(We now pause from your regularly scheduled program to bring you a tired blurb on a hackneyed subject, but it just has to be said.)
It's not often that I fall into the rhythm of a full-blown celebrity crush, but every once in a while I'll be watching something and I'll find myself imagining doing unbelievably perverse things to some Hollywood hottie. Today's installment?
George Clooney.
Most of the time, he only occurs to me as a good looking playboy, most recently as deVito's drinking partner. I was flipping past one of his movies this morning on TV, and (fans herself) oh boy.
Forget the real-man hotness factor. Forget the cool self-assuredness of being the Sexiest Man Alive. Forget the insanely hot way the man wears a suit. Forget the super smile and the gorgeous eyes and the killer five o'clock shadow.
I'd fuck this man just for the voice. (You have no idea what I'm imagining it say at the moment... Lord, I need a fan.) He can do a Limoncello body shot off of me anytime. Be back later... I need a cold shower.
*Hugh Jackman always wins out. No explanation necessary there, right?
