praise to you, hugh hefner, for through your lifestyle, your philosophy and your magazine i cultivated a viable life-ethic. it is with the most immense sadness then that i lament your death. you to me were the guiding star above an ocean of mildew. you to me were the one bright voice amid a hubbub of cacophony and hate-noise. you to me shone in galaxo-brilliance, quaked in gigantica and made the effete males pale.
by kyle foley
each month i looked forward to your latest installment of playboy so that i could not only indulge my fantasy for quick, easy and beautiful women but also so that i could renew my sense of what shape an ideal cosmos should take. through your magazine i learned that the indisputable entity which no one can dispute, the beautiful maxim bright with the most superlative jazz and the rapt bloom that invests each phenomenon with chrysanthemum is the self and its synonym the individual. you taught me the immense value of serving the self at every moment, of exposing the ridicule of sacrifice at each turn and of uncovering the worthlessness of the family’s alleged bronze. for it is the self that reigns in the most conspicuous jumbo, it is the self that uplifts, surmounts and embellishes and the self that quakes when all else fades. to be a mere pawn in a large community is to vanish in insignifica, it is to see feeble returns for one’s labor, it is to witness virtually null reward for one’s steam, sweat-toil and muscle-pull. but when one pleases the self whether it be in the form of entertainment’s glow-beautiful song or through orgàsmo’s zest-flowing throb, one has no doubts whatsoever as to the tangibility of its prize and gem.
you also taught me the astonishing necessity of not only freedom of religion but freedom from religion. for i always intuitively sensed that religion was deeply fraught with contradiction and fallacious dragons. i always sensed that concern for one’s neighbor ranked far below in importance than focus on the self’s glorious sway. i always dimly felt that dedication to the community resounded in much less splendid euphony than the accumulation of luxurious medallions, orbs and ivories. i also deeply resented God’s harsh command of sacrificing for the sake of long-term reward. for your magazine confirmed to me that one can have the luxo-caress, one can indulge in the gembrace now not later.
but all these pale in comparison to your most rapto-fabulous achievement, namely liberating our culture from the oppressive image of the victorian woman, an image that ludicrously bifurcated women into two categories, one good, the other bad. you taught us that on the contrary women are just as eager for emotionless, mechanistic, animalistic sex as men. you taught me, thank celesto-fire, that women are simple, unintimidating, quick to accommodate the masculine furnace. you taught me in the monthly questionnaire that each playmate answered that all women write in the same school-girl handwriting, that all their likes and dislikes can be narrowed down to an easy set of uncomplicated concepts. you taught me that a woman’s intelligence flounders in insignificance and that therefore they must defer to us at every moment. with the birth-control-pill woman was now much freer, much more liberated, much more quick to please our taste for labia and our hunger for the breast. but only did your magazine truly inform me of just how ravenous and lust-flowing they in fact are. i once thought that women were virtuous, slow to defer to a man’s decrees and commands, that it was marriage that truly rapt in halo and i lamented this deep conflict of views. but now, thanks to your magazine supra-glorious, i understand that women on the contrary are much more sex-hungry, much more attentive to the phallus, much more consumed by the friction of the flesh.
in the victorian era courtship was so heavily rigged to favor the female. one could not enjoy woman’s spasmo until the marriage knot had been tied, moreover her father and mother vigilantly guarded their daughter’s chastity, men never able to converse with them alone. now, thank celesto-bloom, the male can engage fornication’s eruptica without having to make a lifelong commitment to one woman’s felicia, safety and security. life is much more free, much more a roam through the exoto-jungle of sexual paradise. the family binds, it suffocates. one forever lives in the same house, one must share his income with hungry children, one must remain bound to one boring women. but the playboy lifestyle in the other valley taught me that that ludicrous arrangement is quaint and that it is much more prudent to be the flamboyant bachelor, each week a new woman, traveling all across the country, new cities, new emeralds, new rainbow.