Google THIS.

So PBW wants to know who my dream publicist would be (check comments here for full conversation on topic). You know…in the unlikely case that I’ll ever need a publicist at all.

Tom Welling or Josh Holloway? Tom Colicchio or Michael Kors? (Barb suggests Jensen Ackles, but that would never work. Brain-melting lust is detrimental to a solid working relationship. Plus I’d asphyxiate myself by feeling compelled to keep my little Buddha-belly sucked back against my tailbone at all times while in his presence. Blue-in-the-face STILL isn’t a good look for me.)

Any publicist of mine would need nerves of steel, a strong stomach, and the ability to chuckle through all manner of adversity. And he or she would have to find a way to impart a little class to this operation. Not an easy mission when the following Google search terms lead straight to my door:

“smut writers” – (You rang? And hey…top of the page! Mom would be so proud.)

“high school stereotypes” – (Started out as The Brain. Ended up as The Slut. Shit happens.)

“three holes, no waiting” – (Not yet, but I’m not ruling it out. In my FICTION, people. Jeez.)

“does anal sex sell at ellora’s cave” – (You bet your seven-speed vibrating butt-plug it does, darlin’.)

I dunno why, but when I try to envision my perfect publicist, I hear this voice in my head: “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

Hmm. Smart, loyal, brave, good with a weapon, not afraid to get down and dirty when the circumstance calls for it.

Yeah. He’ll do.

SelahMarch.com – Romance of Dubious Virtue