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On a cool Wednesday evening, June 22, 2011, FBI agents with the Violent Crimes Task Force gathered at the Bureau’s Los Angeles headquarters on Wilshire Boulevard. They were joined by deputy U.S. marshals and heavily armed members of the LAPD SWAT team. The agents and cops were wired, tense with anticipation, for they were hoping to take down the FBI’s most wanted man, a criminal who had evaded capture for more than 16 years despite one of the largest worldwide manhunts in history.That man, these agents believed, was living with his mistress in an apartment complex in Santa Monica just five miles from where the task force had assembled. James “Whitey” Bulger, criminal mastermind and Top Echelon FBI informant, was wanted for racketeering, extortion and drug dealing, as well as for his alleged participation in at least 19 murders. The agents believed Bulger, now 83 years old, was living under the alias Charles Gasko at 1012 Third Street, two blocks from the beach in Santa Monica, always paying his $1,145 rent on time, always in cash. The painstaking planning centered on how to capture Bulger now that the FBI was convinced it finally had him in its sights. Bulger was considered to be armed and extremely dangerous. An ex-con who had served time in California’s infamous Alcatraz penitentiary, he had sworn he would never go back to prison.The Bureau did not want to screw it up this time. For years the agency had been humiliated time after time in locations around the world—from England to Australia, Italy to Ireland—as tips and reported sightings had failed to produce an arrest. Bulger was a phantom. There was rampant speculation that he was in fact the FBI’s least wanted fugitive, that the Bureau was merely making a show of trying to find him for fear of the consequences of his arrest—of what his secrets would reveal not just about the underworld but about the U.S. justice system itself.At last the bust was about to go down. Sharpshooters had the tree-shaded building surrounded. Fearing a shootout, they decided not to break down the door and go in with guns blazing. Instead they concocted a ruse to lure the gangster from his lair. Agents contacted the building manager and instructed him to call the apartment. When the man they believed was Bulger answered, identifying himself as Mr. Gasko, the building manager told him a storage locker he was using in the basement of the building had been broken into and asked him to come down to make a claim.The balding, white-haired man shuffled from the apartment and took the elevator to the basement. He wasn’t noticeably surprised or even upset when he walked into the trap and found a small army of federal agents with guns pointed at his head.“James Bulger!” an agent yelled. “You’re under arrest! Put your hands on your head. Drop to your knees. Lie facedown. Hands behind your back.”Agents swarmed around him like paparazzi [url=http://www.ccoachfactoryoutlets.com/]coach factory outlet[/url] on Brad Pitt. There was that familiar click and grip of the cuffs around his wrists.“Yes,” he admitted, “I am James Bulger. You got me.”Whitey Bulger smiled. At last he could stop running.The agents took him back upstairs to the apartment, where his 60-year-old companion, Catherine Greig, awaited. There the investigators uncovered almost a million dollars in cash and a huge arsenal of weapons.Bulger looked at his longtime live-in girlfriend, on the run with him for all these years. “Honey,” he said, “it’s time to go home.”Phones rang in the offices of cops, agents, politicians, lawyers and prosecutors and in the homes and hideouts of crooks big and small all over the [url=http://www.ccoachfactoryoutlets.com/]coach factory[/url] globe. Bulger’s flight had ended.For Whitey Bulger was not just some run-of-the-mill bad guy. He was a mythic figure, a folk hero and ruthless murderer, the great criminal mastermind of our time. Loosely portrayed on the silver screen by Jack Nicholson in the Martin Scorsese film The Departed, Bulger ranks on a level with Gotti, Capone and Escobar, and even higher in his hometown of Boston. While executing his alleged 19 hits—strangling and stabbing his victims, dismembering their bodies and yanking out their teeth with pliers to thwart identification—Bulger and his partner, Stephen “the Rifleman” Flemmi, ruled the New England rackets for decades. All the while, it had long since been revealed, they were what is known as Top Echelon FBI criminal informants, or TEs. They were FBI assets. While Bulger and Flemmi ran New England’s underworld, they were protected and allowed to remain active by high-ranking officials within the Department