Post-Hump Day Julian Assange Fluffer Unicorn Chaser

Sorry about yesterday: I was travelling and then I was pubbing and then I was sleeping. If I know my audience, you could probably use a dose of cheery-uppy videos and whatnot by this point in the week, so here you go: today’s unicorn chaser roundup

Yes, I bet you didn’t know Public Enemy #1, Information Anarchist and James Bond Villain Julian Assange was a fluffer. But now, we have the evidence:

julian assange is a hardcore fluffer

julian assange is a hardcore fluffer

What? WHAT??? He is TOO straight.

Do click on the image and read the amazing Julian Assange/Harry Potter fanfic. I got no farther than “and he reached into his pants (obviously for his mobile phone)” before losing it completely.

Speaking of gifs of hot men and losing it completely, here is a gif of Prince Harry being adorable with an adorable little kid. Ladies, fasten your ovaries, because they’re going to make a break for it.

Prince Harry is present and accounted for. My ovaries? Not so much.

Prince Harry is present and accounted for. My ovaries? Not so much.

Young Boy: The prince! Where?

Prince Harry: I’m here, it’s me. Sorry to disappoint, but it’s only me

Yeaaaaah. Winning: that’s what it really looks like, Charlie Sheen.

And now for a little dance music: Let’s Dance by Nouvelle Vague, with video from Godard’s Bande à Part. Watching Serge Gainsbourg move, you can see what Fran Lebowitz meant when she said, “People who say they’re really good at dancing mean something entirely different by it.”

And if that hasn’t satiated your appetite for mindless, soothing feel-goodism, here are the celebrity links! Aren’t you excited?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!

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Housekeeping

Serenata Guest House Bed. Entirely Viggo-worthy

Serenata Guest House Bed. Entirely Viggo-worthy

Now, you may not know this about me. I don’t know what you know about me, other than, you know, the obvious: has tentacles, worships Cthulhu, lives in dungeon, keeps human slaves (remember the Versace Twins?), enjoys torturing Jezebel readers and cancer fakers. Everybody knows that stuff.

But what you may not know is just exactly what kind of a housekeeper I am.

Let me put it this way: while nobody has actually fainted, several people have screamed. The Christmas wreath is still on my front door, quietly gathering dust  just as it has been since Christmas 2005. At least I finally took the tree down, and any day now I may wash some dishes. You never know.

I hate housework. You make the beds, you wash the dishes, and six months later you have to start all over again.
Joan Rivers

In any case, I have been known to make my bed up with cotton saris when all my sheets are in the laundry, which does make for a colourful little nest if not exactly (as I found out one warm and sweaty night) colourfast. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is entirely possible to go to bed stone cold sober and wake up paisley.

So, you can imagine that my apartment is not fit for company more often than perhaps once a millennium and that shortly before I move in. Indeed, the squalor is such that even in my daydreams my fantasy lovers and I always go back to their place (and let me just say that Steve Jobs has a lovely houseboat in an isolated cove about a ten minute walk and short flight of ancient stone steps from my house…) but where was I? Right, bitching about my own housekeeping on the blog instead of, you know, keeping house. Well, I keep it; I just keep it in squalor, that’s all.

In any case, however it may be, verily it was said unto them, that last month when I was up in Penticton speaking at the EatDrinkTweet social media for winemakers conference (two words, people: GOODY BAG!) the lovely and fragrant Allison Markin arranged for me to stay at the Serenata Guesthouse, and finally finally I slept in a bed that was suitable for my dream lovers. Silk and cotton with a thread count higher than I can count (without taking off my shoes, that is), with bolsters and pillows and shams and actuals and feathers in everything. I could easily have stayed there the entire weekend, particularly because I stayed up till 4am every night and as I may have mentioned, there was wine involved.

And then I got my friend Rebecca Coleman to immortalize it in the above, so that I can refresh my memory when I imagine myself taking my dream lovers home in the future. It’s so important to furnish one’s imagination well, don’t you think?

Down, Boys!

Well, this is interesting. Okay, it’s not: it’s just weird and hilarious, both inadvertently AND advertently. And filthy.

So you know why it’s here.

via Irina Slutsky

The Greatest Wii Fit Video Of All Time

SFW but just barely. But so, so totally worth the risk: a Playgirl model, performing the Wii Fit hula hoop for your entertainment!

quiz: how much are you worth in bed?

Apparently the average is only $225.82 per hour. Strangely, this is quite a lot more than most of the prostitutes I know earn, but then I do live here.

bedroom toys

Stolen from Stiletto

Hmmm, looks to be quite a lot more lucrative than mommyblogging. Being an agoraphobic, chubby, monitor-tanned old Goth must be more enticing than I’d ever imagined!

I ask, not for the first nor the last time, Does anyone have Steve Jobs‘s number handy?

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