Archives for May 2014

Holy f**king sh*tballs Batman…it’s Ben Affleck!



Ok PM2, holy shit…have you seen Ben Affleck in the bat suit? I really didn’t think it could get any better when it came to this gorgeous man, but guess what, it just did. I mean he rocks the shirtless thing, there’s no disputing that (The Town people, watch The Town), but fuck me if he doesn’t rock the black latex suit as well. And check out those guns, and those abs, and those cute little bat ears…Ahhhh, I wanna go for a ride in HIS bat mobile…


I nearly pissed my pants out of sheer excitement when I saw this picture. I’ve looked at, googled it, obsessed over it for the last five hours. And that latex suit, fuck me if it doesn’t fit him like a glove, a hot, sexy, run my tongue all over it glove. (Yo, I’m kinda glad he doesn’t have nips in that thing though.) As we’ve discussed before, this boy rocks going shirtless like no one else and now, there’s not a chance in hell anyone can argue that he doesn’t rock that bat suit too. Now all I need is some audio to go with that pic and I’m all set. (OMFG…deep, sexy, hot as fuck…talk dirty to me, PLEASE!) Let the fantasies begin…


Gotta agree with you about the nip thing PM2. That was, without a doubt, the worst addition to the whole Batman get-up…well that and casting Val Kilmer or George Clooney as Batman. But this isn’t about them; this is about BEN FUCKING AFFLECK. And while I’m screaming about this gorgeous hunk of a man, let’s just take a second to discuss how epically awesome this movie is going to be. Not just because of Ben, although let’s get real it will mostly be because of him, but because of the inclusion of Henry Superman Cavill. This is yet another superb piece of casting magic and seeing these two men on big screen in all their latex-suited glory… oh geez, I may need to watch this movie alone… and in 3D…please release it in 3D…


Ugh…Val Kilmer and George Clooney, PM1, just the mention of their names nearly ruined the beautiful image I have in my head of our boy Ben and his hot ass body. Don’t do that again! Thankfully you redeemed yourself with the inclusion of Henry (hot ass muthafucker) Cavill as Superman. Just the thought of the two of them together on screen wearing skin-tight latex makes me want to go Oooooooohhhhhhh. 3D or not, I’ll be there, although I might be licking the screen.


And I’ll be right there with you PM2, although as I said, I may need to watch this movie alone. All that latex and gorgeousness on one screen might be too much for me to watch with an audience. Either way, we’re confident this movie, and Ben Affleck as Batman, is going to rock…hard!

The Fictional BF Games, round 2 – Thor v Loki


So here it is and it’s been a long time coming. Who will win the battle between Thor and Loki? Better yet, who will win Loki???


Right PM2, it’s time we discussed the adorable brotherly bromance that is Thor and Loki. It’s a tough call on which of these boys is hotter. Personally I’d prefer a Thor- Loki sandwich, with me smack in the middle. I mean, they aren’t “real” brothers, Loki did get rescued from the Ice Giants, so it’s totes ok for all of us to be naked together. While I know Thor has the body to die for, I mean seriously…those abs…geez, I’d happily move to Asgard for that alone. But throw in his adorably cheeky and downright naughty, brother Loki, well I’m halfway down the Bifrost, boys.


Glad we agree on this PM1, although I do see a future argument seeing as I’m not big on sharing. But back to these adorable boys, but more importantly, back to Loki. Thor might have a body to die for and yes, those abs are something out of a dream world, but Loki…OMFG Loki. There’s something about this boy and his ability to walk that fine line between love and hate, good and evil that makes him far more desirable. Who doesn’t love a bad boy with a tortured past? Well, clearly I do and with far more intensity than a normal person should have for a fictional character. I’d be more than happy to keep him company in that prison cell. Yep, that’s me running down the Bifrost bridge tearing my clothes off. Pale has never looked so hot.


