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My mom said to complete it. Her best friend’s daughter worked at Penthouse sadly, my family’s only connection towards the ny publishing world. My mom described the working job as “a f t in the d r.” I giddily contemplated the options provided by this “experience” editorially speaking and, presumably, beyond. Now, since the world that is quaint of pornography quietly shuffles through exactly what the majority are calling its twilight, I l k right back fondly towards the summer time of 1988, the summertime that I became Penthouse‘s very first (and, during the time, just) intern. Every early morning, Read the Rest…