Before there were the Kardashians, there were Holly, Bridget, and Kendra on E! getting their tits blurred out on Girls Next Door. Those girls giggled and laughed and pranked and pretended to be lesbians and everything seemed so perfect. Well, think again, Charlie Sunshine! They were fucking miserable. It turns out living in the Playboy mansion as a blonde fuck toy and pegging Hef to the sound of the ceremonial gongs isn’t as fulfilling as one might think. There’s booze and drugs and Bill Cosby old man saliva to help cover the gaps, but according to Holly Madison, that fantasy world….
quickly devolved into an oppressive routine of strict rules, manipulation, and battles with ambitious, backstabbing bunnies.
So, like everybody else’s workplace basically. In Madison’s about to be released autobiography, Fuckety Fuck Fuck Fuck Tits and a Tomato, or something like that, she makes tons of shocking revelations, outrageously shocking revelations, and revelations so shocking, they’re shocking.
Life inside the notorious Mansion wasn’t a dream at all—and quickly became her nightmare. After losing her identity, her sense of self-worth, and her hope for the future, Holly found herself sitting alone in a bathtub contemplating suicide.”
Which is why I never take baths. Gym showers. Never found a dead guy in one of those. I wonder if she slowly slipped beneath the water contemplating her loss of identity. I’ll leave you hanging as to what she did next, but suffice it to say, she’s now married to the dude who makes a mint off the ecstasy fueled Electric Daisy Chain white suburban kids can dance when high music festivals. That fucker makes super bank even after netting out lawsuits for the chicks who don’t survive the parties. I blame the blurred out tits for most of this. It crushed my soul as well.
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