permalink So, the other day I said to my husband, “You’re just going to have to be OK with me calling Clint Dempsey ‘baby’ all the time. Because he’s my baby and he brings out this weird nurturing part of my personality and I kind of love him and you’re just going to have to deal with it.” So yes, Clint is my baby and my need to hug and cuddle him is bordering on ferocious. 
And then there’s Tim. Tim, god of the Americas, current forerunner for president in the 2016 election because who the hell else is going to save our asses so many times? I wish like hell I was going to be seeing more of you in the coming weeks, in situations like denying [whichever team] every goal attempt in the finals.
My boys, my darlings, I’m in mourning and I will miss screaming for you until I’m hoarse and making grunts and hand gestures in public while watching you from the tiny screen of my phone. Go out with your heads high and please don’t mind if I try to pinch your asses. 

So, the other day I said to my husband, “You’re just going to have to be OK with me calling Clint Dempsey ‘baby’ all the time. Because he’s my baby and he brings out this weird nurturing part of my personality and I kind of love him and you’re just going to have to deal with it.” So yes, Clint is my baby and my need to hug and cuddle him is bordering on ferocious. 

And then there’s Tim. Tim, god of the Americas, current forerunner for president in the 2016 election because who the hell else is going to save our asses so many times? I wish like hell I was going to be seeing more of you in the coming weeks, in situations like denying [whichever team] every goal attempt in the finals.

My boys, my darlings, I’m in mourning and I will miss screaming for you until I’m hoarse and making grunts and hand gestures in public while watching you from the tiny screen of my phone. Go out with your heads high and please don’t mind if I try to pinch your asses. 

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My struggle is real, and this person understands it.

My struggle is real, and this person understands it.

(Source: thisisablogabouttheblackkeys)

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NOTICE OF REVOCATION OF HONORS

We hereby revoke and repeal the Cougarbeat honors formerly bestowed upon the following parties:

  1. JOHNNY DEPP
  2. IAN SOMERHALDER

REASONS FOR REVOCATION

In the case of Mr. J. Depp, motivation for revocation of honors is as follows:

  1. TOO FREQUENTLY LIVING UP TO THE DESCRIPTION OF “ELDERLY GAY WINDCHIME,” AS FIRST NOTED BY MESSRS. TOM AND LORENZO.
  2. THE LONE RANGER SHIT. 

In the case of Mr. I. Somerhalder, motivation for revocation of honors is as follows:

  1. UNCONTROLLED SMARMINESS.
  2. APPARENT HAIR FEATHERING.
  3. DEEPLY UNBUTTONED COLLARS WORN WITH TOO-TIGHT SUIT VESTS.

Until such time as Messrs. Depp and Somerhalder can demonstrate ample evidence of rectifying these behaviors, they are no longer endorsed by Cougarbeat.

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I remember a time, back in the fog of the teen years, when, for me to really like a band, at least one of the members had to be hot. Otherwise, I’d forget their lyrics, and their CD would gather a thin veneer of dust next to my stereo. I thought I’d matured beyond that. I think I have. For the most part. Except for Marcus Mumford. And except for this fucker right here, Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys. 

The video for Little Black Submarines was my ruination; it’s all sweat and riffs and neck musculature and thick arms with a side of beard. I’d been unaware of what Auerbach looked like before this fucking video. After it, a shitstorm of Google image searches and the situation is all sewn up.

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I’m not sure that I could cope with just sitting across the table from this situation right here. 

(Source: xavierstea, via academyawardfeverr)

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Now you fully understand what our undergarments have been going through these past years.

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permalink SURE OK YES SURE

SURE OK YES SURE

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FUCK THOUGH. 

I have completely exhausted my usual Internet nerve balm (baby sloths, giraffes, wildcats) and I’m sorry and I know the immediately preceding post was also Hiddleston, but like, right now this jerkface is the only thing that’s touching my post-Breaking Bad stress and really, do you care? Does this bother you? No, it doesn’t. There, answered that for you. 

(Source: torrilla, via hiddlestonss)

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You are a plague and a pestilence, Hiddleston. 