of Justice. ?The FBI claims that after a 16-year manhunt it finally got wind of Bulger’s whereabouts after disseminating a 30-second public-service ad focused on his female companion, the elegant Greig, a former dental hygienist who was known to frequent beauty and nail salons. Aired primarily during women’s TV shows such as Ellen, The View and Dr. Oz, the ad produced more than 200 calls. According to inside sources, a young deputy U.S. marshal zeroed in on the lead that ultimately led agents to Bulger—a mere two days after the ads started to air.The tip supposedly came from Miss Iceland 1974, Anna Bj?rnsdóttir, still stunning at 58, a former B-movie star living in southern California. Bj?rnsdóttir recognized Greig, whom she had befriended over a stray cat the ladies encountered in [url=http://cheapcoachfactorybackpacks2i.webs.com/]coach backpacks[/url] the streets of Santa Monica. That pussy cost Bulger his freedom and earned Bj?rnsdóttir a $2 million reward.But in the highest realms of the Department of Justice, and for students of the Bulger saga everywhere, the capture is not the end of the story but a new beginning. The gangster is a man of many secrets. He holds information that if exposed would send shock waves through the hallowed halls of the Department of Justice. Here is Bulger’s opportunity to end all the lies and tell the world what he knows.There is one man who stands to gain the most by having the truth emerge. That man is former special agent John Connolly, Bulger’s FBI handler. A long time ago Connolly was a highly decorated agent. Now he has been in prison almost as long as Bulger was on the run. Connolly was headed to the yard for a workout at a federal prison in North Carolina when he heard about Bulger’s takedown. All through his workout, the news of the arrest played in Connolly’s mind. When he finished his exercises and returned to the housing unit for the evening count, Bulger’s capture was all over the airwaves.Connolly’s side of perhaps the biggest law enforcement scandal of our time has never been fully told. Until now. In a series of telephone interviews from prison, Connolly spoke about the potentially game-changing arrest of Jim Bulger, his longtime Top Echelon criminal informant.“Was I surprised to hear they caught Jim?” Connolly says. “Yes…but then again no. Yes because Jim had been a fugitive for so long, and as an FBI agent I realized the trail of someone that bright and that disciplined is usually ice-cold after 16 years. I knew Jim Bulger wasn’t going to be making the usual mistakes that result in fugitives being apprehended.“Later,” Connolly remembered, “when I caught up with the news on TV, it hit me. This thing is going to get blown wide open. The potential evidentiary value of Whitey Bulger finally exposing the truth of his relationship with the Department of Justice—and what was done to me to cover that up—cannot be overestimated. That could finally set me free.”South Boston is a neighborhood in the true sense of the word—an Irish American enclave physically and psychologically separate from the rest of the city. It even has its own song: “Southie Is My Hometown.” In the Old Harbor housing project, three Irish American youths were born before World War II to a shared destiny: One would reach the lofty heights of the famously clannish Massachusetts political machine, one would rise to the highest ranks of national law enforcement, while the third would seize the bloody crown of the New England underworld. All three would end up embroiled in a scandal that reached the highest levels of the American justice system.Whitey Bulger got his elementary education in crime as a teenager running with a Southie street gang known as the Shamrocks. He became a journeyman criminal in league with a crew of bank robbers while still in his 20s and was named to the FBI’s most wanted list. Bulger did his first major prison stretch at the federal penitentiary in Atlanta. While there, in the 1950s, he volunteered to ingest massive doses of LSD as part of the CIA’s MK-Ultra program. Becoming a human guinea pig earned him a reduction in his sentence. He was transferred to Alcatraz, the [url=http://cheapcoachfactorybackpacks2i.webs.com/]cheap coach factory backpacks[/url] Harvard of penitentiaries, where he received [url=http://www.ccoachfactoryoutlets.com/]coach factory outlet[/url] the equivalent of a doctorate in criminality. An avid reader and a long-range thinker, Bulger studied military history and warfare tactics while locked up, absorbing such classics as Sun Tzu’s The Art of War and Machiavelli’s The Prince. He emerged from the penitentiary a master criminal on acid and was soon in the thick of the mob