Couldn’t agree more PM2. What is it about a tortured bad boy that makes us go weak at the knees and wanting to save them? I’m a sucker for it and when you have the cheeky little smile, the naughty evil streak, the playfulness and that god damn fucking hot accent…well I’m sold. And Loki, if you don’t want saving, then I’ll happily go bad for you instead 🙂


Oh PM1, I’m so glad you brought up accents because in my opinion, this is the clincher on why Loki wins this battle hands down. Thor’s accent…ugh, so terrible. Now usually I’m all about an Australian accent (that shit’s a total panty dropper), but in this movie, the Australian/American mix doesn’t fly with me. It just sounds, well, if I’m being honest here, like Thor is a dumb fucking meathead. Sorry… A small derailment from what is truly important here… LOKI! Can we talk about his accent??? PANTY DROPPER! The British accent will desecrate any accent and when it’s on a naughty, naughty boy, well fuck me. Somehow that accent makes his evilness so fucking hot.


Look I agree, Thor’s hybrid accent is strange…but…there’s something about that voice of his that makes the Aussie/American/Brit combination thing work. Actually, what the fuck am I saying, he could read me the phone book in any accent and I wouldn’t care. Especially if he does it shirtless. Loki on the other hand…oh my fucking god…You’re right PM2, a naughty British boy with a cheeky little smile and an evilness that makes my clothes fall off…oh geez, Loki, I’m all yours…anytime, anywhere…


See, here’s where we differ. I hate that stupid hybrid accent and would much prefer if Thor didn’t speak at all, but still do everything shirtless… seriously, I’d rather he do everything naked and silent. But Loki…I want to hear him whisper in my ear, talk dirty to me, hell, he can even ask me to wash the dishes in that fucking accent. I’m down for it all, especially if it ends with him naked and in my bed. So tell me PM1, as we debate these adorable boys, if forced to choose… Let’s say, we’re sitting in a tattoo shop and you have to tattoo Thor or Loki somewhere on your body, who would win out? (Now something about this is probably ridiculous, but completely possible when it comes to the two of us. Too many beverages, combined with our stupidity, and the fact that we are rarely together could make this situation totes plausible.) Who’s it gonna be, PM1???


Pfft…like you have to ask? It’s Loki, of course! And seeing as I’m going first, I’m totes claiming him as mine…back off PM2, I don’t do sharing. 🙂


Hubs B: What the f**k are you thinking?



When I met Hubs B I was nineteen and obviously blinded by love, because when he informed me of his favorite movie, I should’ve run for the hills. But I didn’t.

His favorite movie is one of those conversations that reappears on a fairly regular basis. Today was one of those days.

Hubs B’s love of this movie still shocks me because he is far too brilliant to think this movie is anything but shitastic. But he won’t budge on this one. While flipping through the channels, he noticed the movie was on and stopped to watch it. I gave a good hearty eye roll, but it only spawned Hubs B to defend his love of this idiotic movie.

Like PM1, Hubs B likes to list things in number order. Here’s how his lists went down in explanation of why his favorite movie is totally fucking amazing.

Btw…Hubs B’s favorite movie is Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit (Yep, just typing it made me LOL. For fuck’s sake, even the original Sister Act would’ve been more acceptable.)

So here’s what he tells me:

Top three movies of all time:
1. The Godfather
2. Shawshank Redemption
3. Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit

Lauryn Hill’s career maker:
1. Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit
2. The Fugees
3. Her solo career

I can’t even comment on this shit. It’s fucking ridiculous. Even better, Hubs B is currently asleep on the couch, while Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit is playing. Shitballs…this is my life.


You’re not my diplomat!


“You’re not my diplomat!”

This is a phrase that Hubs B coined a long time ago after a few too many beverages. Not being able to remember the word dictator due to his drunkenness, he tossed in whatever “d” word his cloudy brain could remember. Hilarity ensued, but what began this ridiculous statement, was the fact that Hubs B doesn’t like to be told what to do. He doesn’t like large corporations or advertisements that tell him to like something and he especially doesn’t like when something isn’t exactly right. (The world should be tailored to fit his needs.) He isn’t and has never been a “follow the crowd” kind of person. All of this leads him to host his own personal boycotts against things that piss him off, people that try to be his “diplomat” and whatever other random things that happens to fuck up his day. (I find all of this endearing, hilarious and completely entertaining.)

So last night while watching TV, an ad for H&M came on. Now usually we would have fast forwarded through this ad, but for some reason Hubs B let it play. Had he not, this blog post would cease to exist. Let me set the stage… Hot girl on the beach in a bikini. Hot girl turns out to be Giselle. Now most guys would enjoy the view and tune out whatever else was going on. Not Hubs B. Giselle starts singing while standing on the beach in a very tiny bikini and Hubs B is not impressed. He actually turned to me and said, “Why is she singing?” The annoyed look remained on his face for a few seconds before he responded with, “I’m not shopping at H&M again.”

