A fun way to while away a half-day at work

So, I'm doing my usual morning troll of other folks' blogs (most of which I've got linked over there on the side for convenience), and I come across this doozy from Ultratart, Sex Fantasy Camp. And I love it lots. And what I love, I love to share, so now I'm throwing it out to you. And me, of course. Here's the rules:

You have seven days of dream-dates (all of which, of course, end in mind-blowing sex, hence the title of the game, if, of course, you're into that. You can also just cuddle with your date, if you'd rather). You are allowed to choose one celebrity date for each night of the week and one alternate for each night, in case your first choice dream date is, say, arrested or is away on location. The remainder of the rules are as follows:

1) The definition of "celebrity" varies according to the group with whom you're playing. Basically, everyone in the group needs to be able to pick your choices out of a police line-up.

2) No time-traveling. I'd like to date Paul Newman, circa Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, but that's against the rules. Everyone you date, you date right now.

3) It doesn't matter if you and your friends all have George Clooney as your Saturday night. This is bound to happen and it's fair within the rules of the game: having to cross check your schedule with your friends will add a level of difficulty to this game that you don't need. It's hard enough to decide whether So and So is a Tuesday or a Wednesday without having to make an Excel spreadsheet to make sure you're not stepping on your officemate's toes. You'll see.

4) You can't use, say, "the cast of Band of Brothers" as one night. One man or woman per night. Nice try, though.

Without further ado, my first try at a list (totally off the top of my head! Lookee me go!)

Monday -- A Monday night date's gotta be comfortable. You don't want to have a hellish day back at work after a weekend of play only to be on pins and needles about a Monday night date. Ergo, the funny and casual Denis Leary. I know, I'm a little surprised myself that his name popped up there. Alternate: Jason Lee. Not so adorable now with the crazy porn star mustache in My Name is Earl, but the boy's got charm, and a history of fun and casual. Check out any Kevin Smith movie if you doubt me. EDIT: Oh Captain Tightpants, how could I have forgotten you? Nathan Fillion, you are SO my Monday night date. No alternate needed. We can practice swordplay and see what happens.

Tuesday -- Ah Tuesday. In memory of Tuesdays past, I once more choose to spend my night with Spike. Ok, I'm fudging the rules here. James Marsters, but ONLY if he never uses his natural speaking voice. All cockney, all the time. Heh. Second choice, and not a bad runner-up for my affections, David Boreanaz. It's a theme night.

Wednesday -- I'm thinking Southern BBQ, maybe a couple of beers. I'm thinking Josh Lucas, so yummy in Sweet Home Alabama, so probably desperate for love after Stealth. Alternate, another good ole Southern boy (well, at least he plays one on TV): George Eads, from CSI.

Thursday -- Thursday nights are for cocktails. Somewhere with lights under the stairs, and everything in martini glasses. So give me a man who I think knows his way around a cocktail, Vince Vaughn. Alternate, another Vaughn: Michael Vartan. In my head, it works.

Friday -- Now we're getting somewhere. A Friday night date has presence. I want to see and be seen, so I'm spending it with a dark, broody Brit: Clive Owen. Oh, Clive. Yes, you can drive. Take the BMW. Alternate: Colin Farrel. I know he's bad news, and I just don't care.

Saturday -- How CAN anyone go wrong with George Clooney? You can't. That's how. So why mess with tradition? George Clooney, and if I can't have him (he is quite in demand, after all, saving people from muggers and defending women's honor and all that, or so I hear from Entertainment Tonight), then his dashing and debonair frequent costar Brad Pitt. Yes, Brad, you're an alternate. Deal with it.

Sunday -- A brunch date, yes, followed by the rest of the afternoon in bed. Actually, maybe we'll order bagels in. Or, spend the day biking around the park. Lance Armstrong, get out of my dreams and into my Sex Fantasy Camp. Alternate (if I chose to stay in bed and ignore the bike -- because, you know, It's Not About The Bike): the guy who plays Sawyer on Lost. Whatshisname. Josh Holloway. Yum. EDIT: How could I forget Ewan? Man! Thank god I didn't laminate these! Ewan, get up there. We can take out the motorcycle and still go for a ride.

Who do you have?