Big news in the nudie magazine world! Christie Hefner, daughter of Hugh, will be stepping down as the CEO of Playboy Enterprises in January.

I know what you’re thinking: wasn’t that Hugh’s job?

Guess not. I mean, obviously the man is too busy popping Viagra and sleeping with young and oh-so-blonde models to be burdened with the actual business of the magazine!

Which leads me to my next thought (even though I am trying so hard to fight it): what must it be like to be Christie Hefner and have the sluttiest dad on the planet? A dad who started a magazine that featured naked ladies doin’ the spread eagle! A dad who sleeps with women half his daughter’s age! A man who is known for his bedroom antics.

Ewwww.

My mom and dad once held hands in front of me and I had to fight back the vomit. Maybe that’s why Christie is “looking to make a change in her life” after all these years – she’s gotten a bit too old to be spending her evenings picking out full frontal shots with her daddy. Or, you know, she is ready to move onto something more…well…something with less nipple.

But none of that really matters. The important thing is there is a job opening in this crappy economy! Get your resumes in, ladies! This one’s for the takin’.

A woman trying to catch her plane home from Los Angeles to Texas was recently forced to remove her nipple rings to board the plane.

There are so many things wrong with this.

First of all, why are nipple rings setting off the alarm? I understand that the TSA has to be thorough (and I’m glad they are, even if they always put my very semitic father in the terrorist box before boarding a plane…but that’s another issue), but my understanding of this is that they are sensitive to people having metal on or in their bodies than cannot be removed. Yes, a nipple ring is a superfluous example, but there are lots of people who had surgeries that caused their cyborgness. And they have to take planes too.

My next issue with this is that they actually made her remove it. In the airport. WITH PLIARS. So completely dangerous to this woman’s health. Removing piercings in an unsanitary place is just asking for trouble, and a nipple piercing where the skin might have grown around the piercing? It makes me squeamish just thinking about it.

And the humilation! Oh my God. Why did they need her to do such a humiliating thing in public? And according to the article, like the jerkoffs that they are, the male agents who made her do this in the first place were laughing at her. These are people who are supposed to be maintaining public safety. It sounds like they’re more interested in being sadistic assholes.

I hope she sues their asses off.

And I hope her new nipple piercings aren’t too painful.

Do you love helping people figure out how cold it is in a room?

Are you really into guys staring at your chest?

Have you always wanted nipples that were huge and robot-like?

Then get yourself a pair of bodyperks.

“Draw attention to your natural assets,” exclaims their website, “They make you look and feel wonderfully sassy.”

Before a reader can begin to ponder the word ‘sassy’ and why anyone in this day and age would use it, the website goes on to explain what exactly bodyperks are:

“They are lightweight, natural colored, silicone nipples that you insert into your bra and place directly on your own nipple…Create your own look and wear them with tight t-shirts, sexy halters, dresses, twin sets, swimsuits and more”.

Of course. Fake nipples. Exactly what I’ve always wanted. Read More »

Day thirteen at this cracked out music television internship and I can’t seem to find a mode of normalcy. I’d like to think of myself as a fairly spontaneous adventure-seeking type. The every day conundrum, mundane schedules and habitual routine I follow during the school year tends to make me delirious and in need of a strong drink at 10 am (no, not coffee), but this was just insane.

All week I’d been running around Manhattan delivering costume jewelry or picking up edited music video reels, though some days staying in the office and making phone calls and writing e-mails (Not to James Franco, but to his agent’s agent). Needless to say, I was starting to crave a more conventional daily grind.

Today I was scheduled to help with a wardrobe fitting. Figuring I’d be pinning blouses to mannequins in some broke down warehouse. I wasn’t that bothered when my alarm didn’t go off and I was forced to shower quickly, neglecting my usual primping and hair straightening ritual. I’m Persian, and not one of those blessed Persians with the silky dark hair. I got the fro. The frizzy kind.

Rushed to make it to work on time, (Pierre, my very talented and very flamboyant boss would undoubtedly stick me with phone duty if I was even a minute late), I figured I could just pull it back in a wet bun and hide it under a hat from wardrobe. Read More »