It was so nice out yesterday, my Little Orange Crush and I headed to the park. While I was pushing him on the swings, the little girl next to us was happily yelling at her mother: Swing, Mama! Swing! I pushed my Little Orange Crush… back n’ forth… back n’ forth, in a hypnotic rhyme. Swing, Mama, swing! Swing, Mama, swing! Hell yeh, I thought, Mama can swing too… With the warm breeze blowing through my hair, I fell into a hypnotic fantasy state o’ mind, with my eyes wide shut.
Tom Brady: I’ll let you in on a little secret, I am your biggest
stalker fan. I can’t explain it, but I know deep down that I was put on this earth to be in with you. Letting destiny work it’s magic, we’ll take things nice and slow… savouring every moment. You can whisper sweet nothings in my ear and I will throw my head back in laughter. Your wife? Oh, I`ll gladly fend off Miss Gisele Bundchen… snap one of those twig legs of hers. Teach her a lesson in sharing… You don’t get to look like that and have him all to yourself, you greedy little…! And don’t worry Tom, I`ll give you a show that even Eli Manning can’t take away from you.
Brad Pitt: I’ll be honest, I’m a little worried to tap into this one. I’ve fantasized about you for so long that I don’t want to risk ruining what I know would be earth shattering, wickedly amazing
sex love. So I`m content to just be a fly on the wall and watch you and Miz Jolie do your thing. From the peanut gallery off to the side, I’ll moan call out ever so softly “Oh Tristan!”. And please don’t worry about my feeling excluded… trust me, this Mama’s got her own toy with your name on it. Oh, who am I kidding? YES, YES, YES I’m totally up for a ménage a trois with you and Miz Jolie… and I promise not to record it (fingers crossed behind my back). The only thing I ask is that you name your next child after me, adopted or otherwise… which inevitably names me in your will. Wink! Wink!
Josh Duhamel: My, my… you are eye candy, are you not? I know you`re going to be a Daddy soon, so I’m willing to give you one last ride on the merry go round. That’s right, I’ll make it all about you… not for my
satisfaction benefit at all! But here’s the thing, as hot as you are, I’ve always feared you might have raunchy, blue cheese smelling feet… but I’m willing to bet you mask the smell by marinating yourself in 90s Drakkar Noir. Maybe Fergie would even be willing to serenade us with ‘Tonight’s gonna be a good night’? She seems cool like that…
David Beckham:Our romp will have to be like the movie The Artist: silent and award-winningly good. We all know you are easy on the eyes, but when you open your mouth to speak, well, let’s just say you should stick to playing with your
soccer balls. Oh, and please don’t smile either. No talking, no smiling… just you, your tattoos and your sexy Armani pout! Also, our silent romp will have to be a quick one… in n’ out. BaBam… Ova’. We need to be done just in time for Mrs. Posh Spice to eat her daily 3-grape limit, so she doesn’t catch us and stab me with her protruding collarbone.
Josh Groban: Oh, how sweet and innocent it’ll be. Like a couple of teens in puppy love. You can sing to me… and rub my feet… and hell, peel me a grape while you’re at it! I, in turn, I will wear my Victoria’s Secret angel wings. With your angelic voice and my wings, you’ll raise me up, alright.
Madonna: (Let’s not discriminate here. My swingin’ fantasies involve both sexes!) Although these days you scare me with your pulled-back pizza face and Schwarzenegger arms, I still think you could teach me a thing or two, or ten, between the sheets! All I ask is that you not wear your cone bra… you might burst one of my watermelon-sized utters only to find ourselves in a pool of breast juice. Or is that your thing? Also, maybe you would be willing to wear a bag over your head with the True Blue CD cover on it? Because, well, see my first sentence…
Steven Tyler: (OK. So I’m totally admitting to who my shame f@ck is.) While I’ve loved you my whole life, it’s been platonic… without quiveration. But then you came on to the American Idol scene and captured my tingling
parts heart with your rock star wit and humour. It’ll probably equate to playing pool with a rope, but I’m willing if you are? All I ask is that you file down those painted horny finger nails of yours. Also, please don’t call me ‘Sweetie’ cause that’d just be awkward in a father/daughter kinda way. And I know you’re clean and sober now, but maybe you can make an exception for the night, so we can really do it in a rock star-meets-groupie fashion? Plus, I think I’d have to be drunk to… I digress!
My fictional Christian Grey: As terribly written as 50 Shades of Grey was, I was willing to come back for more, if only to get a little more of Mr. S&M. Take me to your ‘chamber’ and
torture do with me what you wish.
I don’t know who this guy is, but it’s totally how I see my Christian Grey… You?
Whinos, this was a tough – really tough – blog post to write. Almost feeling the need for a ciggie right about now…
And so if you happen to catch me at the park with a naughty smirk on my face while pushing my Little Orange Crush on the swings, just know that Mama is swingin’ too… if only in her dreams!
P.S. Please tell me I’m not the only freak who is crushin’ on Steven Tyler after seeing him on American Idol? PLEASE…
P.P.S. Dear Big J… Don’t worry, you are my real-life fantasy man. (Surprised by my softness?!? Me too. But Big J says he reads my blog… but I think he just pretends! Just in case, I’m practising safe, marital blogging… 😉