Testimonials

Kendra tries on another handful of wigs, including a mom wig, a bitch lesbian mom wig, and a diner waitress grandma wig. I find each of these wigs especially symbolic because Kendra has NO IDEA how close she is to becoming all of those white trash stereotypes she just mocked. If Hef didn't pick you out of the Painted Ladies line, you'd probably be three kids deep and waiting tables at the Beverly Hills Greasy Silver Spoon. I'm also fairly certain you have strong lesbian tendencies, so a life partner is clearly in your future. And I'm sure your kids will be teenage mamas and daddies, and then you would in fact be a bitch lesbian mom/grandma working in a diner. Count your blessings.

Moving on, back in the Big Apples (looking for some big apples in the Big Apple, Holly?) the girls decide to go sightseeing. First stop: Coney Island. Now, I've been to New York a good number of times and I've never been to Coney Island, so I don't know how much of a tourist attraction it really is. The producers probably figured it would be the best chance at getting the girls in an awkward-yet-enthralling situation - and it worked.

After riding the ferris wheel, the girls play a little game called "Shoot the Freak." Bridget describes the game for us viewers with horror. Basically, this shirtless tan skinny kid with a shield runs around a nuclear wasteland/driving range turf as paying customers shoot paintballs at him. Bridget is upset that they're shooting at a real guy. "Who does this?!" she asks, as if someone is telling her to throw pennies off a cliff so impoverished Vietnamese children can dive in and get them.

She's especially disturbed when the game's MC, for lack of a better word, keeps screaming at the girls to "Shoot the freakin' freak in the freakin' pickle." I can understand why she's upset - these past few years Bridg has had to be especially tender to a certain decomposing pickle.

Good thing I have a freakin' pickle protector.

Next the girls head over to Times Square and meet up with three other Playmates who live in NYC. Bridget decides she has to get a good old-fashioned New York hotdog. Nothing fancy - just hotdog, bun, and yellow mustard. If you think this minutiae couldn't be turned into minor plot point, you're wrong.

You see, Bridget is a yellow mustard aficionado. Dijon, or, as she calls it, yellow mustard with specks in it, just is not up to her high, high standards. For mustard to be considered edible for Bridget, it must be the color of the daffodils that grow at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro where there used to be glaciers but aren't any more because Sarah Palin and global warming scared them away, right Ann Curry? (Sorry, I watch the Today Show too much.)

Drawn-out-story short, Bridget and her unfortunate companions visit four hotdog vendors before they find the correct mustard. Holly ate the first one that B rejected, but I wonder what happened to all of the others. I'd like to think that Hollz felt so bad for each of the hotdog-selling foreigners that Bridg turned down that she ate each hotdog, one after the other, because she didn't want to hurt their feelings. And then made them disappear from her stomach with the magic she learned from Criss Angel. Magic bulimia is SO much tidier than regular bulimia.

I just remembered -- I hate mustard.

Back at the mansion, a black-wigged lingerie-wearing pseudo porn star surprises Hef in his bedroom. I was surprised she didn't give the poor old guy a heart attack--she does look really different--but this scene proves yet again that nothing surprises Hef anymore. He chuckles and tells her he prefers her as a blonde. BUT if you rewind your DVR and turn the volume up high enough you can hear him whisper, "You better not have dyed your effing hair for real, you little twit, because, as you know, it says in your contract that all of my sex slaves must be blonde because turns out, unlike what Ponce de Leon told me, sleeping with three young ditzes is the real Fountain of Youth. Now laugh that sexy laugh for me, Seabiscuit."

In New York the girls finally head over to the last audition. Bridget broadcasts her Playboy Sirius show from the hotel and chats with the girls trying out. (Is it me or is this the most-involved cheerleader tryout ever?) At this point, watching all the naked girls throw their underwear at the camera is getting pretty old.

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Posted in Girls Next Door by Anglophista at 5:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)
Last Comment: reckless_saturn_11 on Nov 22, 2008 05:53 AM.