Levi Johnston’s ‘Playgirl’ Spread: Bland, Sad, & A Far Cry From Peter Steele

Back in August 1995, Type O Negative frontman Peter Steele did a Playgirl cover. And man, he did it right. Readers from that dusty era may remember Steele's unflinching verve--and how he saw the NSFW centerfold role for what it was: A smart way to drum up publicity. Also, he didn't half-ass it (har har!) In fact, he unabashedly pushed Canadian decency laws. Sure the trade-off for showing the full monty meant that Steele would age into a cultish camp figure instead of an immortal goth rock dreamboat. But fundamentally, he'll be remembered for having the cojones to showcase his, well, cojones. In the 14 years of delightful moral erosion following Steele's Playgirl glory, we can't say the same for the first man of Wasilla. Playgirl's new best: a tame monochromatic Levi propped up against a bathroom wall at a Taco Bell somewhere. Blah.

Sure. I get it. $25,000 or $15,000 plus all the chalupas that Johnston, publicist Tank Jones, and the rest of their crew could chomp down, meant that Playgirl’s surviving few in the art and edit departments were probably stretched thin. There’s only so much that Daniel Nardicio, freelancer Juan who has a lucrative day job in Midtown, and intern Vonda can do, since everyone else was fired. Still, considering how arty some of the most unflattering Facebook candids turn out, this stab at publicity pornography is basically a mess.

Regardless, people will log onto the webazine and unless they’re flustered to their breaking point by the quintillion pop-ups that greet them upon visiting that site (not that I’d know!), they may even go as far to enter their credit card numbers and actually pay for a peek at Levi’s Johnston. Spoiler alert! He doesn’t show it. But after such a whirlwind of frantic anticipation, we were all kind of expecting such a massive letdown anyway.

This aimless mission completed, hopefully now Johnston can fly back to Alaska, taking with him new bride Minsley Tortimer or whatever her name is. Once there, the two can quietly raise baby Tripp, with Johnston hunting penguins to prepare for the winter as Prinsley Shortimer awaits his return in their igloo, strumming away on her ukulele with abandon, singing ancient Alaskan folk songs. While nursing baby Tripp, Binsley Zortimer will sing tenderly, “My hands are small, I know / But they’re not yours, they are my own / But they’re not yours, they are my own / I am never broken / In the end only kindness matters.”