Still in a huff, the show we were currently watching ended and he hits play on an episode of Chicago P.D. that we had recorded. The episode seems to pick up right in the middle and I can hear Hubs B mumble a few “what the fucks” (it’s a fave of his, too) under his breath. I turned to him and informed him that he needed to watch the previous episode of Chicago Fire, because this is a cross over episode. In all his Hubs B like ways he said, “Fucking NBC isn’t my diplomat,” and continued watching the episode. In the end, he watched the whole episode, whether he was confused or not, I’ll never know, because fuck knows he’d never say that out loud. But when the episode ended his response was, “Take that NBC.”

As much as I love to give him shit, it’s this kind of stuff that makes me laugh like crazy. Here’s a list of a bunch of other stuff he chose to boycott for ludicrous reasons. All of which are totally warranted in his eyes.

  • Cell Phones (This was circa 2001 when they became all the rage. He was keepin’ it real by not having one.)
  • Walgreens (They have a monopoly over the pharmacy world and they’re on every fucking corner.)
  • Wendy’s (Once they gave him a five piece chicken nugget instead of a six piece)
  • Facebook (Just a flat out refusal)
  • Jewel/Osco (They at one point had a card you had to use in order to get the sale price)
  • The entire city of Boston
  • The entire state of Texas
  • United Airlines
  • Expedia
  • The iPhone (He was all about his BlackBerry until he was forced by his company to get an iPhone)

The list is pretty endless and new items are added daily, so I never know what will show up. I’m sure I make this list regularly; he just doesn’t say it out loud.


My What the F**k Weekend


I spent the weekend in the city…well sorta, which I will elaborate on why I say sorta a little later. I’m calling it the What the Fuck Weekend because that’s exactly what it was. I have never said, thought or mumbled the phrase so many times over the course of two days in my life. And if you follow any of what I’ve posted on here, I use the word fuck a lot.

My first what the fuck moment came as I was taking the train into the city. The train was packed for a Friday at 10am. I assumed I was making a great choice by avoiding the early train that all the commuters take, but I was wrong. What I was greeted with was a large amount of college age students heading into the city for a weekend of drunken debauchery. Now I love drunken debauchery as much as the next person (well, maybe a little more) but not on my quiet, relaxing train ride at ten in the fucking morning! The dude behind me proceeded to have a rather loud and slightly slurred conversation about having drunken butt sex with his girlfriend. I’m certain that not only everyone in my train car, but all the people in the next train car, heard this disturbing account of his Thursday night. Seriously kid, what the fuck? Stop making your mother so proud.

Up next, dog strollers. I swear I saw at least six people pushing their dogs in strollers this weekend. Are dogs really this lazy? I’ll answer that… No. People are really that fucking stupid. What the fuck? Please for the love of everything, allow your dog some fucking dignity and let it walk on a leash. If you feel the need to be all haughty and show the public that your dog is in fact fucking awesome, buy the damn thing a gold leash instead. I’m pretty sure I even heard your dog mumble what the fuck as I watched you force its ass into the stroller.

This next part brings me to the friends post PM1 and I wrote a few days ago. (Here it is, in case you missed it.) I met some “friends” in the city. This is where the sorta comes into play. I sorta spent the weekend in the city, because come Saturday my “friends” decided they wanted to go home. After arriving late on Friday, we all decided to get in around noon; I was the only one who arrived on time, just an FYI. We then spent the entire evening doing fuck all, only to wake up to my “friends” deciding to bail. Using lame excuses as to why they needed to head home. “My hubs is upset I’m gone.” Fuck your hubs. Tell him this isn’t the 1950’s. I paid for a goddamn hotel room for the weekend. Thanks “friends” I appreciate you making me have a what-the-fuck face all weekend.

So that was my What the Fuck Weekend. Something I would rather not relive anytime soon. My last WTF is… Seriously people, enough with the making me say, “What the fuck.” I’m done.


Creativity…why is it so f**king hard?



