I have been blessed with a rich life during which I have met presidents, kings, racing drivers, jocks, and just about every other imaginable sort of celebrity. I am often asked to recall those encounters--and in the spirit of expanding the bounds of good taste, I often do. Who would have dreamed that the Eisenhower years or even the swingin' sixties would become so interesting to a generation that never lived through them? And who would have dreamed that I would get so much pleasure out of telling them about it?

Personally, the greatest thing about getting older is being here to enjoy it. That may seem profoundly obvious at first glance, but consider the longevity of my peers--the so-called glamour girls from decades past.

Thelma Todd, Jean Harlow, Carole Lombard, Francis Farmer, Carole Landis, Veronica Lake, Marilyn Monroe, Betty Grable, Joi Lansing, Cleo Moore, Jayne Mansfield, Barbara Ruick, Leigh Snowdon, Barbara Nichols, Barbara Peyton, Marilyn Maxwell, Marie McDonald, Marie Wilson, Diana Dors, Sharon Tate, Inger Stevens, and Dorothy Stratten were all, in varying degrees, famous, blonde, beautiful, and billed as sex goddesses of their respective eras. Most of them did not live to see fifty-five. Our profession is perhaps the most competitive in the world. For, to be glamorous, to be beautiful, is to be doomed eventually to be disappointed.

As my friend, the late Dorothy Lamour, one of the most glamorous women I have ever known, once said, "Time keeps rollin' on." She shrugged. "What're you going to do?"

Answer: get as old as you can. It's essential.

Whether or not you make your living being beautiful, the longer you live, the more you recognize that special something deep inside all of us that radiates beauty. Regardless of the outside of you, the beauty inside you will never change, for as long as you live.

Shine that beauty on someone else. Time passes quickly and it is the best way to leave your mark. In the memory of others is true immortality.

I know it will never happen. Women have been second class citizens since the first amoeba grew a dick and began paddling around the primordial soup in search of a sweet little girl amoeba to stick it in. I’m sure it didn’t take long for the first female amoeba to discover just what hoops the male amoeba would jump through for a little amoeba ass. We have schemed and plotted ever since, using pussy power to make our way and raise our young in this man’s world.

Gloria Steinam once wrote that if men menstruated, having a period would become an enviable thing. Men would brag about how long theirs lasted and how much flow they had.

So true. I mean, guys, you’ve had everything pretty much the way you wanted it. And, given the state of things on this planet, I can’t say that you have all that much to boast about.

But we’re kind of used to it. You boys will storm around and wreck the best parts of civilization, while you glorify the most destructive inventions and ideas imaginable. You’ll sacrifice a generation or two of the world’s youth to the glory of some belief, or theory, or dogma that really only represents a different way of distributing material wealth, while maintaining control over the masses of the poor.

And, when the campaign is over, blood dripping from your hands, you step back in horror at the deeds you’ve done, and you come to our breasts for comfort. And you fuck us and another generation begins.