Miss November 1985 was the lovely and talented Pamela Saunders. Despite claiming to hate public speaking when she was younger, the Texan bartender spilled a lot of personal refried beans to Playboy during her disarmingly candid and rueful, charming interview.
Photographed by Kerry Morris
“I love men to death,” she declares. “But, you know, they aggravate me. I let men get to me, and I’ve got a nervous stomach. I don’t think I want to get married.” (“Dealing With Dallas,” Playboy, November 1985)
“I guess working in a bar ruined me — you know, watching the way some of these married men act.” Pam medicates her nervous stomach with a steady diet of beer and junk food.
That is totally the way to do it! See, what did I tell you?? Funyuns and Newcastle and a gypsy curse — it’s a three-step weight loss program and it could be right for you!
“I suppose [men] think girls, especially blondes, are stupid. Well, you know,” she says, laughing, “I’m not a true blonde. … I am a klutz. I fall down stairs, spill things. I have to watch myself out on a date.”
This picture is adorable. And finally, in addition to being a klutz who likes beer and junk food, Ms. Saunders doesn’t give a shit about your social niceties when it comes to spic-n-span eat-off-the-kitchen-floor nest-feathering either: “No, I’m a klutz; a slob, too.”
It’s love. Call me!
Final thought — Seth Godin was interviewed in this issue, just after the MENSA spread, about his work with then-employers Spinnaker Software, though he is better known now as the co-founder of Yoyodyne and for coining business terms like Purple Cows and permission marketing. You should check Playboy out, because that old saw about the articles being really good is actually the god’s own truth, y’all.
The most recent addition to the family of lovely and talented Miss Novembers is 2009’s Playboy Playmate of the Month, Kelley Brooke Thompson.
Photographed by Arny Freytag
Miss D and I were talking about the television program “The Girls Next Door” a little while back and I commented, “Don’t even talk to me about Holly Madison right now; I am so mad at her. I would’ve credited her with more brains than this. I’m so disappointed in her.”
This was in reference to the I-once-thought-shrewd Ms. Madison having lost her mind, broken up with Hugh Hefner, and moved out of the mansion to be with that filthy hobo illusionist Criss Angel, who has, on top of that, now broken up with her. Both Miss D and I were completely familiar with the details of all this: I don’t have cable but Miss D keeps me up to speed on the choice, juicier details of reality television, and naturally I keep my own eye on goings-on in the Playboy empire. We are not the only ones, it seems! Ms. Thompson credits “The Girls Next Door,” E!’s reality show about the life of the playmates at Hef’s mansion in Holmby Hills, as the inspiration for her decision to become a nude model.
Kelley has wanted to be a Playmate ever since she became a fan of “The Girls Next Door” four years ago. “I immediately fell in love with Hef and the girls on that show, and I was, like, ‘Wow, it would be really awesome to experience something like that. It’d be like a dream.’” (“Lone Star,” Playboy, November 2009)
You keep on chasing the dream, kiddo! I think Ms. Thompson looks pretty sweet and natural. No hate from this corner.
In keeping with the modern age of her appearance in the magazine, you can hit Ms. Thompson up on the myspace (her current mood is “giggly”!) or the twitter any ol’ time, although her myspace profile is set to private, so you will need an account and an accepted friend request from her to view her pictures. Her most recent tweet is: “Don’t twitter and drink lol”. Words to live by.
She also has a personal website and blog.
Kelley has the mixed bag of blessings of being the Playmate of the Month in the issue of Playboy featuring Marge Simpson on its cover. All hail the gimmicks brought about by the impending death of print media! I say it’s a mixed blessing because, while it means this issue is going to sell bunches more copies than normal, Ms. Thompson may find her pictorial and interview overshadowed by the Simpson shenanigans as far as what is being paid attention to within the pages of the issue. Good luck, kiddo! Time will tell!
So. I’m back from my little trip. It went much better than I thought it would. It was so nice to sit around and talk and enjoy each others company.
I did pretty well at keeping my goal of keeping my legs closed. I only opened them once the whole weekend and that was the first night. Now granted we didn’t have sex persay like I really would have liked to, but I must admit I’m glad we didn’t. The only sexual thing we did consisted of me taking his beautiful cock into my mouth and pleasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore. He says I give the most pleasurable and longest lasting blowjobs that he has ever had. Of course thats a huge compliment and I am flattered. As I taste his warm, kind of sweet cum, my pussy starts to drip of course. At least I didn’t get left in the dark. LOL. I was led to the bedroom where he ate my pussy so good. And than I felt his fingers slide into my nice dripping wet pussy and a finger in my ass. o.O What an amazing feeling. He was busy for about 20 minutes until I exploded and came all over his face..mmhmm.
