The thing about The Girls Next Door is that I want to hate it. I want to mock it and ridicule it (is that redundant?). I want to MST3K it with my little robot friends.
But I can’t. I’ve tried. Lawse how I’ve tried.
I just… don’t get it. I want to think of Hugh Hefner (Hef) as some dirty old perve, but I can’t really get beyond perverted rich old uncle who sends you cool Christmas gifts and winks at you from across the room. (I never had one of those.)
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to cross Holly (now I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digger ~Kanye West). I think she’d cut me, and then send Kendra in to kick my ass. I like how she operates. I respect that she systematically and methodically (again, redundant?) eliminated the competition, until it is now just she, her best friend Bridget, and the athletic retard who can’t stop her ass-seizures. I do not worry about Holly come Hef’s demise.
Bridget I’m pretty sure I could be friends with. She likes to eat. I like to eat. She photographs well, and I own a camera. We have things in common. Granted, when I say friends I mean the type of friendship where I’d never let her meet my boyfriend and where I’d secretly cheer when she tripped on her way to accepting the Prom Queen Crown. (…everybody loves her, but I just want to hit her ~Saving Jane) Still, she has a few degrees and goals, and she’s a foodie and that makes her good people in my book.
And then there’s Kendra.
Keendra, Keendra, Keendra. I have to believe it’s an act. I’m worried about her. I’m worried for her. I hope she rides this gravy train all the way to Hef’s wake, ’cause I’m not seeing a future for her anywhere else. Pretty fades, y’knowwudI’msayin’? Bridget was clever enough to get a car out of Hef. I’m hoping Kendra gets into property. Or E* bay.
Or you know, this whole Kendra that we see could be simply youth (youth is wasted on the young ~ George B. Shaw) rearing it’s ugly and wrinkle free head. I mean d’yamn, if you had booty like that don’t you think you’d be shakin’ it every chance you got? Oh you KNOW I would.
In the end (as usual) it comes down to sex. What I really can’t assimilate is the fact that Kendra has sex with the equivalent of her grandfather’s creepy best friend at least once a month. *shudder* Holly, definitely I can see. The girl’s got goals. Bridget, sure. She’s a pleaser and the mansion is a stepping stone for a “career” in “broadcasting.” Plus, I think she’s afraid of Holly. But Kendra? Kendra makes me sad. What happened to her that made it acceptable in her head for a man 60 years her senior to shtick it to her?
Or maybe she’s the smartest of the three. Maybe she drugs him and when he comes to assures him that the sex? Eet was fabulous. Puffin.