People who equate truth with fact are missing the point.

I love my husband but I would totally throw him under the bus for a laugh or (even better!) a chance to bite Shemar Moore.

Shemar MooreThis post will have more than the usual cursing and carrying on and even some of the dirty which, DUH, no one talks about Shemar Moore without some (or a lot) of the dirty. You have been warned. If you don’t want to enjoy the tingle that comes with thoughts of the fine hunk of manly-wonderfulness that is Shemar Moore, I invite you to click on over here, where there is nothing that has anything to do with Shemar Moore. There is also no cursing, so that might be a good thing, depending on your perspective.

No, seriously. I got a little carried away. If I see a nosedive in my subscriber numbers tomorrow, I’ll know that you weren’t paying attention. People with heart conditions, those who are prone to fainting, and decent people everywhere should exit immediately. This is a potty-mouth-post, and there are goats. And there is a great deal of discussion of Shemar Moore and how much I would like to bite him.

If you have a healthy heart, are not prone to fainting, and are a little bit indecent yourself, please feel free to continue reading about Shemar Moore.

Oh, I know! I wrote a guest post today over at Sluiter Nation. There’s nothing dirty in it, so go over and read that instead! Sadly, that post is entirely devoid of discussion about Shemar Moore, but I think it’s a good one, anyway, all about starting school and such.

Still undeterred? Think you can handle it? Then let’s carry on…

Last night Brian and I were flipping channels and came across one of those shows where they talk about celebrities. I don’t really understand those shows because I don’t need to know if a person pays her taxes or screws around on his wife in order to enjoy a movie/TV show/album/book that said person created, but whatever.

Shemar MooreOn this show they were not, sadly, discussing anything to do with Shemar Moore, star of the excellent CBS show Criminal Minds. If those entertainment shows were not called things like Hollywood Tonight or whatever they’re called and were, instead, called Shemar Moore’s Beauty Blazes With the Heat of 10,000 Suns or Shemar Moore Is the Only Living Example of Male Physical Perfection and He Is Also a Kind, Generous, and Intelligent Person Who Pays His Taxes and Never Kicks Puppies, then I might consider watching them.

But they’re not called that, any of them, so we don’t watch, but in this case? We paused for a moment. On the show, they were talking about Ashton Kutcher and how one of the tabloids said he was cheating on his wife.

OK, first? They called Ashton and Demi a May/December romance. What the fuck is up with that? More like May/August if you ask me. I’m no fan of Demi Moore (or maybe I am; is she in any way related to Shemar Moore?), but calling her a December means that I’ve already cruised right through middle age and am now on the cusp of elderly.

Sheesh.

Anyway, Brian asked me, “If we were famous and the tabloids said I was cheating on you, would you wonder if it was true?”

And me? I was all, “No, never! I’ve never worried about you cheating on me, but I would totally mess with the tabloid people. They’d be interviewing me and I’d be all, ‘Oh, yeah! Brian? He’s a wild man! Porking this and bonking that and WHOA! I’m always telling him to slow down, but NO, it’s all this, all the time!” at which point I started thrusting my hips forward in a wildly exaggerated and pornographically cartoonish manner.

Shemar MooreBrian laughed until he was gasping and knocked himself right off the bed with the hilarity of it all. “Yeah, well,” he said, when he could breathe, “I don’t think I could find that many willing partners. It’s not like people are falling all over me like they do to Shemar Moore, you know! I mean, sure, I’m a great looking guy. Brutally handsome, in fact, but Shemar Moore is the perfect example of delicious male fabulosity.”

I’m paraphrasing.

So I thought for a minute, because really, who hasn’t dreamed about pranking the fuck out of those ridiculous tabloids? “I’ll tell them you’re a goat fucker! When we’re famous, I’ll keep a herd of goats in the backyard and after I finish with the hip-thrusting bit, I’ll tell them, ‘I can’t keep that man out of the damn goat pen out back. Yup, quite the goat fucker.’”

Which, let’s face it, I’m pretty sure that if the tabloids accused Shemar Moore of being a cheater, his wife wouldn’t seize the opportunity to tell the world that he can’t keep his pants on, or worse, that Shemar Moore is a goat fucker. That’s sad because I’m having a hard time remembering the last time I saw my husband laugh so hard and really, I’d love to see the tabloid reporters shuffle their feet and try to figure out if I’m for real.

That probably wouldn’t happen because since when do the tabloids need anything to be real? Next time I went to the grocery, it would be right there in my face at the checkout stand:

Brian Jones Is a Goat Fucker!
Wife Maintains His Goat Herd; Neighbors Claim She Taunts the Goats Regularly

Because people? If I had a goat herd, taunting them would SO be my hobby. I can’t think of one single thing about goats that isn’t funny and worthy of a sound mocking.

By the way, I’m pretty sure that Shemar Moore is not, in fact, a goat fucker.

But even if he is, I don’t care. You know what I will do if I am ever in the presence of the beautiful Shemar Moore? I will bite him. I will try to help myself, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to do that. I want to bite Shemar Moore.

Shemar Moore

MEOW!

Hey, what the heck is going on here? Why, we’re pranking the internet, of course! Think of it as Fun With SEO, which is fun enough, but I funner-ed it by adding sex. And biting. And Shemar Moore. And also goats. I don’t usually meme-up, but this one seemed so right. Shemar Moore (beautiful, brilliant, charming Shemar Moore), you’ve just been John C. Mayered!

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59 comments to I love my husband but I would totally throw him under the bus for a laugh or (even better!) a chance to bite Shemar Moore.

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