This past weekend, for the first time in probably 15 years or more, I was able to purchase a copy of Playboy magazine at a 7-11. The reason why this matters is because the Southland Corporation (which may or may not still own 7-11) famously succumbed years ago to the political pressure of such great divines as Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority to stop all sales of pornographic magazines in their stores. (Apparently, there was no such pressure to stop the sale of tobacco or alcohol or other shit that does actual harm to our society.)
These days, of course, the magazine racks at 7-11 are absolutely alive with the bare skin of hundreds of well-oiled and air-brushed sluts and celebrities, so what possible difference can it still make to ban Playboy? After all, that magazine is probably the least pornographic thing on any rack it rests upon.
I know this because the copy I bought was their 50th anniversary issue. And, Jesus, what a bore! Eight bucks for yet another helping of Hugh Hefner's retarded tastes? He has absolutely retreated into a vanilla fantasy world where every woman should have blonde hair and fake tits. Whatever happened to real and beautiful women? Or, even brunettes? I have paid as little attention to Playboy as possible in the past five or six years because Hefner has no fucking taste!
Compare the 25th Anniversary Playmate Candy Loving to the 50th Anniversary Playmate (whose name I can't recall and for good reason). Candy was a full-figured, dark-haired woman of great beauty. She had a face to remember. And she was as natural as God's bounty. What's this newest girl all about? Very blonde hair, a dime-a-dozen face, and a 34C chest. What the hell? What a thoroughly boring choice for the 50th Anniversary! You'd think they could've come up with a woman on a level with their best, but no. We have to suffer more of Hefner's stunted ideals. More of the same old shots of famous celebrities from the dim past, like Ursula Andress or Joan Collins. More self-congratulatory crap about the "Playboy Philosophy" or retrospectives of Nagel or Neiman or some other aesthetic grotesquerie. Hef's stuff is desiccated and dead. And that's why Playboy is no longer relevant.