The BSD's Assorted Musings: Internet Finds and Tasteful Sensuality

Occasionally when the BSD happens upon certain photos, they strike a deep and often disturbing chord within him, mostly in his nethers, and infrequently, in his blackened heart.

It is in these instances that the BSD, against his better judgment, chooses to share these pictures and his musings with you, the educated, intelligent, gorgeous, and glamourous readers of "the most sophisticated, mondaine, and highly evolved blog of it's (or any) type." (The Atlantic Monthly, February, 2010).

Now that I've got the whole world hanging from my nuts, it's time to take a journey into the fathomless unknown, a place where esoteric and recondite lust meets frivolous and trivial conjecture: The Mind of the BSD.

Come inside. Embrace that subtle curiosity and loose your inhibitions.

It's getting hot in here.

This "Sophisticated Gents" jacket is similar to the one which the BSD is going to produce in an attempt at blatant self-promotion and glorious conceitedness, burrowed amongst pompous brass and pretentious cheek.

However, on the back of the BSD's jacket (which should be available for purchase through the BSD directly sometime before the holidays- grab one for your mom! They make great gifts for people you hate!), it will read:

Damn It Feels Good to be The BSD.

After all, there is a little BSD in all of you. And hopefully, quite soon, there will be a lot more of the BSD in you, ladies.

We all know women are no good at math.

Jokes!

This is just adorable. The BSD was caught unawares that there exist, in reality, special cats. It appears he's trying to figure out an escape and can't be bothered with paying any attention to the camera, and the BSD is quite amused.

I took this picture from the driver's side doorway to my new Mercedes. DIQG refused to leave the car until I had provided her an ample pummeling.

Giving herself fully and completely to the BSD, Jenny peered hopefully and with great longing through her tousled fringe and into the BSD's musty soul, allowing him access to her austere and chaste nave.

The BSD wears his sunglasses at night, so he can, so he can. But he would also rock this jacket and consummately contend with the multitude of cold, misanthropic, distant, drop-dead and sumptuous fawns drawn to his every silky-smooth move.

You're going to have to do better than that, sweetie.

If the BSD gave it up to every harlot who approached him in this manner, he'd be a very tired, very sexy boy.

Her haircut is simply amazing. It also reeks of Daddy Issues.

She looks cool as fuck. I bet, just out of frame, bottom, she's rolling a spliff.

Sharon K, new face at IMG.

OMG. Opulent as fuck.

Well, not as opulent as this. Hot Ass.

If someone would like to photograph the BSD artistically in a manner very similar to this and present it to him as a Shanemas present or to the Louvre for permanent collection status, he is willing to hear proposals and negotiate a rate through his agent.

For all pertinent requests or comments, please contact thebsdisinyourmouth@yahoo.com.

Huh?

It's about that time to break forth the rhythm and the rhyme.

I'm a get mine, so get yours.

Seriously, the BSD is going to make some of those jackets.

The BSD's Assorted Musings: On & Off the Runway

Frida Gustavsson. A work of art. This girl works. The BSD could possibly marry this one. Check out this interview here- http://www.models.com/oftheminute/?p=9844. So much to corrupt I wouldn't even want to.

Toni Garrn definitely giving it in this shot. Leather jacket kicks so much ass it should be illegal. Plus- wait for it, wait for it- are those leather fucking boots up to your mid-thighs??? The BSD is rolling around on the ground, toiling in self-restraint, hoping to be able to deal with this crisis before the blood drains from his head and he passes out. Somebody get me the Coors Light Train to bring the icy refreshment of the Rockies up in this bitch.

Leigh. One day I will write you a letter; A letter so well written and emotionally virulent that you will have no choice but to fall deeply in love with the BSD. That day is not today. Today, I will violate myself to the thought of you.

That purple wristband had given her entrance to the Cockpit. That spacey look on her face was given to her by the BSD. So was her nagging limp and that faint itching.

The BSD's "Point Proven": Gingers everywhere. And this dude's jacket is gnarly. I want that.

Good look, Mariacarla. I see those holes in your pants. But there's one hole in those pants I'd really like to see. Slouchy jeans work for me and paired with the plain white T, the BSD reads "Low Maintenance" and therefore, "Approved".

Holy shit, another really hot ginger. (Yeah, there's a HOT - FIREBUSH correlation in there somewhere, but that's the easy way out and if there's one thing the BSD doesn't do it's the easy way out. He likes to make things really hard.)

I gone done did it again. She's signaling the number 2, indicating how many times the BSD will go to the cleaners with her before he passes out in a lump of gin-soaked nudity, writhing contemptfully in self-adulation and inner-congratulation.

Legs legs legs legs legs legs legs, nubile legs with cheeky red socks. If you want the BSD, you little harlot, all you have to do is ask.

The BSD is going to adapt this jacket to a men's bomber. It's so sexy. I can already picture the headlines on Page 6: BSD Spontaneously Combusts at Ice Queen Girlfriend's Apartment Due to Atomic Levels of The Sexy.

Ah baby, relax. It's now the BSD After Dark, darling. Pour yourself a glass of Pernod, slip into something more comfortable, take off your shoes and drink it in. You like what you see? Of course you do. It's the BSD you're looking at, and the view is spectacular. Close your eyes before your head explodes.