Hugh Gotta Know When To Say When

Enough, Hugh.  In the last ten years, Playboy as a brand has gone downhill and a Twitter war with a bimbo was the death blow.  I learned a lot about interviewing from reading the magazine (though I despise her, the interview with CSI's Jorja Fox was in-freaking-credible).  In fact, I actually have a tremendous amount of respect for the writing and their editorial standards, but everything else associated with Playboy is going to hell in a handbasket.

They jumped the shark when they went on TV.  Part of the allure (besides the honestly great articles!) was the mystery of the parties and the celebrity scene.  We saw way too much of Hefner and the ladies.  Other stars stayed away for the most part.  Any mystery was long gone, and it left on the same boat as our respect and their collective dignity.  Then there were the spin-offs which were utterly unnecessary.  In fact, they took unnecessary to exciting new levels.  I had hoped to find that there was some intelligence behind the salon hair and fake boobs.  Needless to say, I was sorely disappointed.

The worst of all was the highly publicized failed wedding of Hugh Hefner and Crystal Harris.  The couple aired their dirty laundry on radio, television and Twitter.  The punchline is that nobody really gives a damn.  Hef's rants on sex and frequency reeks of protesting too much, and Crystal is just trying to form complex sentences without a prompter.  We get it, Hugh.  You get more ass than a park bench.  You get more Tang than NASA.  You get laid more than AstroTurf.  We don't need your yammering at the media to know what happens at the mansion, and we sure as hell don't need a second helping all these months later.

Let.  It.  Go.