A Lover of Antiquity.

A half-blind monkey on LSD could identify George Clooney as a genetically attractive human being, but it takes a certain calibre of person to look at the likes of Nick Cave or Steve Buscemi and want to get down and dirty (and possibly, creepy) with them. Luckily, a person of such calibre happens to be writing this blog and, after the jump, has cobbled together a motley list of her top picks of drinking, smoking and kinking partners.

Having said that, if ever the opportunity arose to bed any of these men (mutual significant others aside), I’d probably prefer to lounge around half-naked and discuss the genius of The Mighty Boosh while imbibing several fine bottles of whisky. Sometimes the intimacy of company is far filthier and kinkier than actually boning. Also, the risk of mediocre sex ruining fantasy isn’t worth the act; no one is going to believe you anyway, so you’ll only have wrecked the fantasy for yourself, and where’s the fun in that?

Nick Cave: Obviously. Author of some of the most brilliant, esoteric lyrics in contemporary music and also of the strangely beautiful novel And The Ass Saw The Angel. Owner of a voice imbued with raw sexuality and, well, have you listened to Dig Lazarus Dig!!!? Find your favourite lover and pour yourself a few drinks, it won’t take long to figure it out.

Hugh Laurie (as Dr. House): You know he’d treat you with nonchalance and ambiguity the morning after, if he can stand you that long. Then again, if you were the type to pick him up (like me), you’d have got dressed and finished off his whisky before walking out the door in one of his shirts ten minutes after you get it on/off.

Steve Buscemi: There’s something so delightfully screwy about this man and the characters he plays. He probably drinks something that comes with maraschino cherries and instead of this being a turn-off, it’s somehow sexually intriguing. It takes balls to be a weedy man and order twisted shirly temples.

Alan Rickman: Laconic, awkard demeanour, pallid countenance, delightfully sinister.

Keith Richards: I know, I know, he’s kinda decrepit, but it would be hilarious to snort his ashes cut with cocaine.

Bob Geldof: Granted, he’s very much into his causes, but you know he knows he’s got his flaws and the dinner conversation is going to be a hell of a lot more fun than a night out with Bono. I mean, look at Geldof’s daughters, one doesn’t turn out that vacuous and blandly amusing without some sort of parental oddity.

Bill Nighy: His metered drawl and self-depracating smile gets me every time. I’m sure he’s less than conventionally attractive when out of his skivvies, but you’re not really in it for the abdominal musculature, are ya?

Jarvis Cocker: I met him once, and was overcome by a stammering mess of shyness. I reverted back to elementary school days where you always referred to your elders as Mister or Mrs Whomever, and thus coyly managed to utter, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cocker.” Needless to say, I realised how ridiculous this sounded the minute it came out of my mouth and the rest of our brief encounter doesn’t warrant repeating. I like nancy boys, that’s all I’m going to say about this matter.

I’m positive there’s many more I haven’t thought of while writing this, so help me out in the comments.