I was going to say that my last post was my girliest post to date, but then I remembered my list of my celebrity crushes. Well, the Jonas Brothers are manly as hell so I will not comment further on that matter. But upon remembering my celebrity crush list, a devastation fell upon me:
I forgot Channing Tatum.
Or as my English prof would say, Tanning Chatum. Or as I would say, Tatum Channing because I could never remember which was his first and last name.
I mean, yeah, he's a little white-trashy, but in a really hot way, like the construction workers who take their smoke breaks outside my bedroom window. Nothing invigorates you on a bright spring morning like airborne carcinogens.
Besides, who doesn't like a bit of trash here and there? It's endearing. It's kind of similar to how hot Mark Wahlberg was back when he was a wannabe gangster. I shudder at the thought that he reminds me of the current Justin Bieber, which at least gives me hope for Justin Bieber's future. I'm sure he will grow up to be a sophisticated, delicious middle-aged man like Marky Mark has so elegantly become.
What just happened?
Oh haiiiii there.
God bless GQ Magazine.
Mostly, though, I just can't believe I let Magic Mike evade me. I've never been so ashamed of myself.
It was a terrible, terrible movie, if you think about it in terms of plot and character development. But it is so indulgently gratuitous that it makes you forget that movies need plots or stimulating characters. Oh, wait, the characters are stimulating.
I'm still making a petition for Miles Teller to replace Alex Pettyfer in the sequel. The sequel that I will be writing/directing/costume designing.
Tell me you don't want to see that in a skanky firefighter costume. Skylar Astin can be in it, too.
It's basically gonna be this, but a full-length feature film.
I know, I can't wait either.
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