Shamefully Shaggable

Another meme… this time I was mercifully tagged by Geraldine.

This meme reminds me of some crazy psychedelic rock group that I sometimes listen to on Thursday evening when nobody has phoned me for a little pick me up or party. There I am, violently headbanging when suddenly the doorbell rings. The pizza guy is really too gangly and his peach fuzz moustache supports his apathetic glance. He just might skateboard after work with his buds, using pocket money to buy some weed, or he might just surf the internet and download porn. Maybe he has a blog somewhere which shows photoshopped naked Irish cheerleaders. Somehow, in just the right hallway light, he seems like the best deal for Thursday night.

I’m getting ahead of myself… this list is supposed to be about the people I’m ashamed to say I’d love to shag. But, it’s a bit of a paradox. When I find a reason to find someone sexy, I can’t feel ashamed. Respect/awe = sexy = no shame. But whatever…



Larry David: writer, producer, actor

Larry, you’re looking fit. You stand nice and straight, and you’re never short on a good joke. I like the way your nose is slightly long, yet fine. The crooked thin mouth when you tell a retarded joke. And the eyes that are confident and arrogant, while being completely bitchy. That’s right. You are the bitchiest Jew man ever born and I love you for it. Love you enough to cut a hole through a sheet and call me Hasidic.



Mickey Rourke: actor, boxer

Mickey, my love, you really made some mistakes in your life, and I’m worried about the places you go for surgery. Are they licensed? But, even with all the face work, the lumpy bits, I still dig your voice. The voice has a note of ease in it, as if defeat and victory were the same, the devil may care. The way your eyes laugh and cry at the same time, as if the way to sainthood was in absolute hell.

But, most of all, I liked your sex scene in Angel Heart. Do you know that I looked like Lisa Bonet when I was young? Well, I kinda did… anyways… Yeah, you’re always sexy, even when the outside is all broken and baked potato. And I know, under those striped linen pants, you’re hanging strong commando style.




Jan Ullrich: cyclist

Jan, honey bear. I watch you every year with hope, hope that fades fast in the mountains, bittersweet hope that somehow you’ll find your old form one day. I fell in love with you in 2003, when you shit in your pants during the Tour de France. Even now, when I see a minty green Bianchi bike, I think of you, face gloriously chiseled and burnished by the French sun, waving your second/third place flowers in the air, still nursing a mudpie in your shorts. Lance may have won seven times, but I’ll never want to have his little german baby. Sometimes second place cops more ass.



Steve Buscemi: actor

Steve reminds me of this crazy boyfriend I had when I was nineteen. He was a guitarist, the biggest guitarist from a very small Canadian town. He’d had a brief brush with success, but when I got to him, he was already over-the-hill. I slept with him on a dare. Afterwards, he fell in love with me. I can still remember the instant shock of seeing him naked the first time. True to stereotype, he was tall, impossibly skinny, and lank of hair. But, that schlong was a third arm. So, when I see Buscemi in an undershirt and plaid dressing gown I get a special glow. You get the sneaking suspicion that the floridness of his lips is a riddle to the treasure map we could call his whole body. Plus, he’s an ex-fireman.



Stephen King: writer, pop culture columnist

I saved the best for last. This guy is really ugly, but, that’s only on the outside. On the inside, he’s a little boy who still lives with his monsters, toys and carries an unrequited crush for the little girl next door. I’d like to be his pony-tailed girl next door, reading comic books in the basement while he regales me with pithy everyday wisdoms and fears, sweating behind his glasses. I guess this is less a shaggable than it is more the holding hands shy kisses behind the schoolyard kind of thing. I bet he’s still in love with his wife. That’s kind of nice.


I’m passing this meme on to Jermunns, because I’m sure he’ll give good copy, and possibly pass it to Kris, who, being the Hasselhoff of the blogworld, must surely be an expert in this field. I’ll also pass it to my cousin, who is some type of carrier for this chronic disease.