Sexy Programmer Thursday: Delicious Domain Version 17.0

I had a dream last night. I'm wandering along, cold (both metaphorically and literally) and alone. Scared. Confused. Other synonyms similar yet slightly different from the previous adjectives, as well. And then, as though a beacon from above: a light in the darkness, a warm embrace in the chill. A discovery. A sexy programmer.

Next came a realization. For, my friends, - nei - minun ystävyys - this was not a dream. This was a real life, honest to God, heaven on earth, Nordic Coding Lovemachine. He took my hand in the darkness and made me sing amazing things about peripheral component interconnect all the way back into the light. My Mr. Sandman is not just any sexy programmer. He is the sexy programmer that outsexies maybe like probably pretty much virtually every other programmer that has ever programmed, and it's as though he doesn't even grasp the overwhelming power of his own sexy. From the kernel of his being, he is aloof and aware all at once. He is humble yet boastful at the same time. He is our Thorlike god who sculpted Linux with his own two hands. He is Sexy Programmer Thursday 17.0: Lusty Linus Torvalds.

Though Brian Adams became famous for that laryngitis-ish-raspy-singy-whisper-type thing he does about the Summer of '69, something far more important was going down in the winter of '69, December 28, to be exact. That's when wee Linus Torvards was authenticated, issuing forth from the buffer cache of his mother in a gui - er, gooey - blaze of glory.

Torrid Torvalds is so many things, quite honestly, too many hunkalicious things to list in this short forum. But, I'll give you a lusty little snack:

1) Just as I methodically pore over my luscious Linus scrapbook each and every night, my tawdry Torvalds is an avid reader, too: "you simply cannot distract me while I'm reading. Try to talk to me, and I won't hear a word." That's why part nine of my twenty eight point Operation I Wanna Keylog all of Torvalds' Strokes plan involves no words, only interpretative dancing to the Finnish classic Maame (and one of my authentic Number Six dresses from the BSG Ultimate wardrobe auction of '09; hey, it couldn't hurt).

2) Ladykiller Linus is a gazillionaire. Does he act like it? Why no, he does not. You'd think a programmer this fly would shop exclusively at the Hottery Barn, but he's actually a deliciously thrifty shopper. Case in point: he's a man who knows the 'co. The Costco: "So I was in Costco waiting for a car tire rotation and check yesterday. Wasting time, I blew three bucks on a slice of pizza and a sundae." Now, I don't know how you interpret this, but in my head, he is so talented (and so filled with coin) that he is able to literally blow three Washingtons onto his slice o' pepperoni . Whatever he meant, yowza. Sexy.

3) There is nothing I like more than a good sexy programmer wrestling match. Obviously, it's the stuff that fantasies are made of. And never in the history of catfights has there been a more delicious rivalry than between LT and another Sexy Programmer alumnus, Racy Richard Stallman. It's like, they both come packing so much hot that all that heat was bound to explode in an open source hotbed of lust and power and total domination of the supercoder variety (sidenote: I'm willing to be the open source for either man. Name the domain. I'll be there, any time, anywhere.). The trash talking has been explosive. I'll give you a sip of the wine, just a taste, for it is far too early on a Thursday for you to be drunk at your motherboard. But here is your (extremely abbreviated) appetizer:

Torvalds: " So I'm pretty well-known for not exactly being a huge fan of...Richard Stallman."

Stallman: "If you want freedom, don't follow Linus Torvalds."

Who else is quivering right now? I know I am!

And, now. By popular request (wow! I never imagined I'd have thousands! of requests for this feature!), I'm gonna let Fantasy Torvalds speak the words I so long to hear.

"Wait, wait. Don't worry; you didn't die. I only appear to have emerged from heaven, a radiant, ethereal vision from the clouds. I didn't know your lipstick would be this dark on my knowing smirk. Thanks for letting me borrow your hairspray and your v-neck sweater this morning before the photo shoot. You know what I always say: You scratch my back, I take you back to Helsinki with me and dance the experimental dance for which my homeland is known. And, yes, by Helsinki, I do mean my bed."

"Hey. You were right. The grass in your back yard is so soft that it doesn't feel at all weird to lay here in your v-neck sweater without any pants. Oh gosh. That tickles!"

"Look at all of 'em back there like sheep. They all want me. Look at short green and medium sized green back there, just staring at my ass. Yeah. I'll give 'em what they want. From my sexy mock turtleneck to my smokin' socks and loafers combo. I bring the thunder. Yeah. The Torvalds knows where it's at. Right here, baby. Right here."

"This is just cruel. My opaque thighs of lust are just torturing everyone now.
Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha. Hahahahahahahahaha."

"I'm even hotter than 92.6% of the free world when I'm a woman.
Hahahahahahahahaha."

"If you think this is funny, you should see what I have covering my junk."

Again, I gotta step away. Thank you, Lovemachine Linus Torvalds, for rocking Sexy Programmer Thursday. We'd eat a piece of that kernel anytime.