Dear Internet: I was joshing

So please stop looking here for variants on “sexy lion tamer costumes,” since eight misguided fools decided this was the place to holiday shop. I can only assume this means some kind of spandex and sequins for the Siegfried & Roy look, or a Carmen Miranda-style hat with Beanie Baby tigers prowling the rim. Alternatively, you go just go as a very bad lion tamer and appear in safari boots, nude bra and dainties, what with your clothing having been torn from your limbs by savage canine teeth. Or a very, very good one, and just wear a lion skin for skivvies.

ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES, INTERNET. Hint: do not go as a sexy lion tamer.

Then again this sums up the last day or so in Jetlag Land:

How succinct the summation of all of these words is. Sons and daughters, four score and fifteen years ago, my life and times were judged by the internet by the number times I mentioned the misbegotten conglomeration of terror known as “shorts and tights”. And smallpox.

The real winner, of course, is the tally for “sexy archaeologist,” “sexy indiana jones,” “sexy women archaeologists,” and “womens knickers”. Dozens, folks. Dozens and dozens.

It is very, very simple. For one thing, all archaeologists are sexy. We weed out the underlings in a Top Model fashion, so that the Ur-Race of Archaeologists can stalk the world on slender, unnatural limbs, and make skeletons cry with our beauty.

Oh, wait. Real archaeologists spend most of their free time covered in terrible tan lines and mud. So, technically, to be super sexy you could just wear a birthday suit and roll on a rugby pitch for a bit. SEXY MUD! How could this go wrong! Alternatively, you could go as a sexy lion tamer WHO IS ALSO a sexy archaeologist, and stick with the lace panties and whip (Barr 11/2010, first paragraph. It’s important to cite such works of sartorial splendor.)

Or, you know. Our real beast, our prime specimen of archaeological glory:

 

 

Sex-ayyyyy.