Good Honest Bodily Fluid

Bob Guiccione would do a reveal. A down and dirty, snarky, erudite, gold medal, on a pedestal, reveal.

Some who had spent many years in the Hanoi Hilton, needing a reset, a heart of gold, a gold medal for a heart of gold, far beyond dreaming of a golden woman,

The Vietnam War had been after the 50s, and/or mid-fifties.

John Wayne had established a manhood. Not a citizenship, but a manhood.

The fifties part of the war had been on behalf of the CIA. Up to the Battle of Bien dien Phu. They’d had problems at the docks in the south of France, and now, from North Vietnam.

In the fifties, after working for Esquire Magazine, Hugh Hefner, deflty capturing Marilyn Monroe, made a splash.

“Here a nude, there a nude, everywhere a nude, nude, nude….”

Via Marilyn Monroe, Norma Jean Morrison. Morrison dance, Dionysian figure

Hugh Hefner’s Marilyn Monroe was artful. Stylish.

You couldn’t see a nipple, or a butt crack, or pubes. A swain, or a swoon, or a Joe DiMaggio, or an Old Man and the Sea, or a swat, a sultan of swat, or a garage, or a gargantuan garage band, or a ring of white lightning water, or a tinge of smoke, or anything Oscar would declare a heart throb.