Now that I have embraced lust as a primary mode of artistic expression, I have freed myself to make complete fun of Tara Reid, even though it has all of the satisfaction of tripping a dwarf. Not being an object of lust myself, I do tend to find myself feeling a little sorry for the woman for having found perhaps the second worst plastic surgeon on the planet. Really, her entire career has been based on her looks (it sure ain't based on her brains), and now they are getting screwed up worse than Bob Denver's post-Gilligan hair.
Of course, the fact that the woman has a movie career at all makes me a bit less than charitable. I can think of several people who are IMHO much better actors, and probably much better people in general.
I was contemplating in this picture that I have the beginnings of a Santa Claus thing happening. Consider how much of my time I spend making toys. And then figure out how much I could enjoy hanging around with Christmas elves. I bet Mrs. Claus can get pretty kinky herself...
Words have made me think. I doubt if I have affected someone's life that deeply, but it does bear notice that if I do consider you a Hot Babe, it certainly doesn't mean that I only consider you a hot babe. Far from it-- if I actually make a point of talking with you, you can be pretty sure that I think a lot more of you than just the way you look in leather pants. Just because I have chosen the path of lust over love does not diminsh my appreciation of you as a human being. Nor does it mean I'm trying to get into said leather pants. Doesn't mean I wouldn't enjoy it, but it's not my highest priority, you know?
Don't get me wrong. I'd like to be in love as much as anybody else. I just don't see it happening any time soon, and in the meantime I don't expect to be taking too much very seriously.