Hi, I'm Tina, and I love sunsets, long walks on the beach, cute puppies, and YOU, big boy!

So yesterday, Mr. Gleemonex received an enticement in the mail: a card informing him he'd been "selected" to enjoy PLAYBOY (their caps, their words) for just one dollar per issue! A photo of a young lass, whose areolae we can just almost see, accompanied the invitation. And if Mr. Gleemonex acts fast, says the reverse side, with another view of the young lass (this one just almost showing her biscuit), he will get a FREE DVD entitled "Nude Celebrities" (your definition of "celebrity" may vary; the cover model is a somewhat hostile-looking canteloupe-breasted person I've never seen before). Holy moly, that is one enticing offer, is it not? 

To fully grasp how hilare this is, you'd have to know Mr. Gleemonex -- a Maxim lad he is not, and we have no idea what secret demographic algorithm combining Rolling Stone and various esoteric music gear mags got him on the PLAYBOY mailing list. The closest either of us ever got to accepting a "selection" like that (don't you just love marketing?) is this one time, at a street festival in our poky little meth/surfer town, when we stopped into an antique store (drunk on street fair beer) and happened upon a big ol stash of 70s and early 80s PLAYBOYS. We pawed through those like a coupla frat boys flunked outta Chico, hooting at the centerfold questionnaires and marveling at the many ways in which low self-esteem can peek out from behind cheap lacy underthings.