This week’s episode of Girls Next Door features an extremely uneventful Playboy Superbowl party. I know, it’s hard for the mind to make sense of a sentence that contains both “Playboy party” and “uneventful” – leave it to our fav plastics to make ridiculous frivolity seem blasÃ©. But, of course, the lamer the episode the better the sardonic recapness.
Back away from the Brady jersey.
We open on Kendra chatting with the secretaries in the mansion’s office, which seems to grow smaller and more outdated with each passing episode. They tell her that she has to wear a Tom Brady jersey for the celebrity flag football game she’s been invited to play in on Superbowl weekend in Phoenix. Why a Brady jersey? Because the Pats beat the Chargers in the playoffs.
Oh crap – Kendra looks like she’s going to booty-dance the office staff to death. Luckily, the ladies tell her they’re joking just in time.
The Kenster is so relieved, you’d think they just told her that Hef died and left her all his worldly possessions. “My heart was in my throat! I was gonna puke right now. I’m gonna wipe my shoes with that.” And she does.
I have actually seen first hand Kendra’s devotion to the Chargers when some college friends and I spotted her in Boston the day before the Pats beat the Chargers. In fact, saying “spotted” is a bit of an overstatement because K was a walking stereotype of herself – she was covered in Chargers logos, wore giant sunnies, and had her bleach-blonde hair in that high ponytail we have all come to know and love. She was so obvs, my roommate recognized her from behind.
I’d like to now tell you how she was really rude to us, or said something ridiculous when we chased her down and asked to take a pic with her, but she was perfectly friendly. She made her newly face-lifted mom take the photo (albeit blurry) and then asked us for directions to Cheers.
OK I’ve got that off my chest. Now I can proceed with the relentless mocking.
Over in the Playboy studios, Holly is “directing” a cover shoot of Kayla, some chick she discovered on MySpace. I obvi put “directing” in quotes because Hollz is more of a roller-skating theme-day planner than anything else. But that’s beside the point – what I really want to know is how she convinced a random unsuspecting MySpace user to get naked for Playboy. Here’s how I imagine Holly’s initial message to Kayla read:
“This is Holly Madison. You mite no me from the Girlz Next Door magical picture box show. I think your SUPER hott! Wanna come out to Ellay and take your cloths off for a skank mag? Thanks, WB!
“Luv, Missus Puffin”
I’m not saying Hollz has shit for brains, but she is from the same state as the Russian Watchdog Pit Bull. (No offense to any Alaskans in the gasmii, who are obvs tres intelligent.)
Anyways, so since the cover shoot is taking place in a mock-up of an old school ice cream parlor, Holly decides that everyone has to dress up in ’50s gear to get in the spirit. The studio staff must looove working for the boss’s insipid child bride. I hope Hollz at least dug really far back in Hef’s closet and brought in his old poodle skirts and Elvis wigs for those guys.
“If I didn’t stare at naked girls all day, I’d so quit.”
Cut to Bridget who has found in the Superbowl yet another opportunity to pretend it’s Halloween. She’s headed to Trashy Lingerie to order a custom-made football jersey/Playboy corset for the party the magazine is throwing on game day. Are these girls contractually obligated to throw the Playboy logo on everything they own? I can imagine Bridget’s bunny-bedazzled gravestone now.
Meanwhile, Kendra is getting her hair done by some French Playboy stylist – a scene that is pretty uneventful other than the fact that Kendra relentlessly makes fun of the poor guy’s accent. “Say ‘Superbowl!’” ‘Dra yells, and then horse-laughs at the dude when he pronounces it “suPEARbowl.” Listen, you bleached-blonde necrophiliac coke whore, this guy speaks TWO languages, while you can barley manage one. And he’s allowed to use scissors without safety edges. Leave him the eff alone.
Tu est tres stupide, la Kendrizzle.
Back in the studio Bridg shows up to partake in the theme day festivities with Hollz and the naked MySpace girl. Is anyone else not surprised in the least? I’m dying to know how Bridget, who allegedly has some kind of advanced communications degree, feels about being typecast as “the one who likes to dress up” in a TV show where she plays HERSELF. I can’t imagine that in real life, sans the producers’ insistence, she would show up to a photo shoot she has nothing to do with just to skate around in an old fashioned hairdo and make pathetic-looking ice cream sundaes. Then again, maybe I’m giving her too much credit.
