Stirby? Qué?

Stirby. You must should wonder.

What does it mean?
What does it mean?


(I could’ve very well quoted Shakespeare here, but went with Jack Skellington instead, mostly because we have the same waist size.)

So. Let’s answer that, shall we.
As the more attentive readers among you (are there any other?) will have noticed, my breathtaking little title-JPG clues you in; ‘disturbingly sturby’ illustrates Stirby having something to do with those two words.

1. Sturby: according to the Urban Dictionary, sturby means; ‘an exceptionally or unusually good looking guy’ and, less generally accepted, also would be an abbreviated form of the word masturbation (please note that the author of that last definition misspelled that word as masterbation, which doesn’t exactly make him the new Samuel Johnson ->)
2. Disturbingly: you’re not seriously expecting me to explain the word disturbingly, are you?

Now, however narcissistic, I am not talking about myself as a disturbingly handsome guy (for now). I am talking about the pretty boys I’ll be posting now and then. (What? OMG! No!)
Pretty boys, as in, handsome guys, as in, hunks, as in, yummy.
(You did realize I was gay, right? The pink? The cute little ghost? The female/gay/transgender icons? Well, run/gather while you can sweeties.)
So, Stirby can be understood as disturbing, as sturby, as a combination of both, or as me being usually disturbed and the mancandy being sturby. (Still with me?)
Additionally, Stirby will cause emotional agitation and excitement, will mostly consist of disorderly outbursts, and is planning to really stir things up.

*Insert devilish laughter*

°Edit: Oh, right, I can do that.

Moi, sequeling.

I’ve spent some time yesterday morning glamorizing this prefab mess, trying to compensate my lack of a nerd gene with an overdose of taste. Luckily, my mother drank Chanel n°5 for breakfast while pregnant. Still, I need a snort of HTML.
But. I’d promised you a sequel to my likes, and that’s what you’re getting today. We’re adding another chapter; some of my icons (or heroes, or sluts of the day, whatever you want to call them really);

Karen Walker (not boring old Megan), Amanda Lepore (pictured by David LaChapelle, love him), Antinous (THE original toyboy), Richie Rich (original Club Kid), the Olsen Twins (duplicated rich bitches), Bryanboy (Asian Fabulousness).
I just wanna extract their DNA, shake it up in a test tube, put that in the microwave to make it hatch, and fuck whatever comes out.
Then we'll have babies.
And I'd probably fuck those as well.

Upgrade! Improvement! Evolution! Progress!

Ah the knowledge; I've so far successfully managed to:
- Make words link to other pages and images
- Add a web counter (hits, goddamit, hits!)
- Replace my title with a title-image (I wonder if Gates would sue me if he'd recognise his Vista-grass)
- Replace the web counter with another one cause the first one was sh*t
Well... really, that's about it. But hey, let me stress here that I'm an absolute n00b! As a matter of fact, the word n00b is about the only thing I know about anything even remotely to do with the internet. That and how to find porn.

Clicquot, cats and convertibles

Sweeties, darlings, readers,
Before I start any other postings; what would the world want to know about me? Is there a blogiquette about this? Should I introduce myself? Do you need private information like how many siblings I have and how much sex (unrelated)? I bet not. I also bet blogiquette is not even a word.
Then again, call me creative, call me too lazy to find an existing alternative, I like inventing words. I don’t mind, I’m not really English speaking anyway. I was doubting while starting this up if I'd go for English or my native tongue in this blog, but worldwide fame doesn't exactly come with a minority language, now does it.

For now, let's leave the introduction at some of my 'likes';

Foods: I love to have breakfast in town, especially in a town different than my own, especially one in a foreign country even. Salame de Chocolate in Lisbon for example. (I can handle it, I have the metabolism of a nuclear reactor). I like almost any food but am a bit of a food snob. Don’t think of me as difficult, think of me as a boy of principle: If you can’t cook, don’t cook for me. If you’re poor or cheap, don’t take me out to lunch. Spaghetti is not lunch. Water is not a drink. Veuve Clicquot Rosé Millésime is. Or anything else alcoholic. Permanent marker for example.
I’m also a coffee addict. And I love cooking. I’m very good at it as well. That sounds like boasting, but I’m actually only paraphrasing trustworthy sources. Alas, not to invade their privacy, I can’t tell you who they are.

Cars; I’m in love with the Chrysler 300C, but would only want it with driver, cause I’m too boyish to drive around a car bigger than some people’s house. I also like the BMW M6 Convertible, the Smart Roadster for city-use, and the Porsche Cayenne for fun. Unfortunately, all of them require for my parents to die before I can buy them. And if you think I’m reaching for the sky here; my boyfriend will only settle for the Rolls Royce Phantom Convertible.

Pets; I love pets. I’ve got a rat named Tobias and always have a couple of nameless fish. Not that I’m cruel not to name them, they just never last so I stopped bothering. I hate people who, after ‘Wanda’ died, name their new fish ‘Wanda 2’. But fish aren’t really pets anyway. More like decorative objects you put in water. Biologists should really consider categorizing them under ‘flowers’.
I would like bigger pets, like a greyhound, a small bulldog, or a sphinx cat. But being me, Peta would protest if I bought one. So would my boyfriend. And really, I don’t blame them, dogs and cats need so mush looking after! I’m happy with low maintenance pets. Like mink furs and rabbit hats.

Right. Have you seen the ruddy time? I’m off to bed, I’ll finish this list tomorrow, promise! I’ll also figure out what this blog will be about :-)
Love you guys already. Such good listeners!

Stirring it up.

Hi.
Call me Arnod. It's French. Not that I am, just the name.
Drop the 'd' and you'll pronounce it right; just like the 'd' in Pernods brand of Ricard. Although I'm nothing like the drink, everybody loves me.
The picture is me. I don't exactly do my groceries like that, but if you'd know me, you'd know it wouldn't be out of the question. So in a way, it says a lot about me.
This post isn't really leading anywhere. I'm just trying this out, this blog is as fresh as homemade cookies. But I will welcome you, dear reader.
So.
Welcome.