Not in my book, Babes! And not in yours, either, if your gauge of wanna-slather-him-in-custard-and-slurp-up-sumdat-spotted-dick runs anywhere near where mine takes its turn around the dial.
Okay, he doesn’t have Jason Statham’s body and I’m pretty sure he can’t pitch like Brian Wiison. He’s got no full dark mane, but is rather sparsely coiffed and gray in that premature-cute-as-a-bug sort of way, looks like he’d lobster up after fifteen minutes on my beach, isn’t particularly tall and probably can’t play a mean guitar, but … ooooooooh! does he do it for me!
Assange advocates a “transparent” and “scientific” approach to journalism, saying that “you can’t publish a paper on physics without the full experimental data and results; that should be the standard in journalism.” In 2006, CounterPunch called him Australia’s most infamous former computer hacker. The Age has called him “one of the most intriguing people in the world” and “internet’s freedom fighter.” Assange has called himself “extremely cynical.” The Personal Democracy Forum said that as a teenager he was “Australia’s most famous ethical computer hacker.” He has been described as thriving on intellectual battle.
That he’s smart certainly appeals, and he is whiplash smart. An international man of mystery? Well, duh! The guy is harder to nail down than the Scarlet Pimpernel, a reluctant star, a man long disinclined to step into the slimelight he would rather focus than hog. He is also brave, irreverent, cocky, demanding, uncompromising … and looks enough like Bill Maher to set me aching down under. (Yeah … right … that’s a reference to him being Australian … )
The fact that he is all about transparency ups my longing exponentially, as susceptibility for bullshit doing any sweeping off the feet has ebbed while fondness for exposure, and exposure of stuff that’s hard to come by — as opposed to easy (sure … that’s what I meant) — can set me to sway in breeze factor zero.
Although some accuse Julian of over-exaggeration when it comes to threats and dangers to his adorable person, the idea there could very well be a “manhunt” on for him fits and brings out the come-Sweetie-I’ll-take-care womanly stuff in me that wants to hold him to my breast and soothe his worried brow.
Whew … pass that towel over, will ya, please …
So … Mr. Assange … Julian … Jules …
If some time on a tropical island where no one … but me … will have the foggiest who the hell you are appeals, there’s an amazing view from my bed.
Oh … and bring wine.
One more thing … I don’t cook, so you’ll be doing that, too.