Lots of noise across the blogosphere concerning Den Beste’s string bikini fetish (which he first copped to in this notorious post).

So deafening is the blog roil, in fact, that Ol’ Steve felt compelled to respond to allegations that he’s some creepy old pedarest hunkered down in his computer-laden (though paneling-free, surprisingly!) porn room, banging out stickly little essays with his free hand.

Note to Steve: I think the “creepiness” factor (such as it is) has to do with the fact that you call yourself “The Captain.” Conjures up images of you in pirate garb, gettin’ busy with some galley wench. (In my version, you have a leering parrot on your shoulder, and you keep going on about your “other wooden leg,” whatever that means.)

No offense, but we can do without such searing images, quite frankly.

Me, I like the chicks. Unapologetically. I’m not a big fan of the string bikini (I like a nice one piece — or better, those bikinis that make sexy use of the half tank-top), but I won’t balk at a fine string job that’s been put to effective use.

Let’s see. Besides attractive women in bathing suits, what else do I like…?

Ooh! Honeymustard on a ham sandwich! And Pynchon novels. The longer the better. So sue me.

(Incidentally, my wife is a dozen years my junior. Which some of you sexually repressed mental midgets might find kinda creepy, but my fraternity brothers all insist that I rule! And they can drink more than any of you can. Now, then.).

[update: Planet Jen has some musings on the subject; so does Kevin Whited; and of course, Red Dawn chimes in, offering some additional insights into E.O.’s post.].