So. Thats all that happened sexually the whole weekend. I’m kind of disappointed that I let anything happen, but I know everytime I see him, I can’t resist touching and sucking him. I really try so hard to be good when I am around him, but I can’t figure out how.
It’s going to be quite awhile before I see him again, so I’m glad I at least got to see him.
I must admit though…While I was there I had another man on my mind. Someone I’m seeing very soon and someone I feel very connected with. Him and I have become quite close over the past year. He’s quite a big older than me, but man…He makes me feel so wonderful…I look forward to seeing him very soon. I plan on getting into trouble with him. He’s good at making me squirm. LOL..
Ok so this blog was kind of lame. But needed to post one..More thoughts coming later.
Oh sweet Jesus. I’m rubbing my eyes over and over but she’s still right there. How the hell can I get out of this. I’m wondering what a kidney stone feel like, cause I’m convinced I’m passing one right now through the baby-maker. If not, how do I fake it — do I scream like I’m in horrific pain or just double over and act deaf & paralyzed? Hell, it’s not like she would know the difference anyway. Better yet, I bet there’s an app that will let me stare at my phone and make it ring. Seriously, how is nobody calling me right now? That mother rings 47 times a day, but suddenly all is right in the world right now? I pretend I didn’t hear her, but given she’s only 18 God damn inches away now and staring at me with that mixed “please make me feel better” and “I want to smash your face in with a car battery right now” look; I know I’m very, very screwed.
The problem is there are zero good answers you can give to the “do I look fat?” question. Only degrees of less horrible answers. Good chance that each word that comes out of your mouth is equal to 1 week of no sex. Even though you say something sweet and honest like, “no way babe!” — all your wife can think in her head is “CHEATER! I’M GOING TO CUT YOUR BALLS OFF AND FEED THEM TO THE DOG. HAHAHAHA” But you know what, given the circumstances you did okay with that response. It’s only a 3 week death sentence. Now, if you were to actually say something indifferent like “umm no, I guess not”, well enjoy the hand party you just signed up for idiot. And if you actually said something like “well hon, it does look like you have about 6 pairs of jeans on right now” then no doubt you pretty much just turned your bed into a murder scene.
But wait a minute. What in the hell is wrong with you chicks? I absolutely applaud you for wanting to look good and stay skinny. You should. One Kirstey Alley grazing the US is one too many. But a message to all you single digit sizes: unless you’re 4′2″, you’re probably doing okay, so chill the fuck out on “the jiggle.”
I’ll let you gals in on a few secrets. Please memorize them, laminate them on a card, write them in lipstick on the mirror you’re punching right now, or put them on flashcards. Take a minute to decide.
Secret #1: Get ready for this. Here goes — guys do not like the 89lb look. It’s creepy and feels illegal. No guy (that’s not on the Megan’s Law site) wants to feel like he’s with a 14 year old Kenyan boy.
Secret #2: We look at your face and think “son of a bitch she’s sexy.” You look at your own face wondering how you caught the Down Syndrome. You look at your own ass and see jiggle. Your guy looks at your ass and sees a “Vacancy” sign. No joke. Again, your view of things is totally fucked up.
Secret #3: Here’s one that none of you mirror-starved nutjobs seem to get. If you’re in your 20’s or 30’s, and your reasonably thin, taking care of yourself, and somewhat active, then enjoy the fact that you look damn good and your husband/boyfriend honestly thinks you’re hot. So do the Mexican gardeners raking leaves at the bank, and as we’re all aware they gotta be the toughest graders on the planet. So enjoy the hell out of it, because you rarely hear dudes gabbing about how hot a 54 year old is. You’re in hottie prime, please enjoy it before it’s gone. That last sentence goes on the flashcard.
Secret #4: Rate yourself right now on a hottie scale of 1-10. Now add +2 to your number. That’s what your husband/boyfriend and most guys see you as. If you gave yourself a 6, you’re probably an 8. [Now, if you gave yourself a 2, then it does mean you're still only a 4 -- and let's be honest if you're a 4 then there's a good amount of work to do right now. There's no pause button on the calendar honey, you and I both know you should be knee deep in sweat and vomit on a treadmill right about now. You can finish reading this at the gym.]