Lady-bros, if you can listen to this recording of Hiddlesworth here reading e.e. cummings’ “may i feel said he” and not have it at least momentarily interrupt your daily agenda and/or the basic corporeal functions necessary for sustaining life and/or the quietude of your nethers, I need you to tell me how, because it made me have to take off my office sweater, drink 27 ounces of very cold water and walk it off.

It’s happened. The dawn of Hiddleston that I was facing down has broken spectacularly over the horizon and vaporized me in a flash of sprightly, twinkling eyes and a rumbling of baritone. I officially have a Problem(tm). 

(audio via hxcfairy)

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permalink There was a while there when I was like, “Nah, not really feeling male models.” It actually lasted for an impressively long time, from, oh, like, 2000 until I saw this photo of Park Sung Jin, two minutes ago. 

There was a while there when I was like, “Nah, not really feeling male models.” It actually lasted for an impressively long time, from, oh, like, 2000 until I saw this photo of Park Sung Jin, two minutes ago. 

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permalink I am beside myself with excitement about Joe Wright’s new Anna Karenina adaptation, enough so that I have already read, multiple times, the notes about it on IMDB. What I learned there is nothing short of completely fucking tragic. James McAvoy, perfect creature, was who Wright had in mind to play Levin, the unshowy, dog-loving, outdoorsy, socially concerned, sometimes annoyingly moralizing but ultimately redeemed hero whose story runs parallel to Anna’s. Evidently, James turned the role down, which is just about the worst thing to happen in film since the Oscar was stolen from Ralph Fiennes in 1994 (and yes I am still and will always remain bitter about that). So, because I will be deprived of 130 minutes of him in character as one of my favorite literary heroes, I will have to stare at this picture of him in 19th century Russian clothes for a minimum of 130 minutes. And continue to bitch about him not taking the role for the next lifetime.

I am beside myself with excitement about Joe Wright’s new Anna Karenina adaptation, enough so that I have already read, multiple times, the notes about it on IMDB. What I learned there is nothing short of completely fucking tragic. James McAvoy, perfect creature, was who Wright had in mind to play Levin, the unshowy, dog-loving, outdoorsy, socially concerned, sometimes annoyingly moralizing but ultimately redeemed hero whose story runs parallel to Anna’s. Evidently, James turned the role down, which is just about the worst thing to happen in film since the Oscar was stolen from Ralph Fiennes in 1994 (and yes I am still and will always remain bitter about that). So, because I will be deprived of 130 minutes of him in character as one of my favorite literary heroes, I will have to stare at this picture of him in 19th century Russian clothes for a minimum of 130 minutes. And continue to bitch about him not taking the role for the next lifetime.

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Ewan McGregor is going to fucking break me. Just look at how this asshole is aging. I mean, Jesus. Beard, no beard, whatever. If this continues on, it’s going to get to a point where I see a picture of him and the involuntary hip gyrations will start and it’s just going to be really fucking embarrassing. 

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I bless the Internet for letting me know that I am not alone in my longstanding desire to get messy with Tim Roth. It used to confuse the hell out of my college roommates.

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permalink There’s sullen sexy and bad boy sexy, and those are great. And then you look at Marcus Mumford and you know damn well that there is also joyful sexy. You know he would be an absolute blast in the sack. You know it. Like, laughing and talking and bouncing around and just, man, an unadulterated, psychosis-free, great boot-knocking. Disney World is utterly misdirecting you to the happiest place on earth. 

There’s sullen sexy and bad boy sexy, and those are great. And then you look at Marcus Mumford and you know damn well that there is also joyful sexy. You know he would be an absolute blast in the sack. You know it. Like, laughing and talking and bouncing around and just, man, an unadulterated, psychosis-free, great boot-knocking. Disney World is utterly misdirecting you to the happiest place on earth. 

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permalink I am a selfish people pleaser. That’s why I’m posting this photo, which is both for my homegirl who has it for Hemsworth, but also for me, as I stare into the confusing black dawn that is my burgeoning problem with Tom Hiddleston. 

I am a selfish people pleaser. That’s why I’m posting this photo, which is both for my homegirl who has it for Hemsworth, but also for me, as I stare into the confusing black dawn that is my burgeoning problem with Tom Hiddleston. 

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