The BSD: The BSD Approves: Installment 11 (Shanemas Wish List Edition)

It's been a long time and I shouldn't have left you without a dope beat to step to.

But yea, I did.

In the lubricious interim since we last spoke, the BSD has been downing gins and tonics, immersing himself in classical literature, symphonious harmonies, averaging 4 goals and 2.5 assists per game of indoor soccer, and scouring the bowels of the Earth for things both naughty and nice to Approve and Disapprove, as is his mercurial wont.

As I write this tome, I sit besieged by Portrait of An Artist on the Wealth Channel, drinking in its every word and luxurious aim, the BSD making his own capricious assessment of Liberty Leading the People by Delacroix, most assuredly a more poignant, gnostic, and perspicacious estimation of this revolutionary work. Obviously, had the BSD been around at that time we'd be telling a very different story, one more centrally fascinated on drunken debauchery and lewd dealings and probably a painting whose meaning (and focus) is obscured by these inclinations but remains timelessly nevertheless intoxicating.

Now, Ladies, the BSD shall put the paint to this canvas, splash it all over your nude personage, roll you around sloppily and paint-splattered on my masterwork, and adamantly make sweet, sweet passion on you. Sweet, literary and sanguine passion. Right on you. That's right.

Sip it up. That gin is not going to drink itself.

For some reason when I look at this picture, all I can see is the girl on the right. Maybe it's because she's doing that "tongue-into-the-cheek-like-she-really-enjoys-mouth-massaging-the-BSD's-awe-inspiring-junk" face.

Right on. Approved.

(Ladies, take note.)

The BSD has a birthday coming up. Hint hint.

Approved.

Here is another gift idea for the BSD.

Approved.

This photo reminds the BSD of his old penthouse on the Upper East Side and the adjunct fire escape. That, and of course, hollering at bitches from it. Hollering at bitches + fire escape chillin' = Approved.

Leather jacket, so long as the fit is tight and the BSD's slim and slender physique is put conspicuously on display for the indulgence and amelioration of those with the female gift.

Approved.

A bedazzled hat? Fuck yes. Approved.

Oh yeah, this thing. Approved.

I had the help put the sign out front again. It's that time of year.

Approved.

It's No-Shave November and you know what that means- Beard Battles!

Approved.

The BSD loves mirrors because he's never been disappointed nor seen anything he hasn't liked in one.

Approved.

Now that is a motherfuckin cockpit! Put the BSD in this thing and he will take your girlfriend and change her phone number so can't reach her.

Approved.

The BSD was only wrong once- that's when he thought he had made a mistake. His mistake? Thinking he couldn't get away with these glasses.

Approved (He can).

Alas! The BSD's new haircut. Yep, because that's how I roll- high and tight.

See what I did there? There it is.

Approved.

Yeah he is. I hope that motherfucker can make a drink and saves me a seat with all my friends.

If he can, Approved.

Abbey Lee, the incongruousness of your face with the blatant nudity of your torso confuses the BSD, as if you are trying to surprise him by showing up nude, which, let it be known, would not surprise him in the least bit.

But you can bet your sweet Australian ass it would be Approved.

The only costume I've seen which I've liked more than my own. The BSD recently read an article, or maybe it was the dictionary, and he came upon a new word- jealousy. Still not entirely sure of it's meaning, the BSD thinks that maybe that is how he would feel if he was both a) capable of feeling and b) if someone did something cooler than he.

Still, for the effort, this outfit is Approved.

For the fact that it's not the BSD rocking it, Not Approved and you should go choke on a bag of dicks.