So I recently invested in Photoshop. Because of my job, I managed to land a pretty good deal, which got me the fancy-ass version with all the bells and whistles. We’re not talking the lazy cousin here; we’re talking the full child prodigy. This was an interesting purchase on my part for two reasons. One, I am creatively stupid. Yes I can appreciate something beautiful and fancy, and I understand the whole “less is more” concept, but I’m shit when it comes to creating that myself. The other reason; I am quite possibly one of the most impatient people in the world. Combine that with my anal retentiveness and really, it’s an epic fucking shit storm just waiting to happen.

But let’s start with the buying process.

Now I like to think of myself as being fairly tech savvy, I know my way around the web, I blog, I format and upload books. I single handedly worked out how to download stuff on my computer and stream it to my TV via my Playstation, long before Apple TV cornered the market on that one – don’t think I didn’t notice Apple. I also work in a professional industry, I’m degree educated and like to think I’m pretty smart. So, with this in mind, I was super excited to make my online purchase, which I did pretty successfully I thought, given I was several wines in by the time I made this decision. Actually in hindsight, that’s also quite possibly why I thought buying Photoshop was a good idea in the first place. Fuck knows the creative ideas that flow when alcohol is involved. Anyway, I digress. I made my purchase and then stood by for the email with instructions on how to install it. Well, didn’t this turn into a monumental fucking pain in my ass.

First up, because I bought it via my job, I had to verify with Adobe that I was in fact currently in that job. No problem, they sent me the link and said to follow the instructions on how to send your job proof in. I click on the link, get taken to the Adobe site and can’t find the fucking spot where I upload my details and job proof. Now, I should probably point out at this time that I don’t do well with instruction manuals. In fact I never read them. This not only drives Hubs A insane (he’s a techno-nerd), but also means it’s invariably an endless stream of “fucks”, and “fucking shit fucks”, coming from my mouth until I eventually work it out. Or more realistically, get Hubs A to sort it out. Anyway, at this point, I can’t find the fucking upload button, but what I do notice however, is the big flashing INSTALL HERE button, asking me to download my product.

Fuck it, let’s just do that instead shall we.

So I do, and surprise, surprise, the world doesn’t explode, and instead I get taken to the serial number details. Knowing that the peeps I bought the product from had sent me some long-ass number, I figured (because basically I didn’t read their instructions either) this was my serial number, so I type it in.

What the fucking fuck? It’s too short…as in there are four fucking numbers missing. Fucking hell. So I send them an email, pretty much asking, “What the fuck, where are my fucking numbers?” Two seconds later I haven’t got a reply so I pick up the phone. No-fucking-help on the other end clearly has no idea and gives me Adobe’s helpline instead. For fuck’s sake. So I call Adobe…and this is what the automated-no-fucking-help-voice says to me;

Hello and welcome to Adobe technical support. We blah blah blah …Please press 1 for help with blah blah blah or press 2 for help with blah blah blah. Please note, that we don’t solve these problems; blah blah, how to solve your fucking serial number issues, blah blah, over the phone and require you to email us with your details.



It’s at this point that I slam the phone down and decide I need a drink. Owing to the fact that it’s only ten o’clock in the morning, I’m at work and I’m still a little hungover from the night before, it has to be coffee. Now during my coffee break, I finally receive an email from the peeps who sold me the Photoshop with the fucked up serial number. That went something like this:

Dear PM1,

Thank you for your email. Blah, blah, blah…

The number we sent you is not the serial number. You will need to apply for your serial number by verifying your job via the link we sent you.

Blah blah blah

Signed, No-fucking-help-either.

Oh my fucking god…what the fuck is happening here. Why can’t these fucking fuckers just give me the fucking serial number.

Needless to say at this point, I was about ready to say fuck it and return the fucking thing, figuring this was a sign that yes, I was in fact creatively stupid and didn’t deserve to own this fancy ass product. Then I took a deep breath, calmed the fuck down and actually read through the instructions. And what do you know, there, buried in a pile of fucking instructions, was the fucking link. After that, it went something like this: details uploaded, serial number received, product installed, ready to use.

Now it was time to let the fun begin. Of course at this stage I did what any normal person would do and I opened the product, ignored the dumbass instructions, and starting playing with a photo. This was the result.


Pretty good huh? I would have liked to have given him glasses but I couldn’t work out how to change the fucking brush from black to white 🙂