Man Crush

Anthony Bourdain whets my appetites in more ways that one




I was watching the Travel Channel the other day and I realized, Anthony Bourdain is the one man I would want to have as my mate after a nuclear holocaust or if I am left stranded in a remote island.

Viggo Mortensen and Benicio del Toro may have E-Z passes to my loins but, man, Anthony knows how to cooks. And he loves to drink. And he's a happy asshole when it comes to mixing it up with a recreational drug or two.

Did I mention he's one heck of a chef?

The man is just pure bad-boy dreaminess. He's just a bipedal icon for sex and food; my two most favorite things in the world --up there with shoes, panties and mojitos.

So I give you Anthony Bourdain, sexy gastronomic beast.


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Words to live by

Do we not hear the noise of the grave-diggers who are burying God? Do we not smell the divine putrefaction? - for even Gods putrefy! God is dead! God remains dead! And we have killed him! How shall we console ourselves, the most murderous of all murderers? The holiest and the mightiest that the world has hitherto possessed, has bled to death under our knife - who will wipe the blood from us? With what water could we cleanse ourselves? What lustrums, what sacred games shall we have to devise? Is not the magnitude of this deed too great for us? Shall we not ourselves have to become Gods, merely to seem worthy of it?


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