wars raging in Boston in the 1960s and 1970s, working his way up until he was running the notorious Winter Hill gang out of Southie.Whitey’s younger brother Billy took the opposite road. He became a “triple eagle” graduate of Boston College High School, Boston College and Boston College Law School before entering local politics. After 17 years in the state senate, Billy was named president of the University of Massachusetts. Later, after his gangster brother absconded from the law in 1995, Billy was hounded out of public life by then Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney for refusing to testify before a grand jury investigating Whitey.Like most of the kids in the neighborhood, young Johnny Connolly was in awe of Whitey. He heard the stories of Whitey having an affair with a stripper from the Old Howard burlesque hall and running off with a traveling circus while most kids were still in school. But Connolly was closer in age to Billy Bulger, and they became friends. Connolly chose to follow Billy’s lead. He got a good education before embarking on a career in law enforcement with the FBI.As a young street agent in Manhattan, Connolly was walking along Third Avenue on a cold December day in 1972 when he recognized fugitive Boston mafioso Francis “Cadillac Frank” Salemme walking toward him. Salemme was a suspect in numerous gangland hits and had been indicted for planting a car bomb that blew one of the legs off a Boston attorney. After a foot chase that ended when Connolly tackled Salemme at the corner of 81st Street, Connolly took the fugitive into custody virtually single-handedly. With the Salemme arrest, Connolly got his wish: He was transferred back to his hometown to work the underbelly of Boston, where both the Irish and Italian mobs were thriving even as they warred for dominance. 1234Next
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Editor's Note: We at Playboy were greatly saddened yesterday to learn of the death of legendary science-fiction writer Ray Bradbury. The partnership between Playboy and Bradbury dates back to our earliest days. His novel Fahrenheit 451, which he wrote in less than two weeks using nickel-slot typewriters available at the L.A. public library, was serialized in the third, fourth and fifth issues of the magazine. Another of our favorites, the short story “A Sound of Thunder,” was published in the June 1956 issue and inspired the term “butterfly effect.” You can read the full story below; visit iplayboy.com to find all of Bradbury’s published Playboy work.THE SIGN ON THE WALL seemed to quaver under a film of sliding warm water. Eckels felt his eyelids blink over his stare, and the sign burned in this momentary darkness:TIME SAFARI, INC.SAFARIS TO ANY YEAR IN THE PAST.YOU NAME THE ANIMAL,WE TAKE YOU THERE.YOU SHOOT IT.A warm phlegm gathered in Eckels' throat; he swallowed and pushed it down. The muscles around his mouth formed a smile as he put his hand slowly out upon the air, and in that hand waved a check for ten thousand dollars to the man behind the desk."Does this safari guarantee I come back alive?""We guarantee nothing," said the official, "except dinosaurs.” He turned. “This is Mr. Travis, your Safari Guide in the Past. He’ll tell you what and where to shoot. If he says no shooting, no shooting. If you disobey instructions, there's a stiff penalty of another ten thousand dollars, plus possible government action, on your return."Eckels glanced across the vast office at a mass and tangle, a snaking and humming of wires and steel boxes, at an aurora, that flickered now orange, now silver, now blue. There was a sound like a gigantic bonfire burning all of Time, all the years and all the parchment calendars, all the hours piled high and set aflame.A touch of the hand on this burning would, on the instant, beautifully reverse itself. Eckels remembered the wording in the advertisements to the letter. Out of chars and ashes, out of dust and coals, like golden salamanders, the old years, the green years, might leap: roses sweeten the air, white hair turn Irish-black, wrinkles vanish: all, everything fly back to seed, flee death, rush down to their beginnings, suns rise in western skies and set in glorious casts, moons eat themselves opposite to the custom, all and everything cupping one in another like Chinese boxes, rabbits into hats, all and everything returning to the fresh death, the seed death, the green death, to the time before the beginning. A touch of a hand might do it, the merest touch of a hand."Hell and damn," Eckels breathed, the light of the Machine on his thin face. "A real Time Machine." He shook his head. "Makes you think. If the election had gone badly