Courtesy of The Examiner:
Remembrance of Porn Past
When I was a student at UNC-Chapel Hill, chasing girls, smoking illicit natural substances, and wondering how many years I could string out my undergraduate experience before I ran into the inevitable brick wall of graduation and adult responsibilities, I spent some time perusing magazines of substance such as Playboy and Penthouse. I actually did read the articles — both regularly published interesting political and social material, though I thought Playboy‘s taste in fiction was a bit too insular and exclusionary for my non-Upper East Side taste — but I did spend a substantial amount of time looking over the pictures. Those ladies were pretty.
It’s probably worth noting that my roommate, who actually had the Playboy subscription, forbid us to read the magazine, or even to open it, until we had successfully “found the bunny.” That exotic little chore involved sitting and staring at the cover for a length of time anywhere from a few moments to the better part of the afternoon, until we had found the small bunny logo hidden somewhere on the cover. Sometimes it was hidden in some nice lady’s bosom, sometimes on a G-string, sometimes in a more original location. As I remember, the most difficult one to find was in a cover shot of a lovely brunette dressed as a cop, although no cop I’ve ever seen displayed as splendid a chest as this one. Hefner and his merry band of photography gnomes had placed a tiny white bunny on the tip of her police whistle. Took us all day and a good part of the night to find it; at one point there were at least six of us, guys and girls alike, crouched over the magazine with our noses an inch from the cover, scanning every millimeter for that damn bunny. We found it, and another month of wonder and airbrushed skin was ours for the taking.
Porn Stormed
For a brief moment, our beloved former Speaker of the House, Newt Gingrich, had a similar opportunity open to him. He could embrace the porn as his own; it was all laid out before him like a Beverly Hills ingenue who’d downed too much Chardonnay. Unfortunately, when news of Newt’s golden opportunity became public, instead of standing up like the red-blooded, clandestinely porn-swilling Americans who voted for him, he ran squealing off into the night, braying about “family values” and “inadvertent,” happenstance errors of the cosmos, like Jimmy Swaggart when his rowdy cousin Jerry Lee Lewis tried to get him to peek at naked women in the hoochie koochie tent. Undoubtedly, liberals were involved in Newt’s discomfiture.
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