You know, I’m happy for the secretary. Especially ’cause she got her man. That’s an amazing feat because everyone knows that the secretary never gets her man. It’s true. Universities all over the world have done countless studies on it. Okay, that’s a complete bald-faced lie, but researchers in the past have squandered good grant money on shit like the mating habits of ticks, and you know it. Anyway, what year is this? I thought they weren’t even called secretaries any more, but Administrative Assistants. But I guess The Administrative Assistant Gets her Man just sounds weird. Was this like… the fifties and women had to go to secretary school and learn to type with a piece of blank paper draped over their hands so they can’t see the keyboard? Man, every time I think of the word secretary (which is, admittedly, not often), I can only think of one Secretary, and that’s Maggie Gylenhaal.

Amber thinks the cop looks like Jason London, but I think he looks more like Jeremy London. What do you guys think?

He’s not conventionally good-looking, but has a disarming, devil-may-care grin that can melt your drawers right off. He’s talented, charming, funny, and his line deliveries are always on point. All you gotta do is watch him on Firefly (only on DVD, since frickin’ FOX cancelled it after 11 episodes!) and you’ll see what I’m talking about. As Captain Mal Reynolds, he was pretty much a pirate: unprincipled, devious, cunning, a thief… yet he wouldn’t steal from the poor and had a stubborn grip on his own code of honor that may be his tragic flaw. There’s just a presence about this man that will force you to acknowledge him when he’s onscreen and you’ll find yourself unable to look away. He’s commanding, larger-than-life, and devastatingly charismatic. Yet I’m not a fan.

For the simple fact that his followers call themselves Fillionaires. I’m sorry, but that’s just the lamest shit I’ve ever heard. But then again, followers of Christian Bale called themselves Baleheads. What’s more lame?

Either way, Slither is so gonna kick ass this weekend. Go see it, dear readers. You’ll thank me for it, I promise.

ETA (4/17/2006): I have decided to indulge a full-blown crush on this man. I am even willing to be called a Fillionaire. Proudly.

You know what would be awful? If you woke up in a dark room with your wrists and ankles tied up and a gag ball in your mouth. I know some of you pervs out there would dig that shit, but that’s why you keep coming back to my site.

I’m talking about the high-powered, no-nonsense career woman who is running Daddy’s company now that he’s dead and trying to prove to the world that the little Princess can hack it in Wall Street. Unfortunately, she sucks at it and the business is floundering, but for some ungodly reason, refuses to sell the company to a playboy billionaire cowboy corporate raider. The playboy thinks the Princess is “plucky” and “feisty”, but she is also drowning in red ink, so he believes it is up to him to save her and her company. The solution? Marry her, of course! So one day, while she’s walking to her car, he’ll kidnap her, shoot her with horse tranquilizer, stick her in the trunk of his car, and fly them to the Bahamas for a quickie wedding before she can even come to her senses. Throughout the book, he’ll try to convince her that theirs was a whirlwind courtship and that she was the one who insisted on the quickie wedding. The reason she can’t remember the wedding, he’ll reason, is post-traumatic stress disorder from running her father’s company to the ground.

What the bride should have said was, “I want an annulment, you controlling, manipulative psycho! If you don’t let me go now, I’ll take a bowie knife and slit you from navel to nose.”

Thanks to the wacky Amber for this cover.

have never understood the “baby on the doorstep” storyline. What kind of mother would leave her child, much less four of them, with an unmarried bachelor who has no experience with children and would probably manipulate his poor unsuspecting secretary into babysitting them? Wouldn’t a quadruplet birth make the news? Why would the mother give them up? Wouldn’t the government give her tons of assistance and college scholarship for her kids or something? Leaving one child on some guy’s doorstep is bad enough, but he can always rope in his girl best friend or lovestruck secretary into helping him out. Two? It’s chancy, but chicks love twins and it would only help make Uncle Bachelor look adorably hapless, ergo a bigger chance to tap babysitter poon. Three would probably push the poor bachelor into pulling an Andrea Yates. Yes, I went there. Yes, I’m going to hell.

Amber has this to say: “Talk about having a bad day. You have your coffee in hand. You are thinking about that really awsome radio morning show you’re gonna listen to on the way to work. Then damn it, there is FOUR babies on your doorstep. What the fuck, right?”

I totally agree, Amber. Thanks for the cover!

Readers of this site know I can be seriously depraved, but sometimes, I even creep myself out. For example, the first time I ever laid eyes on this freaky-ass still from the new movie, Silent Hill, I couldn’t stop looking at it. It was disgusting, gave me nightmares, and continue to make my skin crawl to this very day every time I look at it, but there’s something about it that compels me to keep looking at it. I feel the same way about this cover. There’s just something creepy, yet oddly hot about it. Sure, it’s CG porn and I have repeatedly expressed in the past how much I hate CG porn, but this… this might be like… the Francis Bacon of CG covers. I can’t even tell if this guy is wearing a hood over his head or if that’s his hair covering his face. And the manacles? Hot. Even the nipple ring (that is a nipple ring, right?) is hot and I don’t even like nipple rings. Man, what I wouldn’t give to go home and find some buff, muscled, submissive hottie tied up in my garage, just waiting to get punished. What the hell am I talking about? I’d probably poke it with a stick, then run away screaming like a girl!