isn't what it seems, says Kendra Wilkinson [NYDN]

In fact, it's only the pedigree elsewhere on the credit roll — Brian Grazer is producing, Robert Donwey Jr. is a front-runner to star — that seems to reassure Hefner in the face of a B-Rat incursion on his life story:

"It's going to be a very curious change of pace for him . . . but I believe in Brian," Hefner said. "The one thing I would want the film to be is something other than a light comedy, to have something to say and express something about the change in social sexual values. You know, Brian made a comment that I was the only man who had made love to over a thousand women and they all still liked him. And I do take some pride, in fact, that I remain friends with the majority of former wives and girlfriends. I am a romantic."

This can't be reassuring to Ratner, who would hate to have wasted his last year and a half of attempts to convince Hefner that he, too, is a romantic with male-slut sensitivity befitting his legendary subject. The law of averages suggests that the whole girl-ashamed-to-be-seen-with-the-Rat thing is bound to happen on occasion, just as eventually Ratner would have it in him to make a watchable, rewarding non-sequel. You're in good hands, Hef. Just keep an eye on them around the mansion.

• Playboy founder Hugh Hefner's first true love was movies [LAT]

Given the assertion that all the Bunnies get to have to sleep with Hef and get their own sex toys, we figured there was no better place to start that the Bunnies from the 70s we determined seemed most likely to choke the life out of Hef with a sex toy.

The Suspects
Star Stowe, Miss February 1977
While Stowe, in her profile, claims that she admires Hugh Hefner and thinks a great date would be "creeping around old spooky places and getting the hell scared out of you," she admits that one of her turnoffs is "When guys come on too strong and get grabby." That can't have boded well for Hef. Her dream was to become "the most radical, bisexual rock star there ever could be... [with] that pirate butch attitude."

Debra Jo Fondren, Miss September 1977
Despite the obvious guilt-by-association that comes from having a using two first names, Fondren gets less scary when you learn that she's into "bareback riding" — but she prefers "gentle" men and hates "Pushy people, opinionated people, loud people, being rushed, being told what to do," so she doesn't exactly sound right for The Mansion. She does however admit to being a fan of "trap and skeet shooting," which indicates that if she were to off Hef, she probably wouldn't do it with a sex toy.

Ashley Cox, Miss December 1977
Ashley Cox is nominated because of the fact that her picture scared me a little: She looks decidedly unhappy and freaked out to be naked. Also, her name is Cox.

Christina Smith, Miss March 1978
Christina Smith doesn't look freaked as much as she looks sort of annoyed and possibly pissed off, which, for someone with the lofty ambition of modeling in TV commercials, seems sort of out of place. While her turnoffs included "husbands" — which probably impressed Hef — and "'high class' people" — which probably did the same — but who knows how she would have felt once she's bedded him and found out that he wasn't the "decent" man of whom she was dreaming.

Kathryn Morrison, Miss May 1978
If anyone of this crew looks more like she'd shove a sex toy down Hef's throat just to watch him die, it's definitely Kathryn Morrison. She's also not so keen on "Liars and people who think and act like they know everything," which you gotta think Hef isn't the world's most honest lover.

Dorothy Mays, Miss July 1979
With dreams of glory ranging from opening up a men's salon in Maryland to having her own farm, Dorothy Mays is a little bit all over the map, as her sexy-but-I-will-cut-you pose indicates. Her turnoffs include "Jealousy, materialistic people, poor organization," which described Hef to a T, so it's safe to say that didn't end well.

The Weapons
The criteria for this category included objects that can be inserted into the mouth far enough to block respiration if the nose is similarly plugged and could or would be used by women. Thus, we did not include monster dildos or male masturbatory aids. If you know of ways those could be used to choke people, please never tell us.

Ben Wa Balls
Definitely a choking hazard for toddlers, Hef additionally seems like the type of guy who would gladly lick them clean and, if one didn't keep hold of the string, there'd be trouble.

Butt Plug
Gross, I know, but I've seen enough anal-to-oral sex porn to know that some people get off on sucking dick that has only recently been removed from someone else's asshole. I guarantee Hef has tried this at least once and, given a little pressure and a wide enough plug, you could definitely choke someone with a butt plug.
Anal Beads
If you can shove them up your ass, you can shove them down someone's throat. Enough said.

Bullet Vibrator
Pretty much everything I said about Ben Wa balls, but with the addition of mechanical vibration which would have to hurt the back of your throat.

Jiggly Dildo
Plug someone's nose and face fuck them with this ("Oh, how do you like it, Hef? Huh? Can't talk, huh? Not so much fun, huh?") and you'll have a dead face-fuckee.