yesterday, I might be here now running away from the results. Thank God Keith won. He'll make a fine President of the United States.""Yes," said the man behind the desk. "We're lucky. If Deutscher had gotten in, we'd have the worst kind of dictatorship. There's an anti-everything man for you, a militarist, anti-Christ, anti-human, anti-intellectual. People called us up, you know, joking but not joking. Said if Deutscher became President they wanted to go use in 1492. Of course it's not our business to conduct Escapes, but to form Safaris. Anyway, Keith's President now. All you got to worry about is——""Shooting my dinosaur," Eckels finished it for him."A Tyrannosaurus rex. The Thunder Lizard, the damnedest monster in history. Sign this release. Anything happens to you, we're not responsible. Those dinosaurs are hungry."Eckels flushed angrily. "Trying to scare me!""Frankly, yes. We don't want anyone going who'll panic at the first shot. Six Safari leaders were killed last year, and a dozen hunters. We're here to give you the damnedest thrill a real hunter ever asked for. Traveling you back sixty million years to bag the biggest damned game in all Time. Your personal check's still there. Tear it up."Mr. Eckels looked at the check for a long time. His fingers twitched."Good luck," said the man behind the desk. "Mr. Travis, he's all yours."They moved silently across the room, taking their guns with them, toward the Machine, toward the silver metal and the roaring light.? ? ?First a day and then a night and then a day and then a night, then it was day-night-day-night-day. A week, a month, a year, a decade! A.D. 2055. A.D. 2019. 1999! 1957! Gone! The Machine roared.They put on their oxygen helmets and tested the intercoms.Eckels swayed on the padded seat, his face pale, his jaw stiff. He felt the trembling in his arms and he looked down and found his hands tight on the new rifle. There were four other men in the Machine. Travis, the Safari Leader, his assistant, Lesperance, and two other hunters, Billings and Kramer. They sat looking at each other, and the years blazed around them."Can these guns get a dinosaur cold?" Eckels felt his mouth saying."If you hit them right," said Travis on the helmet radio. "Some dinosaurs have two brains, one in the head, another far down the spinal column. We stay away from those. That's stretching luck. Put your first two shots into the eyes, if you can, blind them, and go back into the brain."The Machine howled. Time was a film run backward. Suns fled and ten million moons fled after them. "Good God," said Eckels. "Every hunter that ever lived would envy us today. This makes Africa seem like Illinois."The Machine slowed; its scream fell to a murmur. The Machine stopped.The sun stopped in the sky.The fog that had enveloped the Machine blew away and they were in an old time, a very old time indeed, three hunters and two Safari Heads with their blue metal guns across their knees."Christ isn't born yet," said Travis. "Moses has not gone to the mountain to talk with God. The Pyramids are still in the earth, waiting to be put up. Remember that. Alexander, Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler — none of them exists."The men nodded."That" — Mr. Travis pointed — "is the jungle of sixty [url=http://herveldresses.com]herve leger dress[/url] million two thousand and fifty-five years before President Keith."He indicated a metal path that struck off into green wilderness, over steaming swamp, among giant ferns and palms."And that," he said, "is the Path, laid by Time Safari for your use. It floats six inches above the earth. Doesn't touch so much as one grass blade, flower, or tree. It's an anti-gravity metal. Its purpose is to keep you from touching this world of the past in any way. Stay on the Path. Don't go off it. I repeat. Don't go off. For any reason! If you fall off, there's [url=http://herveldresses.com]herve leger dresses online[/url] a penalty. And don't shoot any animal we don't okay.""Why?" asked Eckels.They sat [url=http://herveldresses.com]herve leger dresses[/url] in the ancient wilderness. Far birds' cries blew on a wind, and the smell of tar and an old salt sea, moist grasses, and flowers the color of blood."We don't want to change the Future. We don't belong here in the Past. The government doesn't like us here. We have to pay big graft to keep our franchise. A Time Machine is damn finicky business. Not knowing it, we might kill an important animal, a small bird, a roach, a flower even, thus [url=http://coachfactoryhandbagoutlet2u.webs.com/]coach factory online[/url] destroying an important link in a growing species.""That's not clear," said Eckels."All right," Travis continued, "say