Secret #5: Be more stripper-like. I don’t mean change your name to Jade and start smelling like strawberries. But, guys like strippers because strippers are confident in their bodies. She has some jiggle or other imperfections, but the stripper knows she’s hot (or pretends to) and radiates that confidence. The stripper is not a size 0 and you do not need to be either. Get your flashcard out at write the following: size zero bad, acting like a stripper good. No stripper has ever been hanging upside down on a pole and asked if her G-string makes her ass look big. [I actually just changed my mind on the strawberries. While you're messing around with $100 perfumes and expensive lotions, I guarantee you the retard on the other side of the bed is 100% aroused by the $3.99 "Strawberry Daiquiri" lotion in the clearance bin over at CVS. Just go get it.]
So, hopefully I gave you some useful tools and advice to consider the next time you’re wrestling the mirror to the ground. You don’t look fat. Just enjoy how ridiculous you look because there will absolutely come a day when you wish you had the body you have now (see #3). I assure you, if you were a dude you would want to do you. 40,000 Mexican landscapers can’t be wrong.
Not many of you know this, but I am actually a secret ninja stalker by night. I make a decent, honest effort to know everything there is to know about you, your friends, your family and your mum, and for the details that I am unsure of, I am confident that I can guess them during the course of the inevitable ‘Who the fuck are you, and why are you outside my bedroom window?’ I am sure that I have the ability to, using the myriad of information available about you on the internet and through published press, that I can construct an almost believable lie, leading you towards my innocence.
Of course, not all of what I have come to learn about you has come from the internet. Believe it or not, I hear about snippets of your life from little known members of yor expansive network of friends and acquantinces, a network that I am dismally failing to penetrate.
What I don’t hear though, I overhear. But I try not to trust that. I don’t want to believe it, because so much of it is so bad, and I refuse to believe it.
As they were walking away, they were talking about something. QED.
When I was a kid, I always wondered why you never saw the actors go to the bathroom. I remember seeing FUN WITH DICK AND JANE starring Jane Fonda and George Segal – I just imdb’d it, so I was about 9 years old – and in that film, Jane Fonda, while talking to George Segal, her husband, casually sits on the toilet, pees and wipes. It was a revelation to me, because I had always wondered why you never saw this. After all, my mother would talk to me while she was peeing. But the other thing I remember was that people in the theater applauded. Now, looking back on it, I’m pretty sure it was just women applauding and they were cheering on Jane for breaking another feminine taboo, jumping one more boundary in the cause of women’s equality. (People did that in the 70’s, didn’t they? Who knew that peeing could be such a political act!) But it was a strange thing to see in what was otherwise an average, Hollywood comedy because they suddenly added this little touch of reality. It was a nice thing to see.
I’ve grown to realize why they don’t show people going to the bathroom in films very often. The simple reason is that nothing very interesting happens in there (and what does is gross!). But I’ve never lost the idea that there are plenty of things that we never see in a film that there is really no good reason not to.
I was watching a trailer of some upcoming film and it had a shot of some beautiful girl’s ass. Of course, she had the kind of perfect ass that only a 26 year old actress who works out four hours a day and is powdered up to perfection could have. It’s a wonderful thing to see, but isn’t that what we see in every movie where we see that ass shot? Think about this: when was the last time you saw a stretch mark on an ass shot in a film? I’m not talking about the superfat ass shot of a girl in a bikini who everybody is making a joke about. I’m talking about a real girl’s ass, with a little bit of sag and a stretch mark or two. It’s not an unattractive thing to see. I remember walking up the stairs behind a girl I had a crush on and seeing a few stretch marks under her ass and thinking it was totally sexy. She must have been about 25 and was by no means fat.
Even films in the 70’s, back when things were more natural and shaving everything was considered weird, if at all, the women were pretty near perfectly beautiful. Jane Fonda wouldn’t have peed on that toilet if her ass was going to hang over the edge of the seat. Jane Fonda, to this day, hasn’t had a sag on her. Obviously, the problem here is as much to do with an actresses vanity as it is with the reality that you and I live in. A shot of cellulite on an actress could kill her career, so why shouldn’t she demand perfection.
But this is just one thing that you don’t see. The interesting stuff always happens behind that door and you shouldn’t always be comfortable with what you see when you go in there. It’s not that there is a price to pay for our voyeurism when we go to a movie, but if you want to look into the life of a character in a film, don’t you want the whole picture? Isn’t that going to mean more to you than the glossed over look of a world so beautiful that it is completely absent of humans?
