Playboy After Hours

If you've been paying attention to recent liquor ads, you may have noticed that girls are finally beginning to get interested in the sauce. For the past 25 years or so, women haven't been allowed to appear in whiskey ads through the self-policing of the Distilled Spirits Institute. But now the ladies are allowed to appear, and even leer a little at the distillate being pushed (though they still can't be shown holding a glass in the new ads, let alone, God forbid, raising one, and "provocative dress" is frowned upon). How come this generous change of heart on the part of the D.S.I.? Well sir, the Institute says that "the social use of alcoholic beverages ... at mixed parties has become an accepted part of gracious living." We'll bet it wasn't easy to come right out and say that, in so many words; it probably took a lot of research, and certainly a lot of guts. Shocking as it may seem, we recently attended a party where the women not only looked at the liquor, but actually d--k it as well.

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A heartening indication that the brotherhood of man is still a consideration for some people, if only in a mercenary sense, was an advertisement we came across in The Pakistan Review (sells for one thin rupee). To the magazine's readership, it bore this message: "Rare Opportunity to acquire Italian Made Prayer Carpets."

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Who needs: to fly 700 mph in a jet and then wait 25 minutes for baggage? ... mixed drinks made with fruit juice? ... college baseball? ... pro football? ... "ways" of life? ... the things a movie star says or does off-screen? ... "independent" research organizations? ... radio wake-up shows? ... theatre-in-the-round? ... too-clever "studio" greeting cards? ... the phrase "Why not?" ... people who walk up escalators? ... television dramas about how rotten it is to be a success? ... novels over 300 pages long? ... more than one middle initial? ... hearty breakfasts? ... sunlamp faces with dead-white hands? ... girls named Billie, Johnnie, Ronnie, Fred? ... shoelaces that break when you're in a hurry? ... fluorescent lights? ... "a credit to his race"? ... fat men in seersucker suits? ... Raymond Massey? ... busy signals? ... rubber plants? ... two-tone shoes? ... parsley? ... pennies?

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Sign in the maternity ward of Tomlin hospital, Cape May Court House, New Jersey: absolutely no visitors allowed except a husband or his substitute.

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Just about to break upon a breathlessly awaiting public are the American-made small cars for 1960. By planting a spy, cunningly disguised as a carburetor, in one of the major automotive factories, we've managed to get our hands on a lexicon of the words that will no doubt be used to describe these compact chariots in forthcoming advertisements:

Smig -- a combination of the words "small" and "big," this will be used to describe small-car maneuverability combined with "big-car bigness."

Prestonomy -- is, of course, big-car "prestige" blended with small-car "economy."

Downette -- down payment on a small car.

Whase -- wheel base on a small car.

Eelb -- made up of the letters left over when you subtract the new whase from the old wheel base, means all the roominess outside the car.

Smar -- any small car. A small-car owner will, of course, be "smarner," if not wiser.

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Elektra Records, we've known for some time, specializes in folk songs of other lands, complete with immensely helpful bilingual booklets of lyrics. But we think they've carried things a mite too far on the corrugated cardboard protectors their discs are mailed in. In the lower left corner, neatly printed in blue ink, appears the stern admonition, do not bend! In the lower right corner, likewise neatly printed, appears the same phrase in some unidentified but exotic dialect: do no bend!

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On the outskirts of Stamford, Connecticut, is one of those palatial automata that grab your car at the entrance and eject it, at the exit, all laundered and polished. Motorists driving onto the ramp where they leave their buggies to the ministrations of the mechanical marvel are confronted with a boldly printed sign under which their untended car vanishes: big brother is washing you.

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A brokerage firm factotum of our acquaintance was passing his secretary's desk recently when he noticed a folded paper on its top, bearing the legend open in case of fire. He opened it, of course, as any other red-blooded and nosy young American executive would have. On the inside was printed: "Not Now! In Case of Fire, Stupid." The embarrassment our friend felt was somewhat made up for a few weeks later. In his organization, the appearance of this magazine is greeted with a scramble for first readership. One month, his well-rounded office helpmeet was present when the mailman brought the office copy. She pounced on it, and sent it in to his office with a note attached: "You will have the honor of being the first." Seconds later, the note was back on her desk. Beneath her message, our friend had scrawled, "Great! When?"