we accidentally kill one mouse here. That means all the future families of this one particular mouse are destroyed, right?""Right.""And all the families of the families of that one mouse! With a stamp of your foot, you annihilate first one, then a dozen, then a thousand, a million, a billion possible mice!""So they're dead," said Eckels. "So what?""So what?" Travis snorted quietly. [url=http://herveldresses.com]herve leger dresses[/url] "Well, what about the foxes that'll need those mice to survive? For want of ten mice, a fox dies. For want of ten foxes, a lion starves. For want of a lion, all manner of insects, vultures, infinite billions of life forms are thrown into chaos and destruction. Eventually it all boils down to this: fifty-nine million years later, a cave man, one of a dozen on the entire world, goes hunting wild boar or saber-tooth tiger for food. But you, friend, have stepped on all the tigers in that region. By stepping on one single mouse. So the cave man starves. And the cave man, please note, is not just any expendable man, no! He is an entire future nation. From his loins would have sprung ten sons. From their loins one hundred sons, and thus onward to a civilization. Destroy this one man, and you destroy a race, a people, an entire history of life. It is comparable to slaying some of Adam's grandchildren. The stomp of your foot, on one mouse, could start an earthquake, the effects of which could shake our earth and destinies down through Time, to their very foundations. With the death of that one cave man, a billion others yet unborn are throttled in the womb. Perhaps Rome [url=http://coachfactoryhandbagoutlet2u.webs.com/]coach factory online outlet[/url] never rises on its seven hills. Perhaps Europe is forever a dark forest, and only Asia waxes healthy and teeming. Step on a mouse and you crush the Pyramids. Step on a mouse and you leave your print, like a Grand Canyon, across Eternity. Queen Elizabeth might never be born, Washington might not cross the Delaware, there might never be a United States at all. So be careful. Stay on the Path. Never step off!""I see," said Eckels. "Then it wouldn't pay for us even to touch the grass?""Correct. Crushing certain plants could add up infinitesimally. A little error here would multiply in sixty million years, all out of proportion. Of course maybe our theory is wrong. Maybe Time can't be changed by us. Or maybe it can be changed only in little subtle ways. A dead mouse here makes an insect imbalance there, a population disproportion later, a bad harvest further on, a depression, mass starvation, and, finally, a change in social temperament in far-flung countries. Something much more subtle, like that. Perhaps only a soft breath, a whisper, a hair, pollen on the air, such a slight, slight change that unless you looked close you wouldn't see it. Who knows? Who really can say he knows? We don't know. We're guessing. But until we do know for certain whether our messing around in Time can make a big roar or a little rustle in history, we're being damned careful. This Machine, this Path, your clothing and bodies, were sterilized, as you know, before the journey. We wear these oxygen helmets so we can't introduce our bacteria into an ancient atmosphere.""How do we know which animals to shoot?""They're marked with red paint," said Travis. "Today, before our journey, we sent Lesperance here back with the Machine. He came to this particular era and followed certain animals.""Studying them?""Right," said Lesperance. "I track them through their entire existence, noting which of them lives longest. Very few. How many times they mate. Not often. Life's short. When I find one that's going to die when a tree falls on him, or one that drowns in a tar pit, I note the exact hour, minute, and second. I shoot a paint bomb. It leaves a red patch on his hide. We can't miss it. Then I correlate our arrival in the Past so that we meet the Monster not more than two minutes before he would have died anyway. This way, we kill only animals with no future, that are never going to mate again. You see how careful we are?""But if you came back this morning in Time," said Eckels eagerly, "you must've bumped into us, our Safari! How did it turn out? Was it successful? Did all of us get through — alive?"Travis and Lesperance gave each other a look."That'd be a paradox," said the latter. "Time doesn't permit that sort of mess — a man meeting himself. When such occasions threaten, Time steps aside. Like an airplane hitting an air pocket. You felt the Machine jump just before we stopped? That was us passing ourselves on the way back to the Future. We saw nothing. There's no way of telling if this