Dear Spam Commenters,
I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for months now. Sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression by not speaking up sooner, but it’s past time you knew: I have no desire to see Miley Cyrus, Rihanna, Paris Hilton, Angelian Jolie, that chick from Transformers, Kim Kardashian, or Kendra Wilson (who the heck is Kendra Wilson?) in their birthday suits.
None. Not now. Not ever.
I’m pretty committed to the team I’m on, and that just happens to be the team that likes boys, thankyouverymuch.
“But wait! Wait! Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!!!!” you are saying. “I have also spammed you with countless links to see pictures of Daniel Radcliff similarly clad.
Well, yes, yes you have. But just because Harry Potter is willing to pull out his wand in public does not mean I want to see it. When you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all, really (oh, and don’t go giving me crap about how some are made of elder and others are made of holly, and some have a phoenix feather inside while others have unicorn hair, and some are around 10 inches long while others are sized differently – they are all basically the same and serve the same purposes).
The bottom line is this: I don’t get porn. I just don’t get it and I don’t want to. Obviously it does something for some people, but I am not one of them (thank goodness, really). Generally speaking, I am a very visual person, but people in the buff? Blargh. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I find nudity disgusting or revolting, but . . . well . . . it’s like feet.
Feet aren’t ugly, exactly, but I have better things to do with my time than look at them, and they certainly don’t turn me on. Feet also aren’t attractive, really, they just . . . are. They serve a valuable purpose, and so I am very appreciative of feet, but beyond that. Meh.
So for me? Viewing naked parts = viewing feet. Please keep that in mind the next time you feel compelled to “share” a link in my comments section. Fight the urge and move along, okay?
Now if you’ll excuse me,
I think I need a pedicure I’m off to have a wizards’ duel it’s time to go walk the dogs. (Yeah, you can think on that until steam comes out your ears, but it won’t change the fact that it really means McH and I are off to walk the dogs who are so spoiled that running around four acres all day just isn’t quite enough for them).
And George . . .