This is my current screen backdrop. It’s the Scottish town of Inverary, with its castle in the foreground. (right-click to embiggen)
It will come as some surprise, perhaps, to learn that because of the whole hereditary thing, some childlessness and tangled family trees, the current (and next) Duke of Argyll is South African.
Guess what day it is?
So what the hell, let’s blow the damn doors off:
And speaking of whiteout, let’s go beyond the pale (SFW):
Now quit that silliness, and get off… to work.
I see with some regret that the exquisite Veronica Carlson, star in many a drive-in horror movie of my youth, passed away last week at, it should be said, a respectable age, of natural causes.
Who she? you ask. Let the camera do the talking:
She was unusual among actresses of her time, in that she steadfastly refused to appear naked in her movies — “often nude, always covered” as one critic wrote of her.
I don’t think she needed nudity to be sexy: 
I see that beautiful New Zealand is opening its borders to tourists next month, and my only thought is:
No. Fucking. Way.
Sure; I’ll endure a 17-hour flight in an economy seat, arrive in Kiwiland only to discover that someone has caught the sniffles so Reichsfuehrer Jacinda Wossname can lock the place up again, inflicting an endless stream of horrible TV, bad food and ugly, badly-dressed and ultra-feministical wimmyns* on my sensitive soul?
Listen: the only reason I’d go Further Down Under would be to watch NZ play rugby or cricket against South Africa or England, and even that’s a dubious proposition.
Now I need to ameliorate my apparent harshness with this observation: while I’ve never met an Australian (male or female) that I didn’t want to punch in the mouth ten minutes after meeting them, I have always enjoyed the company of (male and female) New Zealanders: Australians without the rudeness and attitude, to make it brief. But that’s not enough.
Not gonna happen, and as for the beautiful scenery: you can stick it up your Peter Jackson. Middle Earth, my aching African-American ass.
*hence the old joke: Hear about the Miss New Zealand competition? Nobody won.
I am always amused when women all claim to love a Bad Boy, and then when they get involved with one, are all surprised when he turns out to be, well, actually bad. Such as this idiot:
Evan Rachel Wood has described in horrific detail how her ex-boyfriend Marilyn Manson allegedly tied her up, beat her with a Nazi whip, and electrically shock her genitals when she tried to break up with him.
Errrr perhaps this may have been a slight clue that there was something wrong with the boy, young lady:
Just sayin’. A little commonsense and (dare I say) parental advice heeded may have saved you all the (literal) butt-hurt.
In a photoshoot of two totties I’ve never heard of, who star in a TV show I’ll never watch, on a beach I’ll never visit, there is but one thought running through my mind:
Letting a 4-year-old draw on your body with a Sharpie can never have a good outcome.
Pic posted so you don’t have to click on the link.