Ball Gag
It is designed to gag you. If it was just a little too small and fell off the harness, it could do some damage.

The Sites
Since Hef doesn't seem to fuck anywhere but his own place, it seems like he'd have to be killed there. The most likely locations were be: the Grotto, the Library, his bedroom, his bathroom, the Playmate's room, and the left wing of the game house (which reportedly consists entirely of a padded floor and a television)

The Verdict
Well, that's up to you! Was it Debra Jo in the grotto with a dildo? Ashley Cox in the library with the anal beads? Kathryn Morrison in the game house with the ben wa balls? Play your own game of Clue in the comments!

Barging into the House of Bunny! [Extra]

Related: Naked Ambition [Radar]
Star Stowe [Playboy]
Debra Jo Fondren [Playboy]
Ashley Cox [Playboy]
Christina Smith [Playboy]
Kathryn Morrison [Playboy]
Dorothy Mays [Playboy]
The Playboy Mansion [Wikipedia]

While giving Extra's Mario Lopez a tour of the Playboy Mansion, Hefner talked about his near-fatal sex toy swallowing in the late seventies (!), then moved on to more star-studded subjects:

As for other celebrities Hefner would like to pose for Playboy, he says, "Either Angelina Jolie or Scarlett Johansson," he says. Lopez brought along Jennifer Aniston's nearly nude GQ magazine cover to show Hefner who comments, "This looks like the cover of Playboy. I'm much impressed by Jennifer. Is it just me or is Jennifer Aniston getting hotter?...Never seen her in this light before."

A canny Aniston made sure to set John Mayer's DVR to record the quasi-endorsement, happy that her attempt to transform a press tour for a PG-rated dogcom into an elongated, NSFW public burlesque had gone exactly as hoped. Still, can the star keep her cache of black spray paint undiscovered until "The UNCOOL Case of Benjamin Button" gets its widest rollout?

• Hugh Hefner: "I Almost Swallowed A Sex Toy" [HuffPo]

Meet Marston (on the left) and Cooper (sitting) who have had their pleasure sensors dulled by growing up on the grounds of Hef's Holmby Hills estate, where their birthday cakes always had naked ladies inside and they were taught eighth grade algebra by a roaming peacock. The brothers tell their father's magazine how it's shaped their worldview:

"I'm not going to have multiple girlfriends — not at the same time," 18-year-old Marston Hefner says in the January issue of Playboy. "I can't imagine that."

His brother, 17-year-old Cooper Hefner, begs to differ.

"I can imagine doing that. I don't think it's an odd thing to do," he says. "You date around to try to find a connection with some girl." [...]

Cooper also says growing up in the Playboy mansion is overrated.

"They don’t get it when you say, 'There's nothing to do there,'" he says. "But when you live here and come here every single day, you see the same things.

"Anybody else would be like, 'Let's go see monkeys!' But I don't want to see monkeys," he goes on. "I'd rather go bowling than play with monkeys."

Hugh Hefner, Defamer is calling you out: you are a terrible, irresponsible parent. How dare you let your sons grow up in an environment that has robbed them of the fun and natural discovery every teenage boy eventually goes through. We are speaking, of course, of watching monkeys, imitating their monkey sounds, and encouraging monkeys to throw their feces at other monkeys. Marston and Cooper, you grew up too fast, and for that, we are truly sorry.

• Hugh Hefner's Sons Split on Having "Multiple Girlfriends" [Us]

"In the latest issue of the legendary magazine, readers are invited to take a phone cam image of a logo for the new made-for-mobile video series Interns and send it to Playboy to receive a link to the weekly show. Interns tracks the learning curve of three young minimum wage earners in the Playboy New York marketing office, overseen by a dashing boss. The 4-minute episodes encapsulate the typical reality TV challenges, such as soliciting Cyber Babes."

I don't even understand what this is about, except that Playboy is still smart enough to only give away fully clothed intern photos for free. [MinOnline; pic via]

In it, Hefner engages in a vigorous oral exploration of one of his guests (one of his bar-brawling twins?) while nearly smothering another couch-dweller to death (her sister?) in the process. According to the Oh No They Didn't contributor, whose friend is a Playboy model and took the photos, Hefner "'just grabs girls faces and kisses them, he's such a bitch' and 'he really is an old pervert' and that he smokes pot all the time and that 'all his girlfriends really do fuck him.'" Go, Hef!

Below is a group photo, in which one model's attempt at using her cleavage as a human billboard doesn't go quite as planned. Still, we encourage all forms of out-of-the-bustier commerce during these trying times.

