the Women of Penthouse
Notes from the AlcoholReviews/Penthouse
Pet of the Year Megan Mason
What can I say? I'm a f'in stud. I mean, how many people
can claim that they've gotten intimate with not one but
several stars of the skin trade, specifically the crème
de la crème, the top of the heap, not the basement
girls of Swank or Hustler, or the middle-of-the-road soft
core honeys of Playboy, but the upper floor excellence of
Penthouse for Christ's sake? It's quite an accomplishment,
me thinks. I mean, aside from the girls' agents, managers,
photographers, editors, directors, and all the other guys
they slept with to get to where they are, when you think
about it, what I've done is pretty
sad. Very, very
sad. Never mind.
But I did have fun. And that's all that matters. In fact,
I had so much fun that by the end of the night I puked my
guts out, due to the consumption of a shitload of free vodka.
Amazingly, the girls peddling the vodka were just as hot
as the Penthouse girls. Even the coat check girls were hot.
Now, take this factor (beautiful women) and combine it with
the swanky Metrozor restaurant in Grand Central where the
party was held (a beautiful location) and throw in delicious,
free vodka (beautiful in itself) and how can you not have
a great time?
mysterious F. Sot Fitzgerald
with another Pet
I was invited to the soiree by none other than F.
Sot Fitzgerald, a regular contributor to Freewilliamsburg,
and the founder of his own website, Alcoholreviews.com.
The site was in fact a sponsor of the festival, so while
myself and some of the other Freewilliamsburg staffers were
getting tanked and gawking at the women like schoolboys,
F. Sot was busy schmoozing and working the crowd, never
once even putting a drink to his lips (at least none that
The rest of us, however, like good festival attendees, sampled
each and every vodka offered. Also, in the spirit of the
occasion, we sampled the girls as well. By sampled, of course,
I mean their conversational skills, their demeanors, the
way they carried themselves, secretly judging how well they
represented Penthouse. After all, were they not there as
representatives of the periodical? And was it not our responsibility
to see to it that they carried out their obligations to
the letter, much like, perhaps, a Miss America should? After
all, if you saw Miss U.S.A. walking around all slouched
over with a crack pipe in her mouth, rambling on about how
great communism was or something, wouldn't it be your moral
obligation to slap the shit out of her? So in a similar
fashion, we made sure the girls were suitably sexy and slutty,
like any good Penthouse girl should be.
And this "sampling," it should be noted, did
not manifest itself in any physical fashion, although it
certainly could have. This was due of course to all of our
strong wills and moral characters. It had nothing to do
with the fact that we were dorks or losers. Nor did it have
anything to do with our sexually inadequacies. I mention
this because one of the vodka pushers, some crazy German
guy representing Feigling vodka, told us out of the blue
that he had an 11-inch penis. Why he decided to share this
fact with us is unknown, although it may have been his way
of hitting on us. I was too drunk at the time to tell, although,
now that I think about it, if I was gay, would I really
want to be reamed by a guy with a dick that big? Wouldn't
the opposite be preferable? "Hi there, I'm Steve. I've
got a 1-inch dick. You won't feel a thing."
So after learning this strange piece of information, one
of us told the guy he should be a porn star. His reply was
another shocker: he was. When we pressed him on this, wanting
to know the names of some of his titles, he kind of skated
this issue. I wasn't sure why he did this, but I think it
was because he was a GAY PORN STAR, and perhaps was a little
embarrassed to tell us how much he enjoyed working on Lord
of the Cock Rings, or Monster's Balls, or Moulin
Spooge, or A Beautiful Behind (that's my gay
salute to the Oscars).
Anyhow, enough with all the talk (particularly of penises).
Does one read Penthouse for the articles? Certainly not!
Therefore, without further ado, here are the babes and a
random drunk guy who was chased down by the national guard:
and one of the more
"natural" Penthouse babes.
She wanted me, I swear.
with a Barely Legal Vodka Girl (she had braces)!
with a lovely Not-a-
DRUNK MAN -- you may remeber seeing him jumping the
wall at Yankee Stadium the day Mickey Mantle died --
he proceeded to run around into the outfield for about
4 minutes while being chased by 300 pound security guards
-- then, he started for second base... sliding in beautifully
as the sold out crowd cheered him on -- he made it to
second safely -- but was taken out hard on his way to
know its a party when the National Guard show up. Here
they are on the hunt for the drunk man who had just
shuffled out the door.
Stay tuned for my next report from the Screw Magazine Crack
Festival. You won't want to miss it.
PS: The party was a fundraiser for the firemen and a substantial
chunk of money was raised. Bravo!
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