Skip to main content

Marge Simpson - the centrefold

Loving the fact that Marge Simpson will be on the cover of the next issue of Playboy (out Friday). Sadly this isn't something we can pick up on the newstands here in the U.A.E. (not that I would be buying it anyway, to be honest) but the idea of a cartoon housewife dollied up in best Playboy bunny style does make me chortle. As is no doubt intended by those clever marketing chaps and chapesses over at Playboy HQ.

A triumph for downtrodden housewives everywhere or a waste of burnt bras? You decide.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Definitely a waste of burnt bras - although, on second thoughts, those Bunnies must have burnt their bras too for they seem to have mislaid their underwear. Are those Bunnies, in fact, misunderstood feminists? I am now confused! Marge - keep your corset on! You have children who will be horrified by your flagrancy.
Kate B. said…
I think the concept of Bunnies being misunderstood feminists is electrifying. Does that mean Mr Hefner is one too? Hmmm.

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

What Price Romance?

Let's talk romance for a moment. Manhattan Mama clearly feels deprived in this department and this is one of the most bewildering aspects of life with her. My latest attempt to remedy this is to make a reservation at A Voce--some interpretation of Tuscan cuisine--that the NYT recently gave three very optimistic stars. I've been a few times on my employers expense, so I know it's nice but I also know what it's going to cost. I'm thinking lucky if we get out of there for less than $150. Tack on another $50 for the babysitter. Then drinks, cabs, etc. Better not to do the math. It's not that MM wouldn't be perfectly happy with a kabab or a trip to the hipster taqueria, maybe some flowers from the corner stand. None of that would register in her mind as this mythic thing know as a DATE, and thus would win me no more points on her end than remembering to take down the recycling. Making a DATE means you're thinking of her, which means you're engaged with h...