• GROSS OLD MAN POST [Oh No They Didn't]

This assumes that there's a wide range of Playboy cover models. We're talking about a 18-26 age range, and the weight range cannot possibly be more than ten pounds. Taller? Everybody looks the same height in print. Bust size, which is also duly noted? BREAKING: straight men prefer breasts, regardless of economic conditions. There, done.

Anyway, here is their data, collected from 1965-2006. The age of the Playboy models ranged from 18-31—although there was only one 31-year-old and just two 27-year-olds. The rest were 26 or under.

[Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin via Kempt]

Adams points out that Playboy magazine, with its "pictures of scantily clad, identikit blondes" (complete, if memory serves, with unnaturally round, high, shiny breasts, landing strip pubes, and weird occupational costumes), is now behind the times. Where once it interviewed Bob Dylan and Jean-Paul Sartre, it now lands such luminaries as Pete Wentz and Kevin Connolly. And at just 132 pages, it's a lightweight. Vogue could kick sand on it at the beach.

Attractive, much-younger women have long been willing to play by Hef's rules — including a 9 p.m. curfew, and monogamy for them but not for him — because of what former girlfriend Izabella St. James calls "the glamour and glitz and the attraction of Hef and this life in Hollywood." If the glitz fades, will Hugh still be able to fill his revolving bed? Will someone else (Dov Charney? Joe Francis?) rise up to fill his slippers? Or is his whole breed, the celebrity pornography-polygamist, now passe?

We hope so, but Joan Smith, writing in today's Guardian, fears otherwise. She sees The House Bunny, with its portrayals of a fatherly Hef and fun Bunny shopping sprees, as a sign that women have accepted "the bunny girl image" as something "benign, and even cool." Other evidence includes the Playboy logo on pencil cases, jewelry, and slippers. To girls who want to dress like Bunnies (like teenage Dodai!), Smith offers a reminder of Bunny life in the 60s. Women at Playboy clubs of that era had to conform to a variety of stringent male-imposed standards, like wearing the right shade of lipstick and spouting the right amount of small talk — all for very little pay. Young women may want to take up the mantle of Hef themselves — Female Chauvinist Pigs-style — but Smith warns that the Playboy magnate is little more than "an 82-year-old polygynist whose chief claim to fame is dressing up adult women as rabbits" and "young women shouldn't fall for it."

Is the party over for Playboy? [Independent]
The problem with Playboy [Guardian]

It seems that San Diego native Wilkinson still hasn't forgiven Brady for beating her beloved Chargers in the AFC championship, and she'd rather go naked (a simple proposition!) then wear the number of the noted Gisele diddler. Lucky for Wilkinson, then, that the Chargers won't be playing the Philadelphia Eagles, where her rumored secret fiance Hank Baskett is a wide receiver. Meanwhile, we await the sports affiliations of brand-new Girls Next Door Karissa and Kristina Shannon, though we do hear that the twins are no strangers to "unnecessary roughness." [E!]

"If Holly says it's over, I guess it's over," Hefner told the AP on Wednesday, adding that Madison is still living in the Mansion despite her recent confession that she's ready to settle down and start a family. Hef also acknowledged telling Madison six months ago that he wanted none of that, apparently triggering an internal crisis about which even he was unaware:

"The fact that she was depressed after that, I didn't know at all. That was a revelation in the last days and weeks. Quite frankly, we thought when the time came, we would make a combined statement and we expected that combined statement would be somewhere in the weeks and months ahead."

Of course, anyone who's seen The House Bunny can corroborate this and vouch for Hef's despair; nobody leaves the Mansion without saying goodbye, lest the 82-year-old's sad voice turn up on the other end of her phone at the most inopportune time — like, in the middle of a date with Colin Hanks or something. Awkward! Moreover, this is why some of us choose to avoid The Girls Next Door — how have we missed out on the drama of this dissolution since April? Step it up, E! Man cannot live by Kendra's Olive Garden controversies alone.

• HEFNER 'DOWN IN THE DUMPS' ABOUT MADISON SPLIT [AP]

Spade is a funny dude, but that can’t be it. Surely he must have a secret—something that draws the skirts to him like men’s bathrooms draw George Michael. Thankfully, Moehringer wasn’t afraid to do a little digging, and through exhaustive interviews with Spade and various ladies he’s flirted with, he may have actually hit upon the reason for all the chick-magnet-madness.

Spade’s platonic friend Courtney Cox Arquette explains it thusly: “He has good teeth.” But the most illuminating reason comes from David himself. When asked what advice he’d give a single guy, Spade says:

"Be normal and kind of have your shit together. And be consistent and reliable. Just not a flake. Really, the thing is, not to be a superflake. Don’t be an asshole. Don’t be supercocky. Don’t be a show-off. Everyone for some reason feels the need to show off.”

