A blog about the lesser known bears, chubs and daddies of the world.
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Sunday, 12 June 2011
Where's Arnost? In my basement - that's where
Recently I posted about Paulo Villagio and how, even though he was very cute, his dress sense did push the limits of what I am able to overlook. It must be a theatre thing. This weeks entry is a deliciously cute morsel but sometimes he wears the most horrible combinations. Arnost Goldflam is a Czech actor, director and writer of children's books. And he really knows how to rock the cuddly grandaddy look. In some pictures, he dresses exactly as you would want him to dress. I look at the pics and think 'Awww - he looks so sweet.....what do his cock and balls look like?'. However, he does have a tendency to wear a red and white striped shirt that only serves to remind me Wally from the 'Where's Wally?' books. And I hated them. If you are not familiar with them, 'Where's Wally?' consisted of lots of drawings of large crowds and your task was to spot the titular character. Who never changed his clothes - smelly little bastard. What kind of character would deliberately hide in large crowds and once spotted run to another crowded location? A target - that's who. Wally books were specifically designed to train and identify assassins. If a child shows great ability in locating Wally quickly, they are immediately taken off by government forces and trained as hit men. Or wives of hit men if they are girls (heeheehee). Wally was frantically running for his life from page to page as children mercilessly tracked him down time and time again. Screaming "There's Wally" and pointing like Donald Sutherland at the end of 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'. Nowadays Wally can be found living in an isolated cabin in Northern Alaska, wearing only his striped shirt and a tin-foil hat.
The problem with Arnost wearing this type of top is that he is extremely fuckable. He is exactly the kind of guy I want to see naked, oiled up and ready for a good boning. But that top is going to cause problems. Not, you understand, if I got to go to bed with him because shirts come off. It's my worry that I am now going to associate that shirt with a extremely gorgeous polar bear. I am going to get turned on the minute I see that shirt. The next time I am in a bookstore buying children's book for family or the kids of friends, I'll get a very powerful and obvious erection (possible with pre-cum seepage) the moment I see a 'Where's Wally?' book. Then everyone in the store will think I'm some kind of pervert who gets off hanging around the children's area of a book store. I'll end up on the sex-offender register all because of Mr Goldflam and it won't be because I broke into his house and climbed into bed with him. Although, that could potentially happen too.
There's Wally!! Fuck you - I'm not going to be the only one!
If he is standing in front of a portrait of himself, he should beat the artist to death with their easel
"Hmmmm - a few more of these and I'll be anybody's"
Although he writes children's books, Arnost Goldflam does not feels safe reading to children without some protection. You've seen the kids in 'Hostel' right?
Maybe the portrait is one he painted himself back when his hair and beard were still black and he was living in Paris (hence the Eiffel Tower). Lots of people come to Paris with the notion that it is THE place to take art lessons. Don't ask me why. I only live here!
Arnost looks great, even with the Wally shirt, I must say.
OK...here's the deal: We'll go down to the basement together. I'll hold him down while you have the first go, then you hold him for me. I don't mind sloppy seconds. He'll need to be loosened up anyway...before I can get my big salami in. GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!
OK. I tried this yesterday and Blogger ate my comment again. Whenever I write what I consider to be a real good one, something happens to it in transit and it ends up disappearing. You'd have liked it, too; it was big and long.
So I'll settle for this:
Draw your own pictures of the men you want to fuck and then send them off to them in the mail or better yet, hand deliver them. You're bound to get the results you want. Or nearly so. Make sure your drawings are complimentary and when it comes to delineating their sensitive areas, lie like a motherfucker if you have to. Once you get your foot in their door you can strategize getting something else of yours in at your leisure.
I mean, after all, what use is having the talent you so very clearly possess if you don't utilize it to get yourself LAID every now and then?
Maybe the portrait is one he painted himself back when his hair and beard were still black and he was living in Paris (hence the Eiffel Tower). Lots of people come to Paris with the notion that it is THE place to take art lessons. Don't ask me why. I only live here!
ReplyDeleteArnost looks great, even with the Wally shirt, I must say.
I think you are probably right and he painted it himself - I just don't really want to admit it lol
ReplyDeleteOK...here's the deal: We'll go down to the basement together. I'll hold him down while you have the first go, then you hold him for me. I don't mind sloppy seconds. He'll need to be loosened up anyway...before I can get my big salami in. GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteOK. I tried this yesterday and Blogger ate my comment again. Whenever I write what I consider to be a real good one, something happens to it in transit and it ends up disappearing. You'd have liked it, too; it was big and long.
ReplyDeleteSo I'll settle for this:
Draw your own pictures of the men you want to fuck and then send them off to them in the mail or better yet, hand deliver them. You're bound to get the results you want. Or nearly so. Make sure your drawings are complimentary and when it comes to delineating their sensitive areas, lie like a motherfucker if you have to. Once you get your foot in their door you can strategize getting something else of yours in at your leisure.
I mean, after all, what use is having the talent you so very clearly possess if you don't utilize it to get yourself LAID every now and then?
Really, mogan.