Hugh & Eye

The day after Easter, and chocolate bunnies and Cadbury eggs and jelly beans are all 50% off. I passed this dirty old Peep, ears chewed off & marshmallow-graying, stuck to the pavement outside of the CVS on 88th Street, and I had to take a picture. It was sad in that way you feel bad for unwanted things, but looked a little whacked-out, too, like a psycho-bunny high on its own sugary, spongy supply.

So all that got me thinking about …Hugh Hefner. Like, what is that man’s deal? Clearly, he’s some kind of genius, but it's so deceptively simple, isn't it? He’s lead a honky revolution out of the most primal desire for "big, bulbous bags of fat." No different, really, than Frank Perdue pushing his oven stuffer roasters, or Tom Carvel and Fudgy the Whale.

(Wow. They are a potent triumvirate, aren't they?)

I sound really cranky. Sorry. I think I'm pissed off because writing this called to mind that awful article on breast evolution--did they have to say "drooping bags of fat" for cripes' sake? Something about it was sort of insulting to anyone with boobs.

You know what I say? It's time for everything, not just breasts, to evolve. Frank Perdue, no one in the United States, dear lost land of overconsumption, needs to be stuffing their entire oven with *anything*-- especially not factory-farmed chickens. Hugh, you are way too smart and, yes, progressive, to be even seven-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon linked to Kendra Wilkinson and her narcissistic behavior in--OK, yes I admit i watch this stuff--the new celebrity diving competition "Splash" (how could ANYONE be bitchy to Greg Louganis?!).

And who here wants a slice of Tofudgy the Whale?!