So that’s it? Just don’t be a dick? Admittedly that’s a hard thing to do in this town, but we still think Spade must have a dump truck full of Roofies stashed his house. Otherwise it just doesn’t add up.

[Photo Credit: Getty Images]

• The Don Juan of Our Time [Los Angeles Magazine]

In the first episode of Gadget of the Girl, the booty offered was "an arcade console featuring all the best games of the '80s," the iPod Boom Bucket, and a home planetarium.

The male contestant actually walked away with the BoomBucket, which retails for $150, for getting one of the women to swim in the nude. The same could be accomplished at San Francisco's Mitchell Brothers' O'Farrell Theatre, sitting by the stage and tossing down a few twenties, but then again, there's no pool. Here, taking home the gadget is a better deal.

As for the dreamy planetarium, the guy chose a weekend date instead. For a two-day, two-night "girlfriend experience," even a $10K home star machine would be selling her quite short. The guy made the economically sensible choice by picking the date.

Despite the noisome premise, the show's actually pretty honest, then, about the value of sex. And it looks at least nine thousand times better than had they just paired overtly nerdy men with kittenish Meghan Asha clones. My only suggestion: Let the girls have their gadgets, too — an iRabbit and a MacBook Air if they make it through the whole weekend.

Neel notes that the Olympian was accompanied by an entourage of striped-shirted schmucks, one of whose sole duties appeared to be pointing a flashlight at anyone attempting to photograph the swimmer during his efforts to obtain a gold medal in ass-grabbing. ("It was unreal," says Neel. "Within moments of entering the club he summoned two girls over... I've never seen such an aggressive grip.")

[More at Radar]

Jason Statham: He was escorted recently by five security guards off the property after he refused to pose for pictures at the Midsummer's Night Dream Party. The last thing anyone heard him say was, "I'll be back to bulldoze the Grotto, you wankers!"
Ben Affleck: New to the neighborhood, he could have easily flown into a rage when Girl Next Door Bridget Marquardt rang their doorbell to ask Jennifer Garner if she could "spare a cub of lube."
Pauly Shore: Just 'cause.
Hector Jimenez: Disgruntled groundskeeper.
Anna Faris in a moustache disguise: Because she is starring in a movie about a Playboy Bunny, and this is tangentially related and therefore humorous. Also, she's a notorious road-rager.

Feel free to add more to the lineup in the comments, you Encyclopedia Browns and Nancy Drews, you!

• Man rams into Playboy Mansion gates — twice [MSNBC]

For instance, this week's episode begins with the girls gathering together for an impromptu table read of the script for House Bunny, the soon-to-be-released Anna Faris vehicle. After pouring through the script, not only do they find out that their appearance is limited to a single page (Page 78, if you must know), but they also bemoan the fact that they've been reduced to bantering about such silly topics as whipped cream drenched pillow fights. Don't worry, ladies; when Brett Ratner finally decides to get onboard with the project he was born to direct, there'll be plenty of time to sleep your way into a role playing someone other than yourself (so long as it's still a Bunny).

• The Girls Next Door [E!]

Ms. Wilkinson says that when she started praising the restaurant on television and on her very popular MySpace page, it never crossed her mind what the folks at Olive Garden might think. "I don't speak about it to get paid for it," she says. "I speak about it because I love it. I understand they're a family restaurant, but I think it can't hurt them to have a little spice." ...

The San Diego native says she made frequent trips to the restaurant during her childhood, developing a taste for the artichoke dip and the all-you-can-eat salad and breadsticks. She calls it "my soul food."

"I love the Olive Garden so much because I grew up going there," she says. "That used to be the place we would go for Mother's Day, for birthdays. My grandpa just died, and right after his funeral, we went to the Olive Garden."

First of all, nice synergy by the Journal to get the "very popular MySpace" plug in there for Uncle Rupe. Well done, gang. Meanwhile, Olive Garden associates all but declined comment: "I don't feel comfortable talking about this...because it is a complicated issue for the brand," said the EVP the chain's ad agency. And why wouldn't it be? Go ahead and see how far you get marketing Kendra's limited-time-only Chicken Condolence Fettucine Alfredo. "When you're here, you're too cheap for a memorial" won't win any converts, you know.

• When You're Here, You're Family — But What About a Playboy Model? [WSJ]

One official says the company has tried to walk a fine line with its response, maintaining the chain's wholesome image without alienating potential customers. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this...because it is a complicated issue for the brand," says Michele Kay, executive vice president of WPP Group's Grey advertising firm, which handles the Olive Garden account.

