Since ending his relationship with the sisters, in January this year, he is said — in what must be one of the most suspect statements of the century — to have been monogamous. Unlikely as it seems, he is perhaps serious about making Harris his wife.
If so, she will be little envied by many of Hefner’s former girlfriends. For they know that, while life at the Playboy Mansion appears to offer all that an aspiring young celebrity might yearn for, she is committing herself to a life of squalid degradation in a cage which is far from gilded.
F.E.A.R. 2: “As far as I know, this is the only game where the good ending involves getting a woman pregnant against your will.”
Jericho: “So you spend the game battling the evil influence of the Firstborn, an abomination created by God as a failure before he made Man. When it’s time for the final confrontation, the Firstborn is… a baby in a bubble. And you don’t even kill it – the game’s other antagonist turns into a dragon, picks it up and flies into a light-up cave vagina with it.”
Drakengard: “So here’s one of the game’s five endings, which involves giant floating cannibalistic babies, suicide bombing and more.”
“Art is not made to decorate rooms. It is an offensive weapon in the defense against the enemy.” — Picasso
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
(or A Visit from Quin and
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and we were watching House –
That episode where he had a webcam pointed at a mouse.
Foreman and Chase were trying not to care
That to be fodder for put-downs was why they were there.
The patients were nestled in their hospital beds,
While House smacked a few of them upside their heads.
And Cuddy with her cleavage, and Cameron the sap,
Figured as foils for more of House’s crap,
When out in the street there arose such a clatter,
I paused the TiVo to see what was the matter.
Handing my wife the remote and my beer,
I got off the couch to see who was here.
The pizza guy fishtailing madly through the snow
Had collided with my neighbor’s 1993 Volvo,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Quin and
Henri Webb bringing more beer.
With a twelve-pack in one hand and in the other a stick,
Henri Webb made a strange but impressive St. Nick.
More rapid than a gutter, Quin guzzled one down,
And he whistled and said, “Let’s go out on the town”:
“Now Søren! Now Walker!
Now, René* and Blaise!
On, Flannery! On, Fyodor!
Fie, Despair and Malaise!
To the top of the blog!
To the top of Korrektiv!
Now post away! Post away!
Post some invective!”
As comments that make other wild comments fly,
When they land in the combox like farkleberry pie,
So Quin and Henri began to jeer
At Lickona who showed up with even more beer.
So Quin and
Henri Webb began to get frisky
When they spied Lickona coming with a bottle of whiskey.
*Girard not Descartes.