Column:

Alba's Playboy a porn scandal

By Dan Friesen

Published March 7, 2006

As I'm sure many of you know by this point, I like pornography. I use it to masturbate to. But beyond that, I really have no use for it. My favorite kind of porn is anything featuring natural, realistic gals. As such, I have always had a bad taste in my mouth for Playboy. I just have no interest in overly made-up women, with whom I'd have no chance, shot in soft focus. Don't get me wrong. The girls are hot. They just don't do much for my penis and me.

It reminds me of how I think about cars. I appreciate that a '57 Cadillac looks spectacular, but I realize owning one would be a full-time job. All the tune-ups, maintenance and people making offers on it would be more hassle than it's worth. These considerations impede me from even fantasizing about owning a really nice, universally envied car. I'll stick to my '89 Honda Civic thank you, and I'm happy to have it.

Of course, there is a flip side to this coin. Hustler features more realistic women, but the magazine has the realistic women pee on each other. Not my thing.

Anyway, I bring up Playboy because I stumbled upon the most disappointing and seedy scandal to beset the porn world since Traci Lords' underage cooch.

Full disclosure: No cover model, other than Shawnee Smith, could ever compel me to buy an issue of Playboy. My suspicious roommate, Dustin, has a subscription. Dustin is the type of guy who, two years ago, labeled himself metrosexual. He said it himself. It turns out his definition of metrosexual is someone who acts gay and wears a lot of blazers.

Suspiciously absent from his definition are cleaning up after one's metrosexual self, a squeegee in the shower, a penchant for recycling and an uncontrollable urge to go to the gym. I accepted his declaration on a technicality. He has his tongue and both nipples pierced. Anyway, since that South Park episode came out where they skewered the idea of metrosexuality, he has preferred to be referred to as a straight guy who acts gay and wears a lot of blazers. Fair enough.

So, Dustin, like a true gentleman, leaves the Playboys in the bathroom for collective reading. I prefer to read Hunter S. Thompson while I shit, but I suppose it takes all kinds. I was holding my world-renowned Wednesday night poker tournament, and I had to take a bathroom break. I was mid-shit when I realized I had forgotten my book. I looked around and spotted Jessica Alba on the cover of Playboy. I thought to myself, "Hey, I liked 'Into the Blue.' I wonder what her vagina looks like."

I leafed through every damn page of that magazine. I found out the song the Reverend Horton Heat lost his virginity to is "Three Times a Lady." I learned Miss March is turned on by success and off by negativity. The only thing I didn't learn was what Alba looked like nude. I got confused, cold. I wasn't sure where I was. I felt used, humiliated, cheap and dirty. I came back to the poker table solemn, shaken. I couldn't bring myself to share my victimization until an hour later when my friend Jason returned from the bathroom after a similar experience.

"Hey, I just looked at every page in that magazine," he said. "No naked Jessica Alba."

"Yeah, I did the same thing," I responded.

Suffice it to say that we went around the whole table, and everyone but Dustin had a similar experience that same night. I think we all grew a little closer that night, united by our shame.