Are you kidding me, People magazine? This guy is your 2009 “Sexiest Man Alive”?! Oh, come on. He looks like one of the Village People on drugs. And his being on drugs would explain why Johnny No-Depth here is clearly hallucinating that he’s on a polar bear rug with a roaring fireplace behind him.
Plus—hello, People magazine: anyone there own a calendar? Because you should know 2009 isn’t even over yet. There’s still plenty of time left this year for a sexier guy than this to come along. The wino who lives in the park by my house would do. He actually dresses better than Mr. Raggedy Dandy here.
Okay, fine. I admit it. I’m bitter. Of course I am. Because I applied for People magazine’s 2009 Sexiest Man Alive contest, too. But did I win? No. Did any of the flack hacks at People even acknowledge the photo package I sent them (along with a list of my favorite things to do, and a sample of my favorite men’s cologne that was on a page I tore from a GQ?) No.
Sure, I gained a little weight this year. I know that. But unlike Johnny Diptstick’s, at least my bulges are real. And sure, I, too, could have taken a tip from the Popeye the Sailor Ham school of fashion, and used a kitchen towel to cover my receding hairline. I could have Photoshopped in some pec def; I could have torn the perfect little hole in my T-shirt. But that kind of chicanery is for losers, man. The photos I sent in were of a real man, man. The holes in my T-shirt were real. The bald spot you could see in the picture I took in my bathroom was real.
And do you think Johnny Depp took the trouble to write “Vote 4 Me!” in his wet back hair? I don’t either. But I did that. Because that’s how much I care.
But he wins 2009’s “Sexiest Man of the Year,” while I didn’t even save copies of the photos I sent in for the same contest.
Oh, well. It’s their loss.
And, needless to say, yours.
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