A Brazilian Playboy is something I seriously can't have in my possession for very long.

The first time you look at a Brazilian Playboy is very nice and is in public. You open the magazine, and it flips open to the centerfold page and you realize what a complete gem you've uncovered, and the day brightens like butterfly wings caught in the sunlight. You flip through the pages and take a good, interested, long look at each picture and feel proud of your fanship in the playboy bunny.

The second time is a little more complex and must be the final time the Brazilian Playboy is looked at. It usually happens when you're in a situation that is very private. For instance, you wake up at five or six in the morning and you realize that you're just going to lay there awake with your eyes closed so you might as well take advantage of the beautiful dawn light peaking through the window.

You open the Brazilian Playboy and take a slow, passionate, fumbling glance at each page, letting your mind wander on a seemingly endless journey from picture to picture. Once you've imagined the reality of every body part of the Playboy bunny being a real guest in your home, you then continue to the next set of pictures, to other girls.

Then you view the other girls in reverse order and then the first Playboy bunny. And then the first Playboy bunny in forward motion and then the other girls for a third time. At this point, the Brazilian Playboy must be thrown out. If the Brazilian Playboy is not thrown out at this interval, the third viewing may meet with disaster and, dare I say, damnation.

Because as the second viewing has risen in intensity from the first, so shall the third from the second. If the Brazilian Playboy is viewed for a third time, there may become the involvement of the olive oil from the kitchen as well as hiding your bed sheets in the bottom drawer behind your pants. At this point, the keeping of a Brazilian Playboy could enter an area of medical risk.

Upon the fourth viewing of a Brazilian Playboy, you may call in sick for work, head out into town, and buy some silk sheets, rent a music stand, get some antiseptic cream, and include a quick detour to the lesbian sex shop for assorted ointments.

This, of course, is when you're online with a bunch of women who are all doing the same thing you're planning on doing. It's like being online at the 7-11 with a bunch of beer and a bunch of women who also are buying a bunch of beer. And the only natural thing is to ask them all to come back to your house and join you. But what you don't realize is that the lady at the cash register got the job there because she hates men and wants to spend her day around other people who hate men.

And there you are, a man, who is masturbating, thinking that it's OK to hit on her and all the other chicks in the store because they all know that he's masturbating. And he knows that they're all masturbating, only reaffirming the cashier's hatred for men.

After returning home, the end of the day will consist of painstakingly accurate precision-shaving, antiseptic creams, and bandages, which is really why the Brazilian Playboy should be avoided in the first place.