The purported issue here is whether companies should embrace "rogue" famous fans, even if they're as disreputable as—the two examples actually used—a Playboy model or a rapper. In other words: how does corporate America deal with blacks and loose women?

Olive Garden, of course, is foolish. A blond Playboy model perfectly embodies their outward deliciousness and inner emptiness. Don't let her defect to Applebee's, you fools.

[WSJ; pic via Evil Beet]

If Sam Tanenhaus' forthcoming "definitive" biography of Buckley teaches you nothing else about American conservatism, it should teach you two things. The first is that it drew its historical sense of urgency from ex-radicals and recovering revolutionaries, particularly Whittaker Chambers, Tanenhaus' first big subject. Chamber was the Dostoevskian figure who thought that by abandoning Communism he was joining the losing side of history. He also warned National Review not to take up the cause of McCarthyism, which he correctly foresaw would do more harm than good to fighting Soviet infiltration. The warning went unheeded. The second thing the bio should teach is that the mannered and cultivated right-wing sensibility — pinstripes and Masterpiece Theater — is specifically rooted in the English tradition of P.G. Wodehouse and Evelyn Waugh. (Rosen would probably call Wodehouse the "Master.") That makes the following letter Waugh wrote in 1960 so much more delicious to behold:

Can you tell me: did you in your researches come across the name Wm F. Buckley, Jr., editor of a New York, neo-McCarthy magazine named National Review? He has been showing me great and unsought attention lately and your article made me curious. Has he been supernaturally "guided" to bore me? It would explain him.

Some literary types would pay good money to be whipped and tortured like that, and not all of them went to Eton. Buckley had written Waugh, whom he idolized, repeatedly during National Review's infancy, asking him to reconsider his negative opinion of McCarthy, and to please, please, please become a columnist for the journal, a position for which Waugh would be compensated at a rate "higher than what we have paid to Max Eastman, John Dos Passos, Whittaker Chamber..." Perhaps not the best enticement for the dreamcatcher of well-born English snobbery to be baited with more money than was offered to a bunch of ex-Reds. Sure enough, Waugh was unmoved. "Until you get much richer (which I hope will be soon) or I get much poorer (which I fear may be sooner) I am unable to accept," he wrote back. More solicitations arrived in the mail, including favorable reviews of his own books (one by Joan Didion, who, some would be legitimately shocked to learn, used to write for National Review). Eventually, Waugh submitted and did allow himself to be published in Buckley's pages, despite looking on America, as so many crusty British reactionaries still do, with scorn and lordly condescension.

Waugh's correspondent in the above letter, by the way, was Tom Driberg, a university chum in a class that must still rank as one of the most extraordinary every graduated from Oxford: other students included Cyril Connolly, John Betjeman, Graham Greene and Anthony Powell. Driberg was known in his day as one of the most promiscuous and out-and-about homosexuals of literary and political London. He served as a Labour MP in the House of Commons and, to hear Christopher Hitchens tell it, used to dash into parliament to deliver a robust and witty speech on the need for colonial independence, having just sucked off a member of the proletariat in a squalid men's room. "Tom Driberg," remarked Churchill, "is the sort of person who gives sodomy a bad name," yet that didn't preclude his becoming a peer — Baron Bardwell — shortly before his death in the mid-70's. Nor did his own Communist past and ultra-left sympathies prohibit a deep and abiding friendship with nasty curmudgeons who thought the Tories hadn't done enough to wind back the clock. Driberg was also the only witness present when Waugh was received into the Catholic Church—religion being the other twitch upon the thread which bound much of the trans-Atlantic Right.

Anthony Blanche in Brideshead Revisited, now in theaters as a badly adapted Edwardian Cruel Intentions, must have been at least in part based on Driberg (a scene at a "pansy bar" has Blanche and Charles Ryder fending off advances by "Tom" and "Cyril"), and of course any mention of that novel furnishes another irony about stateside conservatism, which has taken it as a kind of imported stylesheet for nostalgic living. Yes, a movement born out of opposition to flagging education standards, rampant secularism, the decline of puritanical values, and the sexual revolution sees a kitsch portrait of drunken spendthrift bisexuals as the artistic complement to standing athwart History and yelling "Stop."

Is it really so shocking, then, that the archdeacon of postwar conservatism found himself writing often for the gentleman's spank-rag of choice? The ideologically hidebound glory in the "languors of youth" and the "hot spring of anarchy," all right. But they thrill at how guilty it makes them feel.

[Real Clear Politics]

(Photo by Violet Blue)