Now Kendrizzle and her Playmate lesbian lover, I mean friend, head to Phoenix for the flag football game. Before the game starts Kendra takes some time to talk shit to reporters. “I always talk the talk but watch me walk it now,” she says. Um, ok, one: if you’re going to quote a clichÃ© at least get it right. And two: shut it.
But at least our girl isn’t the dumbest one there, as evidenced by this exchange with former quarterback Doug Flutie.
K: I used to eat Flutie Flakes all the time!
DF: Where are you from?
Don’t worry, this completely irrelevant follow-up Q doesn’t phase ‘Dra. Without missing a beat she responds, “San Diego.” Hey Doug, you single? If so, I know a girl who owns a condo, has the same IQ as your Patriots’ jersey number (2), and a really high tolerance for aging men. Think about it.
Football + media attention = a very happy Kendra.
Once the game finally starts the other team scores on the first play. The coach takes Kendra out of the game and she is OUTRAGED. “I’m the one that can score the touchdowns and you’re taking me out?!” Luckily, fellow blonde bimbo David Spade is there to comfort her.
Back in LA, Holly is showing Hef the latest centerfold shots when, what’d'you know, Kayla comes in. (OK, I’m going to stop ridiculing the obvi contrived scenes because at this rate, it’s going to get old fast. The show is 87% fake. We know it. Let’s move on.)
Hef likes the pics and congratulates the girls. They giggle vacantly.
In Phoenix, Kendrizzle has been painstakingly waiting to be put back in the game. The coach finally calls her name and she knows it’s “do or die.” Cue the dramatic piano music and slow motion footage.
‘Dra runs down the field, turns back, sticks out her hand, sticks out her boobs, and touchdown! She acts as if she’d just won the Tour de France with only one ball. “I’ll never forget that day, ever!”
Alright, it’s almost time to head to the Playboy Superbowl party. Bridget is dressed in her black and pink jersey/corset and thigh high boots that I’m pretty sure had the worn parts colored in with a magic marker by Julia Roberts circa 1990.
One problem – B can’t find a place to store her cell. She tries to shove it in her clutch, but it gets stuck. Once her makeup artist forces it out, Bridg tries to fit it in her cleavage – no go. She starts to try to put it in her clutch again, but luckily the makeup lady stops her. She finally settles on hiding it where Vivien kept her multicolor condoms.
Hef’s beck-and-call girl.
Over in Arizona, Kendra calls Daddy Hef to tell him about her latest accomplishment. Could it be ANY clearer that this girl is seriously lacking a father figure? Once off the phone, Hef tells Mary the Secretary about how K was the only girl to score a TD, and they respond like any grandparents would.
M: That’s our girl.
H: That’s our Kendra.
Hmm, I wonder if Hef and Mary ever got it on…
Oh god, the horrors of that mental image. I apologize. Anyways, it’s finally time for Hef, Bridget, Holly, and their minions to fly to Arizona for the party. Before they go, Hef tells Mary that he likes to party but also likes to sleep in his own bed. Me too!
Actually, the more I think about it the more I realize how alike Hef and I are. We both like to sleep in our own beds, we both like to wear comfy clothes, and we both spend Saturday nights with at least one platinum blonde – although mine is usually in the form of the well-to-do 5-year-old boy I babysit.
Hef, the girls, and Co. finally make it to the Superbowl party, which seems mediocre at best. Nick Cannon is DJing, but keep in mind that this is a pre-Mariah Nick so he’s that much less interesting. And, surprise, Kendra joins him in the DJ booth.
On the dance floor, Hef tries to bust a move and fails miserably in a really cute grandpa kind of way. You know, if your grandpa was a pervy womanizer.
This super lame episode kinda just fizzles out – but I don’t want to end this recap that way, so instead I will share another experience I had involving our superficial friends… or at least the gate outside the Playboy mansion.
A few years ago my bff and I took a walking tour of the Hollywood Hills with the hostel we were staying at. (Don’t scoff, most American hostels are pretty nice.) As we stood outside the Playboy mans and our guide told us about the building’s history, the megaphone on the big rock near the black iron gate started talking to us. The voice asked us if we wanted to come in. We all assumed they were joking but of course affirmed our desire to go inside. To our surprise the gate began to open! But just as we started to take a step toward the driveway the gate swiftly closed, and the voice on the megaphone in the rock laughed.
Perhaps GND is Hef and the girl’s way of laughing at the conventional society they are closing out. Or maybe they’re just fucking with us.