expedition was a success, if we got our monster, or whether all of us — meaning you, Mr. Eckels — got out alive."Eckels smiled palely."Cut that," said Travis sharply. "Everyone on his feet!"They were ready to leave the Machine.The jungle was high and the jungle was broad and the jungle was the entire world forever and forever. Sounds like music and sounds like flying tents filled the sky, and those were pterodactyls soaring with cavernous gray wings, gigantic bats out of a delirium and a night fever. Eckels, balanced on the narrow Path, aimed his rifle playfully."Stop that!" said Travis. "Don't even aim for fun, damn it! If your gun should go off——"Eckels flushed. "Where's our Tyrannosaurus?"Lesperance checked his wrist watch. ''Up ahead. We'll bisect his trail in sixty seconds. Look for the red paint, for Christ's sake. Don't shoot till we give the word. Stay on the Path. Stay on the Path!"They moved forward in the wind of morning."Strange," murmured Eckels. "Up ahead, sixty million years, Election Day over. Keith made President. Everyone celebrating. And here we are, a million years lost, and they don't exist. The things we worried about for months, a lifetime, not even born or thought about yet.""Safety catches off, everyone!" ordered Travis. "You, first shot, Eckels. Second, Billings. Third, Kramer.""I've hunted tiger, wild boar, buffalo, elephant, but Jesus, this is it," said Eckels. "I'm shaking like a kid.""Ah," said Travis.Everyone stopped.Travis raised his hand. "Ahead," he whispered. "In the mist. There he is. There's His Royal Majesty now."? ? ?The jungle was wide and full of twitterings, rustlings, murmurs, and sighs.Suddenly it all ceased, as if someone had shut a door.Silence.A sound of thunder.Out of the mist, one hundred yards away, came Tyrannosaurus rex."Jesus God," whispered Eckels."Sh!" 12Next
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I think that because of what Iwent through I am able to hear what people believe and what they feel and notthink anyone is wrong but just know that’s what is right for them.Playboy.com: Fromyour Twitter presence you seem to be involved in all sorts of volunteering;tell us about that. My volunteering is year-round because I donate 25 percent ofwhat I earn to a different charity. Every quarter of the year I choose a differentcharity but it always has to do with children. I also try to get Twitterinvolved with my fans because I never want to have a platform and not be usingit for good. What I usually do is match my fans dollar for dollar up to acertain amount, so if I donate $2000 and they match me all of a sudden we havea $4000 donation. That’s my favorite way to be able to be charitable. I alsovolunteer hands-on; I’ve travelled all over central Africa and some of SouthAmerica and have worked with children doing music/art therapy. Because of myhistory, a child in need or a child that [url=http://coachfactoryoutlet2w.webs.com/]coach factory store online[/url] is being abused or hungry keeps me upat night. For my birthday I adopted a school. A lot of children go toschool and they have free breakfast and free lunch but then they go home anddon’t have anything to eat. What I did was adopt a school so that they are senthome with a brown bag with dinner in hopes that their parents aren’t taking itfrom them. Also being able to go to these schools and meet these kids because alot of them are beaten and abused and are afraid to let anyone know becausethey are already so different and just want to blend in. This is also a way tobe able to get into their lives, find out what’s going on and maintain arelationship of trust with them. That’s what I’m working on now, and I’mbrainstorming on what I want to work on for next year. I want it to be big!Playboy.com: Youreference that you’re into reading poetry on Twitter; do you have an all-timefavorite poem?I’m not kidding, every morning I read the poem “TheInvitation” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. The moment I read it over a year ago itchanged my life because it’s everything that is important in life. To be honest,this is so cheesy but it asks every first date question that I want answered,so I feel like I bring up the poem and see where the guy is at. I love dating aguy that’s a bookworm and a writer. If a writer falls in love with you, you’llnever die. I’m a huge reader and writer myself so reading this poem everymorning helps me stay focused and cultivate these things. And if a guy evenknows what this poem is we’re definitely having a second date. Playboy.com: You’re anofficial Bellator Girl; tell us about that.It’s an MMA fight league that is every Thursday night, and Iam a huge MMA fan. I have been since I’ve