| This Monday/Tuesday is brought to you with the help of Michiel Huisman because he's fucking hot and the only reason to watch that shitty dead duck GOT. As a longtime appreciator of the masculine unit I feel qualified to bestow Mr Huisman with a highly coveted 9/10 on the Sweetmeat scale which is of course globally definitive. Loses a point for not being Spanish but then most people do. Although the hair is... good. Very good. And I do like a nice set of lightning veins. The biological imperatives behind vein-fancying are obscure so I'll just go with the importance of oxygenation. Also- if there was any justice in the world that robe directly below would come flying off Michiel, leaving him defenceless and in need of shelter and willing to trade rough sex to get it, and would land on my hanger where it unarguably belongs. Two problems, one synergetic solution.   This is coming from a woman and yes, we're as guilty as hell of this same shit, but would it be so terrible if the male complex took a leaf from Mr Huisman and realised that a comprehensively hot body is a balanced and organic thing? Rather than something that looks and feels like its been UV-treated and shrink-wrapped. And... maybe cooled it with the manscaping? It's not like Michiel here's never seen a hotroller, but you can go too far with the lumpy 6 packs and the micromanaged beards. Leave the happy trail as nature intended. |  I'm an unapologetic connoisseur of the long tall dude and lament the slow death of bone in the modern male. You know- that quality of length and pleasing spaciousness and the posture that comes from being match-fit and well put-together. Grace. Physical ease. I like a lot of distance between nipples and navel, as an aesthetic consideration and because of the resultant physical dynamics; it facilitates fetch. Long tall dude veterans will know whatImsayin ha ha ha wipes corner of mouth. While we're objectifying men (and they can shut up because 10 000 years of karma, bitch) can I just ask why they're all so fucking short these days? Short and fucking dumpy. When The Lovely R tries to buy a pair of skinny pants, they're always subtly distended at the waist to accommodate all these pseudoestrogenic doughboys and their childbearing hips. Or it's the other thing and they're short and creepily overcut from 8763535272 hours per week of crossfit and all waxily hairless and roidy. Shudder. I blame too much paediatric screen time and free carbs; it's like no one's getting a chance to develop the fundamentals of physical righteousness any more, which is horribly sad. Does this explain the rise of excessive dandyism? The obsession with applied detail rather than just rocking what your mother gave you? I mean, it's not like I don't remember the vintage art-school proto-fop fondly but then their aesthetic was militant and served creativity rather than the plain vanilla boring sort of vanity we're seeing today. That's a fuckload of difference.  |
I know it looks bigger when you shave, but 'tis an illusion that serves no purpose and there is something both reassuringly adult and endearingly personal about pubes. Which is perhaps why they've been so thoroughly abolished.
Shit. Now I'm dying for a fucking cigarette. A handsome cigarette.
Love Your Money: love this song, in retrospect though because I never caught it back in the day. I can play the bass part (with a lot of help from ye olde Rat pedal + silver Fuzz) and that warms my inept cockles.
Shit. Now I'm dying for a fucking cigarette. A handsome cigarette.
Love Your Money: love this song, in retrospect though because I never caught it back in the day. I can play the bass part (with a lot of help from ye olde Rat pedal + silver Fuzz) and that warms my inept cockles.
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