So Hugh Hefner just announced that he’s thinking of extending the Playboy brand to include gay publications and merchandise, using Britain as a test marketplace.
We think this is a great plan. Not because the world could use any more gay porn (well, it COULD, but we’d rather focus our hopes on getting more of things like “equal rights” and “2-for-1 happy hours”). But because the boys in the UK just don’t care about their bodies.
We went to see “Mama Mia!” with an ex in the West End last year, and we were aghast at the fact that all of the shirtless male dancers DIDN’T HAVE VISIBLE ABS. We were agog. Flummoxed. Bewildered. They didn’t even wax their chests!
This obviously violated a cardinal United States rule: If you appear on screen or on stage without a shirt, you must have a great body. Hello! Remember that scene with the naked Bob Hoskins in “Mrs. Henderson Presents”? That would NEVER happen in an American film.
So go ahead, Hef. Inundate those Brits with centerfolds of dudes with shaved assholes. Give ‘em an extra channel of all sixpacks, all the time. Maybe then, one day, years from now, when we visit the thumping mecca that is the G-A-Y nightclub in London, we will be confronted by the beautiful, perfectly sculpted, tanktop wearing, techno-loving, ‘roid abusing, Abercrombie sporting masses.
And on that day, we will grab our vodka soda in its plastic cup, huddle by the bar in alienation and intimidation, cover our ears from the blasting house music, roll our eyes, and think to ourselves. “At last! A place that feels like home!”