had the job. When people ask what Ido I say I’m a Playboy model and an MMA Bellator Girl, I love doing both. Playboy.com: Who isyour favorite MMA fighter?I really like Michael Chandler; he’s dynamite. There’s not afight that you can watch of his where you’re not on the edge of your seat. Playboy.com: What isthe craziest fight you’ve ever seen?Curran vs. Warren or Chandler vs. Alvarez. Curran vs. Warrenscared the heck out of me, and I don’t scare very easily. I honestly thought Warrenwas dead; when Curran knocked Warren out (they’re both my good friends) he fellover and threw up and looked like he was having a seizure: his eyes were openand his tongue was out. I was certain he had died; it was terrifying. Chandlervs. Alvarez was the best fight I saw in all my MMA years. A lot of fights areamazing and then they have their peak round, and this fight was at its peakfrom the first second to the last second of the entire fight so I think thatwas definitely the fight of the year. Playboy.com: Any sexybehind-the-scenes stories you can share with us? Me and Mercedes, the other ring girl, have this thing wecall Sweet Submission; you can YouTube it, sometimes Spike will air it. It’swhen Mercedes and I show a jujitsu move on each other, and while educational itis also very sexy.Playboy.com: What areyour biggest turn-ons? I really like a big smile on a guy. There’s something abouta guy when he smiles with his [url=http://bagsoutletsonlines.com/]coach factory outlet[/url] eyes and they get small like Josh Harnett andJoseph Gordon-Levitt, it just melts my heart. I think when a guy has a bigsmile he’s the sexiest creature. I love that and obviously also love a charitableheart. I have six traits I want in a guy and they haven’t changed in over adecade. Playboy.com: Can youtell us in a nutshell what these six traits are? I hardly ever tell a guy because I don’t want him to try to becomethose things, but the first one is that he is spiritual. I don’t mind if a guydoesn’t agree with my faith, but I don’t want him to bash it and I won’t bashhis faith. I want to be spiritual, I want to meditate together. Number two is a charitable heart; he wants to make adifference in the world. I don’t want our life together to be how many cars weowned but how we made a difference in the world, how many people lived becausewe lived. Number three would be that he cares about health and fitness.I don’t care if he has a six-pack or huge biceps, but I want someone who canhike with me. I want to be able to kayak and jump off a bridge and I wantsomeone that’s healthy and is able to do that with me. Number four is someone that’s hilarious, and there is nopressure there because I can find the humor in anything, so someone that isable to let loose and say what he feels because that’s going to make me laugh. Number five is that he has the desire to travel because I aman avid backpacker; I like to go to a different country every year. I think itgives me gratitude for life and different understanding of people and wherethey come from. I’ve backpacked four different continents all by myself, andI’ve never done that with someone. Some of the most romantic experiences I’vehad have been at the base of a waterfall in a tent all by myself, and I’d [url=http://bagsoutletsonlines.com/]coach factory outlet[/url] love todo that with someone and have a lovemaking experience, I think that would be soromantic. Number six is that he dances with me. He doesn’t have to bea good dancer, but I love to go to dive bars and dance to swing or country so Iwant a partner that can dance with me and not care about what other peoplethink.Playboy.com: Whichphysical attribute are you most proud of?I think just the fact that I’m all natural, I wouldn’t sayit’s a certain attribute. If I want to change something I hit the gym. Playboy.com: What isyour greatest unfulfilled fantasy?Like I mentioned before, I was [url=http://coachfactoryoutlet2w.webs.com/]Coach factory outlet online[/url] at the bottom of a waterfall.It was just me and a book and a lantern and it was so romantic even all bymyself. Being able to have [url=http://coachfactoryoutlet2w.webs.com/]coach factory online outlet[/url] some romantic or sexual experience in a place likethat in the middle of a jungle would be a fantasy for sure. Playboy.com: What areyour goals for 2013?I just got a manager but I would love to get an agent foracting; I’d love to get into film. Every year I add $5,000 to the goal, so thisyear my goal for raising money for charity would be $40,000. Visit anothercountry, read a book a month. I’m also writing my own book, so to have my roughdraft for that finished. Follow Jade on Twitter @TheJadeBryce or like her on Facebook.